Kosovo Syndrome

But did they have a choice?

"If I may..." Heather began, earning a glare from the scarred woman.

"Remind me again, why did we get your girlfriend here? She'd look more in place in a department store than in combat."

"I'll have you know that negotiating Black Friday at Macy's is no less than combat," Heather replied. "I have an idea how we can persuade the soldiers to hand their supplies over without a shot being fired."

Both sisters turned to look at her with incredulous disbelief.

"If this is another wisecrack, I swear to Saint Sava I will throw you off the cliff."

"I suppose killing me is the easy answer to all your problems, Jigsaw, but no. This might actually work. It has a better chance than the certain doom you are about to lead your troops into."

"Go on," said Marija.

"You see, I have something far more powerful than any gun or missile or armour."

"And what is that?"

"I have an American passport."

* *

The lead truck of the convoy had to be on guard. After the incident with Mr Aleksander, no one was taking any more risks. The convoy was armed to the teeth to repel any attempts by the rebels to attack it. The terrain made it difficult for a lot of supplies to be airlifted in. Thus, the majority of the supplies would have to come by road.

Thankfully, the truck was equipped with ground-penetrating radar to keep scanning the road ahead for IEDs. A few miles back, the radar had picked up something and the explosives specialists had stopped the convoy for an hour while they dug up rocks and eventually gave the green signal. No one was going to take any chances.

There were two officers in the back of the truck continuously watching the live feed from the radar. Any moment, they felt, another explosive device would come to view. They were surprised when the truck came to a halt, double-checking their screens if anything suspicious had popped up.

"There's a woman standing in the middle of the road."

The driver and the soldier beside him exchanged glances. It was almost certainly a trap. They scanned their surroundings, expecting to see machine guns pointing at them from behind the rocks.

They checked and re-checked, before making sure they were not in immediate danger.

"Who is she?"

The question hung over them, but neither knew the answer. A pale woman with reddish-brown hair wearing a jacket and trousers stood in the middle of the road gesturing at them to stop.

The driver immediately called it in on his walkie. A few minutes of conversation later, the commanding officer wanted to know what the obstruction was about. The young soldier took the walkie and got out of the truck and began walking towards the woman.

"Stand back. A safe distance back."

The soldier stopped in his tracks. The woman was an American, judging by her East Coast accent. Trembling, she lowered the zipper of her jacket halfway to show a network of wires.

"Holy - "

"Don't come any closer or she will blow me to pieces."

The soldier, clearly out of his depth, relayed the information back. He remained at a distance when she spoke again.

"Capshaw," Heather read off the man's uniform. "I need to talk to your commanding officer. Can you put the walkie on speaker and put it on that surface?"

Private Capshaw proceeded to do the same and Heather started.

"My name is Heather Franklin. I am an American citizen and I was taken hostage by the Serbian Liberation Army. I am unharmed for now and will remain so as long as you do what I say. If not, they have strapped explosives to my body and will not hesitate to use them."

By now, several soldiers had streamed out and took positions along the road. Their guns were trained on Heather. The leader of the bomb squad eyed the wires and explosives visible under her jacket.

"The demand is simple. You leave all your supplies and take the vehicles to your destination. Not a single person will be harmed if you do. If not, then you will have the blood of an American citizen on your hands. You have to choose now, my life or your supplies."

* *

NATO Eastern Europe Command

Camp Bondsteel

The General had nodded off for a few minutes after a long day when the phone call came. He was dreaming of the last time he had taken his grandchildren to the Denver Zoo when the infernal ring broke his trance. His training kicked in and he was immediately alert. The fact that he was not expecting a call did not bode well. He couldn't afford another attack, not after the Serbian Energy Minister two months ago.

"O'Keefe."

"General. This is Major Geary. We have a situation."

"Is this regarding the convoy? Did the rebels attack it?"

"Not exactly."

His brow tightened and his temple furrowed with concern. The major quickly relayed the happenings to him and he gripped his phone tighter.

"Did any of our explosives experts check her device?"

"Cell phone trigger. Marija Kovačević could be miles away watching on. We can't disarm it or remove it without triggering it."

