The Nameless Ones by John Connolly

Chapter XV

There was no fool, Radovan Vuksan reflected, like one who believed that fate played favorites. His brother was not a fool, but he was arrogant, and that arrogance – a product, Radovan suspected, of his military background – combined with a certain undeniable good fortune, had convinced Spiridon that the cards would always fall to his benefit. It was this, as much as his bloodlust, that had led him to target De Jaager and the others as his farewell to the Netherlands, but he had overplayed his hand and now events beyond his control had left the Vuksans in peril.

The immolation of Nikola Musulin in Belgrade was a grave and unexpected setback to Radovan and his brother. The Vuksans’ original intention had been to return quietly to Serbia via Budapest, where they would be picked up by Musulin’s associates at Ferenc Liszt Airport before crossing the border near Kelebija. Radovan, ever cautious, had counseled against flying directly to Belgrade, where they would be under surveillance from the moment they arrived. While the Vuksans were not without allies in law enforcement, neither were they entirely without enemies, and Radovan felt it would be better if they reentered their homeland quietly. Musulin had assured them that everything would be taken care of, but he was, in Radovan’s experience, a man who sometimes spoke in the expectation that, by doing so, his words would become truth. But Musulin was dead and his people were biding their time while they awaited the emergence of a new order with which they could cut a deal for their survival.

The Vuksans were unusual in that their operation deviated from the traditional horizontal structures of the Serbian mafia. The Vuksan syndicate was controlled from the top down, which meant Radovan and Spiridon gave the orders, and they were followed without question. The Vuksans were allied by blood to Nikola Musulin, and fed money back to him, but their reputation also endowed his rule with a certain force and legitimacy. An attack on Musulin, therefore, was also an assault on the Vuksans.

Radovan had already been in contact with some of his old colleagues from the Ministry of Defence, who had made it plain to him that Serbia was now hostile territory. In all likelihood, any attempt to return to their homeland would lead to a move against them on the grounds that Spiridon might be in the mood to seek revenge for Musulin’s death.

But there was also talk that the Vuksans themselves might have been responsible for what had occurred, since few had believed Spiridon’s claims of retirement to begin with. Perhaps the Vuksans had detected signs of weakness in Musulin, or a wavering in his support for his uncles’ homecoming, and decided to act conclusively as a prelude to assuming complete control.

Radovan didn’t bother to contradict any of the rumors. He understood what was happening. The soil was being sown with salt to prevent them from putting down roots, and the hearsay would multiply their enemies. But they could not stay in the Netherlands because it was only a matter of time before someone connected them to the killings at De Jaager’s safe house. Neither could he and Spiridon remain long elsewhere in Western Europe, not given the ease with which international arrest warrants could be served and extraditions arranged. They had to move.

No, they had to flee.