Kosovo Syndrome

"You might as well ask."

Heather looked up from the grim news on her tablet and looked at Marija.

"Did you do this?"

"I must be one hell of an escape artist to go all the way to Minsk and back undetected yesterday."

"You know what I mean. Did you order it?"

Marija looked at her curiously, trying to get a read as to how she felt.

"No, I didn't. Not directly, at least. I have loyalists in Belarus. It was most likely one of those groups thinking they were helping me."

"They didn't," said Heather, lighting a cigarette. "This is not playing well. Until now, you still had some hipster sections of the media on your side. With this, every single major world leader worth his or her title has condemned it."

"They weren't exactly fans of me before."

"You lost whatever sympathy you had. The few die-hard environmentalists writing for you will stop. There were civilians in that hall too. A family of six celebrating their twentieth anniversary. Two Dutch college students on an internship. A whole series of innocent collateral damage."

Marija took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry it happened, Heather. I wish innocent people did not have to get hurt. But I cannot be responsible for what my supporters do. Whatever you may think of me, know this... my heart breaks for those who died who do not have any stake in my fight."

"I know," said Heather and placed a comforting arm on her shoulder. "I just wanted you to remind yourself of it."

Marija took her hand, kissed the back of her palm.

"What does Salinger have to say?"

"The usual one line statement from a company spokesperson condoling the loss of lives at the behest of the rebels. That's all you will hear from him."

Both women looked up to see Wren entering the room.

"Anja just left on another supply run with a regiment of soldiers. I had some free time."

She sat down opposite them and shook her curls off her face. She could not be older than her late twenties or early thirties, but the creases across her temples and the bags around her eyes showed a different picture. Over a year of treating displaced refugees and patching up rebel soldiers had aged her terribly.

"You still haven't told me how you ended up here," said Heather.

"Didn't I say we would need something stronger for that?"

"Speaking of which," said Marija, retrieving a small box from her cabinet. She placed it on the table and opened it.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Wren, picking one up. "Is that what I think it is?"

"How did you get your hands on this?" asked Heather curiously.

"My black market contact added it along with the last shipment of arms. Compliments of the house."

Even as she said this, Marija took out an ornate lighter.

"Ladies, shall we?"

She helped light all three joints before she lay back on her couch.

"Give it some time," she said. "If you see lights flash too bright or the stars sparkle, that's when you know it's working."

"My grandfather's getting into the marijuana business. His stores are popping up state by state, suspiciously soon after that state legalizes it."

"Crispin Salinger's a drug dealer now?"

"Fancy stores with shiny packaging instead of corner boys with dime bags, but yes," said Wren, taking another drag. "Along with big power, big construction, big defence and big real estate, my grandfather is officially big weed now."

"Does that go with the rest of his... respectable empire?"

"Anything is respectable if it makes money," replied Wren. "I'd wager cannabis is a lot more respectable than what he has done here."

"What's he like, your grandfather?" asked Marija, exhaling slowly. "You probably have seen more of him than anyone else in the world."

"Did he once really book a whole Broadway theatre to see a play alone without the distractions of anyone else?" asked Heather.

"Yes."

"Did he really gift his office cleaner a whole apartment complex because he was so impressed by how well she cleaned?"

"Oh yes. I've met her. Nice lady."

"Did he - "

"Let me stop you right there, Heather. If you've heard about it and it sounds outlandish, he probably did it."

Heather and Marija took a deep drag each. Wren started again.

"The one failure in Crispin's life was his daughter. My mother. He married her to the son of a wealthy Louisiana businessman. Within a year of their marriage, I was born. Then..."

The two other women listened with rapt attention.

"You have to understand that while my parents loved each other - they weren't really cut out to be parents. Being responsible adults, let alone good parents, would have required them to cut down on most of their social life. That was a sacrifice neither was interested in. Whether it was partying all week in Miami or going on a wild rager that went on for a month at Ibiza or taking a cruise to Monte Carlo. They were addicted to excess and had money to burn. I was raised by my grandfather and his staff while my parents were partying in some exotic locale or the other."

"That sounds horrible."