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

"General. There is another phone with the hostage. She wants to conference you with Kovačević herself."

He agreed and a few moments later, his private number rang.

"I hope I'm not wasting my time with another empty suit. I especially wanted to talk to someone in charge."

"This is General O'Keefe."

"General? Looks like I got who I wanted. You know who I am. You know what I have done and what I am capable of. However, today is your lucky day. Not a single soldier on your convoy will be harmed. All I want are your supplies."

"I am not giving you anything."

"General. This is Heather Franklin. I am a lawyer for Griffin, Markham and Wiley in Manhattan. I was taken hostage by the SLA two months ago."

"Ms Franklin. Are you all right? Have they harmed you in any way?"

"I am unharmed so far. Please don't let them kill me."

The General could sense fear in her tone. She was a private citizen caught up in a war. His heart went out to her, but he knew he couldn't do what she asked.

"General, please," repeated Heather. "Call the State Department in Washington. Ask for Oscar Gonzalez Junior and explain the situation to him. He will know what to do."

General O'Keefe did not like this one bit. This was his war. He was the highest ranking representative of the US army in the region and he hated the idea that some suit in an air-conditioned office eight time zones away could give him an order.

"There is also a camera mounted on Ms Franklin's jacket," said Marija. "If you do not do as I say, or you try to defuse the explosive, if you try to use a signal jammer or try to rescue her in any way, I will not hesitate to trigger it. An hour later, the footage and the recording of this call go up on YouTube. Of course, I fully expect your government to take it down within ten minutes but that will be enough time for it to be downloaded, shared and replicated thousands of times. Tell me, General. Would you prefer having to explain your actions that led to the death of an American citizen to a Congressional Committee in a few months' time?"

There was silence on the call. Silence while the wheels turned furiously in the General's mind. Marija had chosen her words carefully.

"I thought so," she continued. "Make the call. This isn't a prisoner I am asking to be released or a withdrawal of your troops. These are just supplies. Warm blankets. Food. Medicines. Are they really worth her life? Your men can unload the supplies and go wherever they want. I will have them picked up. Remember, you are fighting in my backyard and I am always two steps ahead of you."

What Heather knew, and the General did not, was that the simple phone call he was about to make to the State Department would set a chain of events in motion. Oscar Gonzalez Junior was one of the few people who was authorized to call Crispin's chief of staff, Ken Strickland, at any hour. Ken would immediately call Crispin Salinger in whichever of his many mansions he was currently at and relay the news to him.

There would be a few minutes of delay while Crispin Salinger weighed the pros and cons of his next step. Eventually, he would reluctantly come to the conclusion that it would not be good PR if an employee of his died overseas and he could have stopped it. After all, these were just supplies, not weapons. Then he would reach back into his Rolodex and make some calls.

And the Earth shakes when Crispin Salinger makes calls.

* *

"Could you get me some water, Private Capshaw?"

The soldier went back to the truck and duly retrieved a flask. He tossed it to her from a safe distance and she took a deep gulp.

This was taking longer than expected. Maybe Oscar was on vacation. Maybe Ken had finally had one rib-eye steak too many and had a long overdue heart attack. Maybe the old man was with one of his many mistresses one-third his age and did not want to be disturbed. Heather's plan relied on several maybes and she was hoping the dots would be joining on the other side of the Atlantic.

"Where are you from, Private Capshaw?"

"Nashville, Tennessee, ma'am."

"Got a family?"

"Wife and two girls, ma'am. A boy on the way."

"What are you doing in this godforsaken place, then? You should be with your wife and children enjoying a cold beer in front of the TV in Nashville."

"I don't get to decide that, ma'am. I go where the orders tell me to."

"How long have you served?"

"Two tours, ma'am. Both in Iraq."

His Southern twang was unmistakable, as was his weather-beaten look. Heather could see the traces of a smile when he spoke about his family. It was obvious he missed them a lot, but he had no choice. The rebels had not folded to the Serbian army as smoothly as hoped and now, the US-backed NATO troops were brought in to bring stability to the region.

