Kosovo Syndrome

"He is..." started Heather, unable to find a tactful way to complete her thought.

"Let me help you," offered Wren. "My grandfather is a Lovecraftian horror who uses his unfathomable wealth to bludgeon his way to ever more obscene profits."

"Concisely put," said Marija, refilling her glass.

"I was at his Rhode Island mansion last year for his seventy-eighth birthday. He joked to all assembled how he was afraid his age might finally be catching up to the number of billions in his net worth, but he was soon going to be able to widen the gap once again. All his guests found it hilarious that he has more money than the GDP of a small country."

"Tell us about the stuff that did not make it to his biography," said Marija, pouring out a glass of wine for their guest.

"Let's start with the well-known. He was born in Montreal to a French-Canadian father and Irish mother. Inherited the largest energy company in Canada from his father. He could have lived comfortably with just what he was given, but it was nothing compared to his ambitions."

Wren took a sip and went on.

"He married the daughter of a prominent Dallas oilman, marking his entry into the American energy market. After that, his empire exploded. The joke is that if anything died a million years ago, Salinger will dig it up and burn it for fuel."

"I've seen the advertisements," said Heather.

"Yes, the advertisements of the kindly old man in a yellow hard-hat. Crispin Salinger, sending heat and light to seventy percent of homes in North America and fuel for fifty percent of vehicles."

"Is that even legal?" asked Marija.

"It is when you have every single lawmaker in the country too scared to utter the words anti-trust," replied Heather. ".. and even if they did, there is a whole floor full of lawyers at my firm who specifically eat anti-trust regulators for lunch."

"He has expanded to everything now - from dams to power plants, from ports to infrastructure, from real estate to defence, from data centres to ski resorts. He owns the most expensive teams in the NFL, the MLB and the NBA. There is even a rumour that Salinger has set up a venture capital fund in San Francisco and invested in a start-up offering blockchain based high value payments."

"Just a rumour?" asked Marija, raising her brow.

"When it comes to my grandfather, always believe the rumours. By the time they are verifiable fact, he's already onto his next move."

Both pairs of eyes turned to Heather, who smiled wryly.

"As someone who represents him in some of his business ventures, I can neither confirm nor deny that."

"You have to understand," said Wren, "He did not break into Forbes top five by waiting his turn or being a nice guy. The world can see the facade of a benevolent business titan who funds charities for the homeless and inaugurates children's hospitals, but that's all it is - a facade. A dangerously thin veneer and when it slips, there's a monster underneath. He is a man of almost no words, but devastating action. When he makes a play, the whole world does not find out until months or years later."

She paused before taking a gulp of wine.

"From Wall Street to K Street and every other street worth its name, he reigns supreme. Our politicians may hate each other, but they are scared shitless of him. His donations to their Super PACs and his political support can make or break careers. Have you heard of Roger Costello?"

"Senator Costello?"

"That's how you may know him now, but ten years he was merely contesting for a small Congressional district in Pennsylvania. He raised a flutter when he questioned how Salinger Energy had won a contract for wind turbines in the state. No big press conference, just a small inquiry. The results were devastating. Within a day, his biggest donors mysteriously backed out. His brother was suddenly under investigation for tax evasion and his wife's law firm was about to fire her because they were bleeding clients. The final straw was when his daughter was abruptly dropped from a clinical trial for a rare leukaemia treatment. The company in question said it was because her latest medical report indicated that she could have an adverse reaction. It was then that one of his advisors told him why these things had happened."

"Sounds like a nightmare."

"It was," affirmed Wren. "The next day, he met with a group of my grandfather's lobbyists and made it clear he was willing to bend the knee, kiss the ring, do whatever it took to make things right. As proof of his earnestness, he issued a press release rescinding his earlier criticism and instead praising the wind turbine initiative for the thousands of new jobs it would create and the benefit to the environment. The results were immediate. His political career was fast-tracked. He had more donors than ever before. Special interest groups with deep pockets flocked to him. The IRS dropped the case against his brother for lack of evidence. His wife was promoted to partner at her firm, which had to open new offices in four states to cope with a sudden influx of clients. Not only that, but the pharma company announced they had made an error in their exclusion criteria for their clinical trial and would be happy to welcome his daughter back for their next round of treatment. She made a full recovery and is currently doing an internship with Bain Capital in London."