"It wasn't that bad, really. My grandfather blamed himself for being too liberal with my mother. With me, it was like he had a second chance at a child. I had the most expensive tutors at home and the best private schools abroad. He even insisted I take his surname, so the world would know I really was... and it worked."

"I bet it did."

"You have no idea," said Wren with a chuckle. "The best med schools fell over themselves to have me attend and attract Crispin's endowments. After I graduated, I got a residency at Mass General that's nearly impossible to get. Coincidentally, an anonymous donor had just given them enough for a cutting edge infectious disease wing. He paved the way for me wherever I went."

"Sounds like he loved you."

"He loved me like how Da Vinci loved the Mona Lisa or how Michaelangelo loved the Sistine Chapel. He didn't love me like a grandfather loves his granddaughter. I was a project to be constantly improved and bragged about. An extension of him."

"How did you feel about it?" asked Marija.

"I liked it. Who wouldn't? But as time passed, the veneer cracked. I saw him for who he really was. I saw him cross every line imaginable in his insatiable greed for money and power. I was barely in high school during the invasion of Iraq and I still had a nagging feeling in my gut that he was involved. I saw all the people his top aides met, but I never really put it together until months after the fact. When he decided to do it all over again here, I decided I had to do something. I joined Doctors Without Borders and now here I am."

"And you just welcomed the granddaughter of the man who overthrew your father?" asked Heather curiously.

"Do you see a lot of doctors queueing up to help us?" replied Marija sardonically. "I had my reservations at first, but Wren has helped more people than I can count over the last two years."

"And that's not even the real reason I'm here," said Wren. "You see, Heather, even with the cliffs and impossible terrain, Uncle Sam can always send a drone strike. In fact, as we speak, there are probably Reaper drones up there armed with Hellfire missiles ready to fire. The only reason they don't - me."

"You?"

"Yes, me. No matter how many times the Pentagon assures my grandfather that the drone strikes are precise and they can assure no harm will come to me, he will have none of it. Me being in the same zip code as a possible drone strike is too much of a risk for him. If so much as a firework goes off within a ten mile radius, my grandfather will make sure whoever gave the order never so much as works as a janitor ever again."

"Our guardian angel," said Heather.

Marija put her joint down and surveyed the other two women for a few minutes.

"Maybe you should thank her, Heather," she said.

"Didn't I just do that?"

"No, you rude Yank. I mean, really thank her," Marija emphasized, a glint in her eye. "Don't you have any manners? The good doctor is keeping us all alive and all you can give her is half-baked thanks."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Heather, clearly too acquiescent.

"Ask her what she would like you to do for her."

Heather turned her gaze back to the mass of curls sitting opposite them. Wren was clearly far more interested than she had been a minute ago.

"What would you like me to do?"

"I don't know, Ms Franklin," she said. "What do you do?"

"Well, if you ever do something illegal, I could probably find a way to get you out of it," Heather shrugged.

"I'll keep that in mind. I always hated parking tickets."

"Parking tickets. Taxes. Embezzlement. Fraud. Murder... take your pick. I've made people I knew were guilty of all of them go free. If there's a law that you've broken, I can break it further to get you off."

"Ahem," interjected Marija, lighting a fresh joint. "Before you started advertising your services to Dr Salinger, I was thinking of a whole other kind of getting her off."

"Oh... oooooh," Realisation slowly dawned on Wren.

"So how about it, doc? Do you want what I have been having for the past several months?"

It vaguely registered in Heather's mind that she was being offered as a party favour, but she did not protest.

"I mean, I have to think about it," said Wren. "I haven't exactly had a roaring social life in a refugee camp. I was going strong with a Manhattan socialite, but I'm guessing that is shot to hell since I left her and came here."

"Such a sacrifice," tutted Marija. "Heather, please go over and thank the doctor properly."

Heather put down her joint and stumbled over to Wren, laughing and giggling as she went. She bowed her head and pulled her into a deep kiss. Their lips angled into each other and Heather smelled the doctor's uniquely musky scent.

"You're welcome, especially if I get more of this."

"Come here, Heather," said Marija, patting her lap. "Sit down and face Wren."

Heather did as asked, her eyes as wide as saucers from the extremely potent cannabis. Marija pushed her fingers into the waistband of Heather's pants and pushed them down to her ankles.