"If I ever get back home, I'd love to come down to Nashville and meet your family."

"It would be our pleasure, ma'am."

Heather could see a higher-ranking officer approach the private from the rear. He handed over the walkie and whispered urgently into his ear. Private Capshaw's jaw dropped when he heard what was said.

She smiled inwardly, knowing she would not have to wear the suicide vest much longer.

* *

"I still can't believe that actually worked."

Not that anyone was complaining. Marija drove the lead jeep. A row of trucks followed, each containing desperately needed supplies. The military base would have to wait a few more days for theirs.

The last time Heather had been driven to the rebel camp, she couldn't see the approach. Now, she could make out the strategic importance. There was a single road leading up the hill, covered by forests on both sides. The plateau was surrounded by insurmountable terrain on the other sides and a sheer cliff leading to Kosovo.

Even the most well-trained army would be stymied by this approach. Their progress would be slowed to a crawl.

"It's a good thing I had some soldiers from the former munitions expert group who could rig together a suicide vest on short notice."

"What if my plan had not worked? What if I had underestimated how much Salinger cares for his image?"

Marija chose not to answer. Anja, however, gleefully informed her she would have happily triggered the device just to get rid of her.

The trucks were greeted with open arms at the gate. Dr Salinger and her staff began distributing the supplies. Marija gave some orders and then continued driving all the way to her abode.

Heather took out the tablet to see if the incident had made the news. To her surprise, there was a message waiting with a link.

"I think it's for you," said Heather, handing it over. "From your lawyer in Belgrade."

Anja took the device and clicked on it. After a few moments, her lips curled into a scowl as she bristled with rage.

"Those bastards. I'll kill them. I swear I'll kill every last one of them."

Marija and Heather looked at each other before taking the tablet back. The link was to a video. A grainy video of a man sitting in a small room. He looked to be in his late fifties. Suddenly, four men charged into the room and began beating him. There was no sound with the video, but they rained blows down on him relentlessly. He tried to block them to no avail, finally curled in a ball to protect himself. The men did not stop, now taking out batons before bludgeoning him over and over again on his face and chest.

"Turn it off," said Marija quietly.

Heather did so. She did not need to be told that that was General Savic. Even for someone accused of war crimes, this treatment violated the Geneva Convention in a hundred different ways. But it was no use. The video could never be tied back to Salinger and the court of public opinion was not sympathetic to war criminals, even those with baseless charges against them.

Crispin Salinger was smarting over the day's happenings and needed to remind Marija of who he really was.

* *

DAY 80

"Slowly, Heather. Don't rush it."

Heather made a show of opening the front of her shirt button by button. She didn't like the theatrics of sex, always preferring to skip to the part where upper lips met lower lips, but she was a captive. And the captive did what was asked.

After the lowest button was done, she slowly peeled the shirt off her. Her pants also slowly receded, revealing her ghastly pale legs. Marija took a sip of her wine and studied her lover. She was only in her underwear now.

"Like what you see?"

"So pure. So weak. So vulnerable," Marija whispered. "Your gym membership. Your pilates classes. Your self-defence sessions. Nothing can help you here. Here, your life is in my hands."

Heather walked towards Marija and placed a palm on her shoulder.

"Isn't that why you brought me here? To protect me?"

Marija grabbed her wrist. In one fluid motion, she rose and locked Heather's arm behind her back and pushed her up against a wall. Heather tried to resist, but she was completely outmatched.

"When you were in front of the convoy, I held your life in my hand. How did it feel?" Her voice was next to Heather's ear and her tone was throaty. She asked again. "How did it feel knowing I could push that button and leave only a smear where you stood?"

She made her point by licking Heather's earlobe. Her hand locked the arm tighter, making Heather wince with pain.

"Don't pretend like you don't like it. I know you do. I see it in your eyes every time you tempt fate."

Heather did not respond. Marija used her free hand to slip inside Heather's bra and grab a handful of her breast. She kneaded the soft flesh hard and rolled the nipple between her thumb and forefinger, making Heather squeal in pain.

"That's right, Heather Franklin. Sing for me. That's all you are to me - a glorified musical instrument."

