The Nameless Ones by John Connolly
Chapter XXXV
Zorya sat in a deep armchair before Spiridon Vuksan, her feet not quite touching the floor. Behind her, Radovan leaned against the window frame and thought that, in her stillness and the oddness of her mien, Zorya resembled a malformed mannequin. She glanced at him, as though picking up on his thoughts, but he did not look away. Zorya didn’t need to be a mind reader to know how he felt about her. She held too many secrets for Radovan’s comfort.
‘You say you saw a girl?’ said Spiridon.
‘A dead girl,’ Zorya corrected him.
‘What is she to us?’
‘I don’t know, but she is connected somehow. She would not have sensed my presence otherwise.’
‘Connected?’
‘To the hunters.’
Spiridon switched his attention to his brother, who shrugged.
‘We’ve heard nothing from Belgrade,’ said Radovan.
An uneasy and temporary limboid state of being existed between the Vuksans and the new emerging criminal order in their home country. The delineations of that order remained unclear, but from his contacts in Serbia – or those still willing to accept his calls – Radovan had learned that the voice of Matija Kiš was currently speaking loudest and most persuasively. This did not entirely surprise Radovan: Kiš was a figure of respect in the nebulous structures of the Serbian mafia, not only because of his cleverness and careful use of violence but also thanks to his extensive political connections. These included senior members and associates of the ruling Serbian Progressive Party, among them a cadre involved in consolidating influence and investment in the country’s infrastructure in advance of Serbia’s anticipated entry into the European Union. They, in turn, were backed by Russian money, which meant Putin.
Meanwhile, on the more blatantly criminal side, Kiš had close ties to Simo Stajić, the dominant figure in the Kosovan underworld. Stajić had graduated from car theft to extortion, loan sharking, money laundering, and the smuggling of fuel, cigarettes, and drugs. He enjoyed free rein in Kosovo, untroubled by police interference, thanks to his reputation as a protector of minority Serbian rights in the disputed region. He was ruthless where Kiš was restrained, and crazy where Kiš was practical. Effectively, Stajić was a dog on a chain, which Kiš could unclip at any time. Now, it seemed, Kiš was seeking to expand and consolidate his influence, aided by Stajić. It was Radovan’s view that Stajić had in all likelihood designed and planted the bomb responsible for reducing Nikola Musulin to fragments of meat and bone, in collaboration with Matija Kiš and with the blessing, tacit or otherwise, of a cabal within the SPP.
Radovan had shared none of this with his brother. He did not want Spiridon to call in whatever favors he had left in an effort to punish Kiš or, God forbid, Stajić by targeting some of their people. Instead, overtures would have to be made to these two men, which was why Anton Frend would soon be traveling – albeit reluctantly – to Belgrade in order to find a solution satisfactory to all parties involved.
But Zorya’s talk of hunters was troubling. Perhaps Kiš and Stajić had decided that negotiations with the Vuksans were likely to be more trouble than they were worth, and it would be better to cut the head off the snake than allow it to slide into the dark, from where it might strike at some future date.
‘The hunters are not Serbian,’ said Zorya.
‘What, then?’ said Spiridon.
‘The dead girl had an American accent.’
Spiridon looked to his brother, who shrugged.
‘De Jaager dealt with the Americans,’ said Radovan, ‘but then he dealt with everyone. The Americans would have no more reason than others to take his death personally.’
‘One of the men I saw was black,’ said Zorya.
‘Ah,’ said Spiridon. ‘Could this be Louis, the one the legat identified as Andrej’s killer?’
He looked to his brother for confirmation.
‘Perhaps,’ said Radovan. He was reluctant to accept Zorya’s warning unconditionally, but he was not so foolish as to dismiss it entirely. After all, she had been correct in the past. Her instincts, supernaturally gifted or not, were good.
‘If he wants to make a personal matter of it, so be it,’ said Spiridon. ‘Let him come.’
‘It’s a further complication we could do without,’ said Radovan, ‘especially when we are vulnerable.’
‘Don’t use that word,’ said Spiridon. ‘To speak it is to make it so.’
‘To ignore reality is worse. Whatever action we choose to take, we first need to confirm this man’s identity. If we do not know who he is, how can we cope with the threat he poses?’
Radovan looked to Zorya, but it was clear from the blankness of her expression that they had reached the limits of her knowledge, or however much of it she wished to share with them for the present.
‘This girl in your visions,’ said Spiridon, ‘could you talk with her?’
‘No,’ said Zorya.
‘You’ve communed with the dead before.’
‘But I will not commune with her.’
Spiridon smiled. ‘Why? Are you frightened of her?’
‘Yes,’ said Zorya. ‘Very much so.’
And Spiridon’s smile faded.