"And what happened to the would-be Congressman?" asked Marija curiously.

"If I remember correctly, he won by a landslide and got picked for important committee assignments never before given to a freshman lawmaker. Four years later, he ran for US Senator and won and now, he's quite likely to be the next Energy Secretary. All the while, he has been a vocal champion of my grandfather's business interests."

"I've met Senator Costello," said Heather. "I've always thought he was a bit of a shill, but this is insane. He's basically Salinger's puppet."

"Not just him. I've seen firsthand the queue of politicians outside his door. Whichever side of the aisle, from those who believe the world is run by a secret cabal of Satan-worshipping lizard people to those who believe you can be a different gender each day of the week - you don't make it in Washington without his blessing. He claims to be apolitical in his views, but he has had the ear of the last six Presidents. He has been invited to the White House hundreds of times in the last forty years. At any given moment, his lobbyists know all the important Beltway players and know none of them will dare cross him. They're all nickels and dimes to him that he carries around in his pocket like loose change."

Wren stopped and took a deep breath. It was clear she had mixed feelings for her grandfather. A colossal presence in the world of business; a leviathan with his tentacles in every conceivable industry; a magnanimous philanthropist who had donated billions to charity and research; an impresario and art lover extraordinaire, with a private collection that both the Met and Louvre would give an arm and a leg to display.

A monster who would bring war to a country to get what he wanted.

"This isn't even the first time he has done this, you know?" Wren went on. "In the months leading up to Operation Iraqi Freedom, the top brass of the Pentagon frequently held meetings with my grandfather's top aides at his private ranch outside Dallas. I was too young to understand what was happening. In hindsight, it makes sense. Salinger Energy immediately spun off a subsidiary to focus on oil exploration and refining in the middle east. The headquarters are in Baghdad."

"He made a mistake coming here, though," declared Marija. "Our people will never surrender our lands and our natural resources to him. We will never let him win."

Whether she actually believed that or whether it was alcohol-induced bravado, no one could tell. Heather looked at Wren and saw her thoughts reflected on the doctor's face.

"Marija, you can't win. Not against the might of Crispin Salinger and definitely not against the might of NATO."

Her captor looked at her curiously before she began again.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but this isn't even a fair fight."

"Are you really saying we can't win?" asked Marija, clutching her glass hard.

"I'm saying you have already lost," said Heather plainly. "You lost the exact day the geological survey team found evidence of natural gas in the region and your father refused to roll over and let Salinger have it for a pittance. You and your people never stood a chance after that."

"Do you agree as well, Dr Salinger?"

Wren ruefully nodded. She took a sip and spoke.

"Salinger Energy has built a skyscraper in London. Not just that, they are setting up satellite offices in Paris, Frankfurt, Zurich and Brussels. As we speak, thousands of high-powered executives are being poached from the very best European companies at ridiculously high salaries. This gas deal is my grandfather's entry into the European energy market and he has big plans. You and your rebellion are all that stands between him and those plans. He bankrolled a coup, for God's sake, brought down a government, just so he could have his way."

Marija grabbed her glass and the bottle and headed to the bedroom where she slammed the door shut behind her.

"Will she be okay?"

"She'll lock the doors, throw some stuff, swear a lot, scorch the Earth, sleep off her drinks. But then she will realise it's the truth. Just be there for her when she does."

Heather nodded. The woman before her seemed wise beyond her years.

"You still haven't answered how the granddaughter of that man ended up here."

"That's a story for a different time and something stronger than wine."

* *

DAY 125

Heather leaned back against the ornate bed. Her gaze absent-mindedly drifted to the window, now specked with snow. The view outside was reduced to a white sleet now. Thankfully, there were ways to stay warm.

