The Nameless Ones by John Connolly

Chapter XXIX

Radovan and Spiridon Vuksan had rarely been apart during the past twenty years. They were, in their way, symbiotic beings, or two aspects of the same brain. Radovan was the cerebrum – thinking, learning, planning – while Spiridon was the cerebellum, governing the movement of the muscles. Radovan adjudged, and Spiridon acted accordingly. Separate, they were individually weaker. Together, they were greater than the sum of their parts.

On the other hand, for such a relationship to work, these two aspects of the brain had to be in perfect accord, and in recent years Radovan’s caution had increased in seemingly direct proportion to Spiridon’s recklessness. Spiridon no longer considered his brother’s counsel, and even when he did, it was dismissed as often as it was accepted. Had he not known better, Radovan might have said that Spiridon was intent upon their ruination.

For the first time, Radovan Vuksan was contemplating the excision of his brother from his life.

But for now they remained united, because Spiridon was giving the impression, if not of heeding his brother’s advice, then at least of weighing it. Initially, after the death of Nikola Musulin, Spiridon had spoken only of revenge: of returning to Serbia, gathering their forces, and punishing those responsible. But a night’s sleep at the farmhouse of Gavrilo Dražeta appeared to have mellowed him somewhat, if only temporarily, and on the long drive southeast, Spiridon had listened more than he had spoken.

If they went back to Serbia, Radovan explained, they’d be killed. No one in Belgrade – not in government, not in the police, not even among the gangs and syndicates – wished to see a descent into open criminal warfare. It would be bad for the country’s image, especially as it attempted to present its best face to the European Union. Shortly after their return, the Vuksans and anyone who stood alongside them would be quietly vanished, and nothing would ever be heard of them again.

There were also established cultural reasons for maintaining the status quo. Back in the good old days of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, under the firm hand of Marshal Josip Broz Tito, criminals were generally allowed to go about their business as long as they conducted it beyond the country’s borders and repatriated some of their profits to benefit Yugoslav society. Following Tito’s death in 1980, the country had become economically and politically unstable, leading to fractures along ethnic and nationalist lines, and, ultimately, war.

Now, more than two decades after the first eruption of the conflict, something resembling stability reigned, admittedly with certain qualifications. The Chinese were investing heavily in Serbia in preparation for the country’s eventual integration into the EU, and the Russians, as usual, were doing their best to sow discontent in the region, including working to prevent the former Yugoslav federal state of Macedonia – or North Macedonia as it was now known – from joining NATO. Meanwhile, a version of Tito’s law once again applied to the more ambitious forms of Serb criminality: it was strictly export-only. In Serbia, as in Russia, the real criminals now wore suits and roamed unchallenged through the National Assembly.

All of which meant that Nikola Musulin’s death must have been sanctioned at a high level – in theory, if not in actual practice, since even the most pragmatic of Serbian politicians would have balked at a bomb attack at the heart of one of the country’s tourist hot spots. It was Radovan’s opinion that the main reason for Musulin’s assassination had been to prevent Spiridon’s return to Serbia because he represented a potentially destabilizing influence – although, as with all such maneuverings, there were undoubtedly other forces at work, since Musulin’s death opened the way for a redistribution of wealth and influence. If their foes were prepared to sanction Musulin’s public immolation, they would not hesitate to do the same for the Vuksans.

But the brothers were also vulnerable if they remained in Europe, because the Serbian gangs had insinuated themselves throughout the continent. It was, therefore, unwise for the Vuksans to linger where they might be spotted by unfriendly faces. Unfortunately, Spiridon had so far proved resistant to the idea of relocation to another continent. Spiridon wanted to be acknowledged as a threat, and the closer his proximity to Belgrade, the more his enemies had reason to fear him and thus – according to his rationale – the more cause they would have to seek an accommodation with him.

Nikola Musulin’s death had not affected Spiridon on any personal level, beyond the inconvenience it was causing him. Blood ties aside, the two men had never been close, and if the bomb had not blown Musulin to pieces, someone else would have usurped him down the line because, as Gavrilo Dražeta had noted, he lacked foresight and ambition. When, or if, Serbia was finally accepted into the European Union, it would be open season for the criminal syndicates and their political allies, and a lot of people stood to become very wealthy. This was why the government was making superficial efforts to appear to be tackling corruption and economic crime, even if it stopped short of large-scale arrests and prosecutions, or the seizure of notable criminal assets.

Serbia was what is known as a captured political system: It was corrupt from the top down, and picking off the bottom-feeders did little to affect the big fish. Those big fish had decided that Musulin was surplus to requirements. It would be interesting, thought Radovan, to see who would take his place. It would not be Spiridon, though, whatever unspoken hopes he might entertain; his time had passed. The question of succession mattered only in terms of the ease or difficulty of brokering a deal with the new occupant of Musulin’s throne, and the extent to which the political forces that had facilitated Musulin’s murder were prepared to bend on the issue and form of the Vuksans’ survival.

It was dark as the Vuksans drove into Vienna, a city Radovan had always loved. Here, he believed, they would be safe for a while. He trusted Anton Frend, even if the two men would be unable to meet while the Vuksans bided their time. Too many individuals were aware of Radovan’s professional relationship with Frend, even if they did not – or so Radovan hoped – realize the depth of the personal connection. It was too risky for Radovan and Frend to be seen together in public, so most of their communication would have to be conducted via dropboxes, temporary email addresses, and burner phones. If necessary, Zivco Ilić would act as a personal intermediary, because he was very good at seeing without being seen. Ilić would have some help in this, as he and the Other were close.

And the Other had gifts beyond all understanding.