"See anything you like, Dr Salinger?"

Marija's firm hands held Heather's legs apart, splaying her cunt obscenely for the doctor to see. Wren smiled and cocked her head.

"Don't be shy. Come right up to get a better view."

"Don't mind if I do," said Wren and got on her knees in front of Marija. Her gaze remained arrested on the lush opening invitingly laid out in front of her.

"Heather, would it be okay if the doctor had a taste? You heard her. She has not had any since she came here."

Heather tried to fully process the situation. She looked down to see Wren peering up at her expectantly. Her limbs were immobile. The room was a mosaic of colours, ranging from cyan to purple, which morphed and swirled all around her. All the voices echoed around and around inside her head.

"We're waiting, Heather."

She clenched her eyes shut and opened them. Wren still waited patiently between her legs.

"Yeah. I mean she has helped us a lot and deserves a reward."

A look and a nod passed between Marija and Wren before Heather felt a pair of hands on her inner thighs spreading them wider. She looked down to see Wren holding her apart and looking straight at her cunt.

"She's wet," Wren exclaimed, looking at the glistening hole.

Without further comment, she slid her index and middle fingers into Heather all the way to her second joint. It elicited a gasp at the sudden intrusion before Heather adjusted to the feeling of her rough, calloused fingers rubbing her velvety walls.

"It feels like my OBGYN rotation all over again," laughed Wren. "You're still so tight. No wonder Marija keeps you to herself."

Marija chuckled and held her legs open wider.

"Come on, doc. You know you want to."

Heather had closed her eyes to focus all her senses on the fingers plunging in and out of her when she suddenly felt them leave. After a momentary respite, she felt their place taken by Wren's tongue, which went as deep inside her as it could.

"Oh... fuuuuuuuuuck!"

Her eyes shot open as she saw the mass of copper curls between her legs. Wren's tongue was no less skilful than her fingers, alternating between her clit and lips. Each swipe of her tongue against Heather's most sensitive parts sent currents of pleasures flowing all the way to the farthest reaches of her nervous system.

"Remember, babe. Don't cum unless I say you can."

"Oh, come on," whined Heather. "Give me a fucking break."

"Such language. Such insolence," Marija tutted. "I am going to have to remind you of your manners when our guest has left."

Wren ignored them and kept to her task. The air was redolent with the smell of Heather's juices and the doctor's tongue made wet slapping sounds.

"May I please cum?" asked Heather, holding back with all her might.

"Soon."

Heather gritted her teeth as the unrelenting assault continued. Now the fingers had re-entered the fray and worked in concert with the talented tongue. She could feel the imminent deluge of pleasure approaching her like a hurtling train.

"Please..." she beseeched her captor to no avail.

The doctor increased her pace. Up and down, back and forth, left to right. Her tongue was everywhere at the same time, extracting every last ounce of pleasure from her prey.

"Now," whispered Marija into her ear.

That was all it took. She closed her eyes and surrendered. Her body almost buckled under the sheer force of her orgasm.

Too tired to move, she closed her eyes and let herself lie limply in her lover's arms.

* *

Day broke. Warm shafts of sunlight crept in through the open window onto the queen-sized bed. Heather and Marija lay wrapped in each other's arms and covered in a duvet. It was almost too ideal to be true.

And it was.

The tranquillity was broken by a loud scream. Marija sat upright and hurriedly reached for some clothes she had discarded earlier. The screaming got closer, as did the sound of stomping footsteps.

"Stay behind me," Marija said quickly before getting out of bed just in time to greet a livid Anja entering the room. She stood at the doorway and surveyed the semi-dressed lovers in front of her.

"What happened, Anja?"

"They killed him, Marija. They fucking killed him. It's all over the news."

Marija took a brief pause to process the news. She grasped the bed frame for support as the full realisation of what had happened hit her like a freight train.

"When?"

"A couple of hours ago. His trial was barely over. He still had appeals left. It shouldn't have been so soon."

Marija looked up as Anja handed her the tablet.

"Somebody leaked a video of his execution online. The lethal injection didn't kill him immediately. They must have made a mistake with the dose or the chemicals but he bucked and thrashed in agony before he died. For ten minutes."

