The Field of Blackbirds (A Jeff Bradley Thriller) by Ryan Thomas

Author:Ryan, Thomas [Ryan, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2015-05-18T16:00:00+00:00

Dragadon Hill was only a short walk from Morgan’s apartment. But the road was steep and neither Jeff nor Barry were in the mood for mountain climbing. Forced to go down a series of one-way streets, Barry ended up looping the block before driving his UN vehicle across a disused railway line and beginning the ascent.

‘Dragadon Hill. Prishtina’s exclusive housing area,’ Barry intoned like a tour operator.

Jeff took in the identical two- and three-storey brick homes. Whatever was supposed to have made this particular group of houses exclusive escaped him.

‘Not many of the NGOs and consulates have signs outside. And worse, there are no street signs. Makes it bloody impossible to find anyone. But don’t worry, mate,’ Barry patted Jeff on the knee. ‘We’ll get there. Dinkum.’

He pulled over to ask a pedestrian for directions. The stocky middle-aged fellow looked thoughtful for a second, then brightened. ‘Go to the German office, sir. The British office is one hundred metres past.’

‘And the German office is where?’

‘Oh. That I do not know. What I hear is the German office is one hundred metres this way of the British office. Good?’

‘Fucking wonderful, you useless drongo.’ Barry swung back onto the road.

‘I thought you knew where we were going?’

Barry grinned. ‘Sort of. It’s up the hill.’

‘So’s space, Barry. You’ve never been there, have you?’

‘No, mate. But don’t worry, I’ll find it.’

Some miracle or other led them to a brick wall that surrounded the three-storey consulate building. A one-man security box sat out the front. The guard, a Kosovon Albanian, glanced up from his newspaper as Jeff and Barry approached. After a cursory glance at their passports he pushed two plastic-covered Visitor ID cards through a gap in the security window. He pressed a button and the adjacent iron gate sprang into life and ground its way sideways.

Jeff and Barry crossed a small courtyard lined with pot plants and wooden benches and stopped in front of a double set of glass doors. The doors allowed passage to only one person at a time. As Jeff stepped through, he noted the thickness of the plate windows. Undoubtedly bulletproof, but they could probably also withstand a small blast. A hand grenade came to mind.

Jeff stood back to let Barry talk to the receptionist. The elderly woman scrutinised the two passports and jotted their names into a book.

‘Please take a seat, Mr Briggs, Mr Bradley. The consul, Mr Lyons, will be with you shortly.’

Barry sat. Jeff stood. He looked back through the glass doors into the courtyard. His hands ached from having been bunched into fists so much since the news of Benny’s death. He wanted to break somebody’s bones. A few minutes alone with the man who murdered Benny would do very well.

A young woman in a dark trouser suit appeared through a side door. ‘Mr Bradley, Mr Briggs?’

Barry jumped to his feet. ‘That’s us.’

‘Mr Lyons will see you now. Please follow me.’

Steel filing cabinets, shelves of books and piles of documents filled every square inch of Lyons’s office.

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