She turned to the shock of black hair between her spread legs. A tongue thrust in and out of her in staccato bursts. It went deep inside her before pulling back repeatedly, before suddenly stopping. Heather looked down and saw Marija grinning up at her before her tongue began a new trick, a slow journey up along her inflamed lips to her clit. She vaguely tried to guide the tongue by grasping Marija's hair, but the tongue defied her will. It latched onto her clit and she scrubbed the rough layer of her tastebuds over the sensitive button.

She closed her eyes and bucked, lifting her hips off the bed. Marija held her down admirably and left her clit and moved down her lips to the bottom. Simultaneously, two fingers from her free hand crept into Heather and began their work.

Marija was obviously no amateur at this. Her fingers had technique, twisting, curling, spreading and crossing each other inside her lover. It was as if she had a roadmap for her fleshy walls and knew exactly where to prod and where to tease.

"Can I please cum?"

"No," said Marija sternly. "You cum without permission and I will take you back to camp tomorrow and make you repeat that performance in front of my soldiers."

Heather stiffened, unsure how seriously to take that threat. She felt the insistent waves of orgasm course through her and threaten to overwhelm her, but she held them back.

The fingers went deeper now. Each thrust went all the way to her deepest recesses before withdrawing fully and plunging in again. The other hand was twisting and kneading her nipples, pinching them whenever possible.

"Please, now."

"Not yet, you insolent Yankee."

Heather clenched her eyes shut. Her nervous system was on fire, all sensory endings burnt raw with the torrents of pleasure coursing through her. Just when she felt she might have to risk the threat, she heard the magic three-letter word."

"Now!"

It was immediate. The dam broke and then exploded. The room spun around her as she felt the indescribable throes of her climax. Her fingers and toes curled in ecstasy as she felt lighter than air, floating above the bed.

For a few minutes, there was no sound in the room apart from their laboured breathing. Neither tried to extricate themselves from the sweaty tangle of limbs.

* *

"Want one?"

Heather held an open pack of her precious Marlboros. She had already taken and lit one for herself.

"Wouldn't want to deprive you of your cancer sticks. Give me some of yours."

Heather held out her lit cigarette between her thumb and forefinger while Marija took a deep drag and slowly let the smoke permeate out into the darkness.

"Do you miss your old life?" Heather asked.

"A whole lot more than you do," came the reply.

"In all fairness, I was brutally kidnapped by the Serbian Liberation Army. You, on the other hand, chose this fight."

"Your boss, Crispin Salinger, chose the fight. I'm just fighting back."

"Yes, I'm sure he is positively quaking in his boots back at his Sun Valley lodge."

"He should be. He's taken too much from me. My father, my country, the General..."

Marija's voice choked. Heather had never seen her calm demeanour crack in the four months of her captivity. She gently stroked her smooth black hair as she started again.

"I was eight when my mother died. Anja was just a baby. She barely even remembers her. The General and his wife didn't have children of their own, so we were their proxy. Our father was always busy rising up the political ladder, but Uncle Savic always took care of us. His wife took us out to play at the park and baked cakes for our birthdays and Christmas. You see the men out there? Most of them have been trained by him and would lay down their lives without question on his order. He inspires loyalty like no one else."

Heather smiled and kissed her on the forehead. Marija's recollections of the General were incongruous with the bloodthirsty monster the media had thoughtfully dubbed "The Butcher of Kosovo".

"All his life, he only loved his country and his family... because that is what we were to him - his family. To see him on trial for crimes he did not do..."

Heather kissed her again. The sentence did not need to be finished.

"I'm so sorry for what happened to you," said Heather softly. "I wish I was here to fight for you rather than against you."

"It's all right, Heather Franklin. You're not here to fight. I am."

Marija stood up. Heather could only see her silhouette against the sleet outside the window.

"When you look outside, what do you see?"

"Snow?"

"What do you really see?"

Heather scrunched her face in concentration before she gave up and turned her attention back to her cigarette.

"You see beautiful scenery, from lush meadows to snowy peaks to dense forests. That greedy bastard, Salinger, sees untapped natural gas. Do you know what I see, Heather Franklin?"