Marija gritted her teeth as she pressed play on her screen and watched the grainy video. The General, the man she and her sister had looked up to all their lives, writhed and screamed in agony while the assembled men just looked on.

"Anja, I'm so sorry," she said and moved to hug her sister. Anja, however, rebuffed her attempt and shoved her aside.

"While the two of you have been playing house, our soldiers have been dying, our people have been dying and now, Uncle Savic is dead and we did nothing to save him. Nothing at all."

"That's not true, Anja. We did everything we could."

"Liar," she screamed back. "We did nothing. I was too busy managing the camp and you were too busy fucking your whore."

"Anja, please..."

"No. That is the last time I trust you. There is nothing between us now. I couldn't save Uncle Savic, but I can damn well avenge him."

"Anja, please... think this over. Don't do anything rash."

"I am way past that now," Anja laughed. "I will go and put the word out to all our sympathisers and loyalists everywhere. Go find a Salinger employee and kill them. Kill them and their families. Kill them so their employer knows he's next."

"Anja, they are innocents who have nothing to do with what happened to Uncle Savic."

"Maybe, but that's the only language Crispin Salinger understands. I will kill every last employee of his with my bare hands if I have to... starting with his lawyer."

Anja's gaze suddenly shifted to Heather's supine form amidst the bedsheets. In a trice, she was on the bed, clambering over to the redhead. Heather tried to kick her off, but Anja was far too strong and she had her palms around Heather's neck.

"Anja, NO!"

"I have to. Before she came along, you were the leader we needed. You were always one step ahead of our enemies. The old you would never have let him be executed. You've gone soft fucking this bitch."

Heather felt her vision blur and it got harder to breathe. Marija clambered on top of them and tried to prise Anja's hands away from her throat.

"I need to do this. I need to kill her," she wailed. "They killed him. They didn't even grant him a bit of dignity in his death."

"She didn't do anything," Marija forced out through gritted teeth. "We will get back at Salinger, but not today. Not this way."

Just when Heather felt like she would pass out, Marija wrenched her sister's hands away from her throat and pushed her off the bed. She stood up and looked at the pair, incandescent with rage.

"I want my sister back, you bitch. I don't know what you've done with her, but I want her back. I-I.. need her."

That was all Anja managed before twin teardrops broke through her defences. One of her tears traced the groove of a deep scar all the way to her ear.

"Anja, sestra," said Marija and moved to wrap her arms around her sister.

"Don't," screamed Anja and blocked her. "Just fucking don't. He loved you. He loved us and we couldn't save him. You didn't even try."

"We did try," said Marija. "We tried all we could, but failed."

"Fuck you. Fuck both of you," growled Anja and left the room. Marija looked shell-shocked for a brief instant, but quickly composed herself. Now was not the time for regret or recrimination.

"I have to go and stop her from doing something stupid."

Heather simply nodded.

"Not just her, but the rest of them out there. He was a hero to the people and a father-figure to the soldiers. They will want blood too. I'll have to go calm them."

Heather sighed deeply, realising they would be difficult to persuade.

"You stay indoors. Don't leave the house. If one of the soldiers sees the lawyer of the man who killed their beloved leader..." said Marija, leaving the unsaid implication hanging.

"Understood."

Marija left hurriedly. Heather took the tablet and played the video again.

She had never seen a decorated and revered war hero having a seizure and crying like a helpless child. It was a sight she could have gone her whole life without seeing.

And yet she knew that somewhere, the video would have brought a smile to Crispin Salinger's face.

* *

Heather was lost in thought, staring outside her window when the doors burst open. Marija walked in wearing full camo and purpose in her stride.

"Listen to me carefully," she said. "There is a car and a driver I trust waiting at the back of the mansion. He will take you to the town of Mitrovica. There, another contact of mine will give you shelter and passage to Belgrade where you can go to the American consulate."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Don't fight me on this. Go!"

Heather sat on the bed with her arms crossed.

"Heather, please, you don't understand," implored Marija. "I cannot tell my men that I am keeping you to trade for the General any longer. Whatever protection you had is gone now. All they see you as is part of Salinger's machine. The machine that killed the man they look up to. If you stay... I may not be able to keep you safe."