Trusted Mole by Milos Stankovic

Author:Milos Stankovic
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2014-01-22T16:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

Operation Grapple, Bosnia-Hercegovina

20 July 1994 – Sarajevo

It was a balmy Sarajevan evening – still air, soft light, warmth still radiating out of old brickwork, and high above a dark blue sky, which would soon give way to stars. I was about to dig into a pizza. Steve, the number two at the British Embassy, stared at his in wide-eyed fascination. Since the Blue Routes had been opened all this was possible and the small pizza restaurant on the corner of a steep, narrow street, which was within spitting distance of the Residency across the park-with-no-trees, had become a favourite haunt for the UNites.

I was about to pop the first piece into my mouth when the General’s Range Rover appeared and screeched to a halt. Out leapt Goose and Mac, Victor’s driver, looking flustered and concerned.

‘Mike! For Christ’s sake! ‘Where’s your radio? We’ve been driving all over the city looking for you. The Boss wants you to go over to Lukavica barracks and pick up an urgent message … now!’

With a slight pang of guilt I realised I’d left the Motorola, my ball and chain, on my desk. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that by nine in the evening there’d be no more work. Wrong assumption. I was fast learning what it was like to work for General Rose. The slice of pizza fell from my fingers. I mumbled an apology to Steve and jumped into the Range. At the Residency I cross-loaded into one of the JCO’s Land Rovers and shot straight off with a bloke called Jack.

The flog right down to the western end of the city, through the BiH checkpoint at Stup flyover, across no-man’s-land, haggling through S-4, which normally shut at seven, and then through two French checkpoints at the airport, through a final Serb one beyond that and into Lukavica took about twenty-five minutes. It was getting dark by the time we got there. There was a quicker way, which shortened the distance and time by two-thirds: half way down Sniper’s Alley was the Bridge of Brotherhood and Unity across the Miljacka linking Muslim Sarajevo with Serb-held Grbavica. It was guarded by the BiH on one side, Serb policemen on the other and the French in the middle. To use it required prior notice to Major Indjic of vehicle plates, ID card numbers and names. Generally speaking only the General and Victor were allowed to use it if they were going up to Pale. Minions like us had to take the long way round.

As soon as I stepped into Indjic’s grubby office Biljana Andjeljkovic started laying into me.

‘Look at you, Mike! You’re a disgrace! No uniform … General Rose wouldn’t be happy if he saw you now … you look like a tramp!’ The faded jeans, maroon T-shirt and grubby deck shoes I’d worn for my night out clearly weren’t her idea of LO’s attire.

‘Hello, Biljana. Where’s this message that’s so vital that I’ve missed my meal?’

Major Indjic handed me a small envelope, taped at the back, with General Rose’s appointment hand-written on the front.

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