There was a pause while Marija formed the rest of it in her mind.

"I see home. I see where my father is buried and his father before him. My father died trying to defend my country against a corporate coup. My grandfather died fighting the Nazis in modern-day Volgograd. Same for his father too. Generations of my family have built this country. They have fought for it, bled for it, died for it. We're all that's left, Heather. Me and my sister. Generations of Kovačevićs live within us now."

She sat at the edge of the bed, her eyes staring wistfully into the distance.

"You'll die," Heather said softly. "You've made too many powerful people angry for this to end any other way."

"Maybe," she chuckled. "But if I had stayed in London and just written an op-ed about it in The Guardian, I would have died anyway. Maybe decades later and maybe of natural causes, but my soul would have died the second I made that choice."

Heather clasped her arms around her lover and brought the last remnants of her cigarette to her lips. Marija lightly held her wrist and took a deep drag off the end. The ember glowed brightly in the near darkness.

"To every man upon this Earth... Death cometh soon or late.. And how can man die better... Than facing fearful odds.."

"For the ashes of his fathers... and the temples of his Gods," finished Heather and kissed the back of her neck.

They stayed like that for some time, with Heather's arms wrapped around Marija's muscular shoulders from behind while she sat at the edge of the bed.

It took Heather being brutally kidnapped and imprisoned for four months to feel such reverential awe for someone for the first time in her life.

* *

DAY 150

"How bad is it?"

"There are more skirmishes every day," Wren reported. "We're seeing many more casualties. They are getting deeper into our territory as we speak."

"They meaning the armed forces?"

"Yes," said Wren. "And it gets worse."

She sat down and shook her curls off her face.

"I always heard rumours that my grandfather had his own private army. It made sense since he had entered the private military business. His company, Lansing Security, has thousands of highly trained mercenaries on demand. Not just overweight retired mall cops. We're talking ex-special forces, Sayeret Matkal, the Spetsnaz, SAS and more. They're hand-picked as reliably ruthless. After the pipeline is built, Lansing Security already has the contract lined up to protect it from attacks worth hundreds of millions over ten years."

"You think he has some freelance commandos doing his dirty work?" asked Marija, clearly concerned.

"The number of soldiers not coming back and the injuries I see on the ones that do... I think they're already here. Soldiers follow orders, they take no pleasure in what they do. But these men, they enjoy making it hurt. God help us all if they are out there."

* *

DAY 180

"Come. I want to show you something."

Winter had given way to spring and the snow receded from the plateau. The lush greenery unfurled around them like a billiards table. The camp was bustling with activity. Soldiers trained, no longer surprised to see the American with their leader.

Towards the far side of the camp was a steep cliff. At the base of the cliff, a cave opened up. It was wider than a road and as high as a building.

"Shall we?" asked Marija, leading the way.

Heather followed. The ceiling of the cave was interspersed with openings. Pockets of light streamed inside.

"Serbian soldiers found this cave in the nineties. It opens into a network of tunnels. They mapped out each path, dug further where required."

It was evident that in the distant past, a river had flowed through here. A river that had eroded the rugged rock faces to smooth walls.

"You asked me before what was my endgame? You're in it. The tunnels go on for hundreds of miles into the forests of Croatia, the valleys of Macedonia, even Albania. We have already prepared and can escape on a moment's notice. Then we keep moving, keep fighting."

Heather marvelled at the view around her when Marija engulfed her in a hug and pressed her lips to hers. They kissed, used to each other's rhythm by now. Their tongues played with each other while they remained wrapped up in each other.

* *

DAY 205

It was a bloody day. There was a meeting of Salinger company executives with Serbian and Bosnian government officials in Minsk. A meeting no doubt about the delays to their timelines over acquiring the natural gas reserves and making them operational.

The meeting was rudely interrupted when one of the catering staff smuggled two bricks of C4 in under his serving cart. The entire banquet hall was blown to hell. Only charred remains with expensive Rolexes remained to be identified.