Marija repeated her rough handling of Heather's breast. Her fingers dug into her skin like hooks. Her lips and tongue were on her earlobe and the side of her cheek.

"Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run and hide. You are mine to do with as I want."

Heather whimpered as her arm locked tighter behind her back.

"Do you know who I am? Do you know what your media says about me? I am the first woman to feature on both the Interpol and FBI Most Wanted Lists at the same time."

"You must be so proud."

"Funny till the bitter end, eh Heather?"

Without waiting for a response, she turned Heather around and pushed her to the bed before pushing her face first down on the mattress. She yanked Heather's panties down to her knees and jammed two fingers inside her. As she had anticipated, Heather was dripping wet.

She got to work, twisting and scissoring her fingers inside Heather, determined to extract as much sensation as possible. Heather let out a moan and felt the invading fingers inside her. It was a tight fit, like a slightly small glove bought a thrift store. One finger. Two. Three. Back to two. There was no respite or monotony as Marija mixed it up and never let Heather's body settle into a routine of what to expect. All of a sudden, the fingers were gone, leaving a gaping void.

"Heather Franklin, I am going to pay you back in your own coin."

Before Heather could fully comprehend what that meant, she heard a rustling. Turning her head, she saw the silhouette of Marija opening a drawer and rummaging inside with one hand. To her shock, she soon felt the fingers replaced by something much larger and phallic in shape. She instinctively tried to close her legs, but felt a sharp sting of an open palm on her ass for her troubles. Marija let go of her arm and pressed the back of her neck down on the bed.

In one smooth motion, she was buried all the way to the hilt of her strapon inside Heather. The abrupt change of invader shocked Heather for a moment while she adjusted to the new shape. Marija smacked her left buttcheek and then her right in quick succession. Satisfied by their pinkish hue, she grabbed both of them hard and slowly slid out until the tip of her dildo rested against her captive's hole.

"I am going to do to you what your employer has done to my country."

* *

DAY 100

"Is it wrong that I'm toasting a hundred days of being a prisoner?"

"If it's an excuse to drink, then go for it," said Marija. "My family's cellar is at your service."

The winter had properly set in now. The row of Dinaric Alps outside the balcony was blanketed in a white sheet of snow. The sunrise lit the whole vista up, making each peak a shining point on the horizon.

"I wish I could have taken you skiing down that slope over there," Marija pointed. "There is a cabin on the other side which leads to the top of the piste. It puts the likes of your American slopes at Vail and Deer Valley to shame."

"I was never much of a skier."

"All I can say is you missed out."

Marija took a sip of wine and continued.

"I still remember the adrenaline rush. I've tried skydiving and it doesn't even come close. There is no parachute to save you. All you have to trust is your own skill. It feels like a different lifetime when I went skiing."

They were interrupted by a third voice. It lacked the requisite number of expletives to be Jigsaw. Instead, they saw Dr Salinger making her way to them.

"It feels like the first day off I have got in over a year."

"Is everyone okay, Dr Salinger?" Marija asked.

"The volunteers have become quite useful now. I can trust them with the most common stuff like dressing wounds and making splints for fractures. That cuts my workload by half."

"Careful," joked Heather. "You don't want Interpol's Red Notice holder here to get the idea you are redundant. After all, you are the closest Salinger around."

"I see you have settled in and Anja hasn't threatened your life in a week. That's a win."

"Are you also here to celebrate my hundred days in captivity?"

"Any reason will do for a glass of wine."

Wren took her glass and settled down with the ladies.

"My grandfather has finally released a statement about you. A spokesperson for Salinger Energy mentioned how deeply concerned they were for your welfare and how they hoped you would be released unharmed."

"Did they mention I was in their thoughts and prayers?" asked Heather, taking a gulp. "That always does the trick."

Wren laughed. Heather saw her up close. Her copper brown hair naturally formed corkscrew curls down to her shoulder. Her eyes were bright, yet weary, set against her mocha skin tone and high cheekbones.

"I have never actually met your grandfather, just heard of him."

"That's Crispin Salinger for you. Rarely heard, never seen, eternally feared."