Marko gauged the moment and decided to let one more person die before making his play. He figured that the chance of Radovan shooting someone consecutively in line was unlikely. The mind worked in strange ways, and he just knew the next bullet wouldn't be his. He figured the next one to be killed would be the first person to open their mouth with nothing to say. He was right.
"Mr. Grahovac, I wasn't even in Belgrade when this…"
A sudden gunshot completed the kid's sentence, and another body tumbled into the pit, momentarily disturbing the flies.
"I'll kill every one of you until I figure out who did this," he snarled and started to walk back toward Marko.
At this point, Marko knew that Radovan had no intention of sparing any of them. He apparently had no idea who stole the money, and based on the fact that he had potentially killed three people who might have admitted the crime, it was clear that he didn't care. Radovan was deviously intelligent, and Marko figured this public stunt was designed to seal his legend as the most ruthless, unforgiving crime boss in Serbia. If he couldn't punish the actual thief, he could send a clear message that stealing would result in random, murderous consequences. Sensing his time near, Marko made a comment that he purposely intended to be undecipherable by Radovan. He made it quick, and there was an air of confidence to the statement that might have prevent his immediate execution.
"You have a traitor on your security detail. Someone with very expensive taste."
Radovan rushed up behind him and growled into his ear. "What did you say, thief?"
"One of your guard's is wearing a really expensive watch. I've seen similar watches, I think, in Berlin…while fucking around at a very expensive mall. I noticed it on him when you came by the assembly area two days ago. He was inspecting some of our weapons, and I got a close-up look," he whispered, and Radovan remained silent for several of the longest seconds in Marko's life.
"Which guard?" he demanded.
"Can I point to him?" Marko said.
"Yes, but if you fuck with me, I'll spill your guts all over the ground. Do it. I don't have all day," he said, and Marko sensed that he had taken a few steps back.
Marko turned purposefully, and quickly located Andrija Brujic, who looked amused by what appeared to be a new act in Radovan's travelling psycho performance. A few members of the platoon exchanged glances, and he could tell they were awaiting something horrific, yet enticingly different. Brujic adjusted the brim of his camouflage cap and touched his flattened nose. The man wore the mask of an unintelligent brute, but his light brown eyes betrayed a hint of intelligence not typically seen on Radovan's security team. When Marko raised his hand and pointed at Brujic, the cocky smile vanished, and Marko detected a confused panic settle over the man.
"Andrija, roll up your sleeves," Radovan said, and the man hesitated. "Roll up your sleeves," he said one more time, and when Brujic didn't respond immediately, he lost all composure.
"Wrestle that fuck to the ground!" he screamed, spurring several members of the platoon to grab Brujic's arms and pin him to the ground.
"Roll up his fucking sleeves," Radovan spat.
Without ripping the buttons, the camouflage sleeves only came up midway between the wrist and elbow, but it was enough to expose a thick, shiny watch. Very expensive looking from this distance.
"I want to see that watch," Radovan said and took a few steps away from Marko toward the messy tangle of men sprawled out on the muddy ground.
One of the men stripped the watch from Brujic's wrist and tossed it to Radovan, who took a several seconds to inspect it. Brujic broke the silence, which may or may not have made a difference in the outcome of his fate that day.
"He's the one that gave it to me! He said it was a fake that he stole from some shithead in the Zemun market. This is a fucking setup! Can't you see that?" he said, and although he never actually said it, the tone suggested he meant to add "you stupid fuck" to the end of the sentence.
When several members of the platoon and Radovan's security detail muttered and chuckled at his comment, Marko knew the man was as good as dead. He still had no idea if he'd survive the next few minutes, but he now had a much better chance than standing in line waiting to be shot.
"Mr…?" he paused and looked to Marko to finish his sentence.
"Resja. Marko Resja, sir," he replied.
"Mr. Resja gave you this watch, in attempt to frame you?" he said, turning back to Brujic, who strained against the thick hands pressing him to the ground.
Now the laughter grew, as Radovan's tone implied that Brujic's story was nonsense.
"Yes! He gave it to me a few days ago. Out of the blue. He's trying to pull some shit on us. The watch is a fake. I don't have money to buy expensive watches," he said.
"But you have money to eat in expensive restaurants?"
"That's different. I wasn't paying. It was that whore from the—"
His comment was interrupted by a solid kick to the face by Radovan's black, spit-polished combat boot, which silenced his desperate plea momentarily.
"Haul him up and shut him up," he said and turned around to Marko.
While the men struggled to get Brujic to his feet, Radovan tossed the watch to Resja.
"That's a twenty-eight thousand dollar Rolex Cosmograph. I own two just like it. I could use a keen eye like yours on my security detail," he said, in a more controlled tone.
Marko offered the watch back to Radovan. Twenty-six thousand, eight hundred and ninety-five dollars to be precise. Arranged through an exclusive jeweler at the Potsdamer Platz Arkaden in Berlin. Paid for, in advance of pickup, by General Sanderson.
"What happens to him?" Marko asked, against Brujic's duct tape muffled screams.
"He goes into the pit with the rest of them, after Nenad's crew works him over," he replied and turned to the platoon leader.
"Give him the special treatment, reserved exclusively for the Kosovar whore queens…and get rid of that shit over there. What the fuck are you keeping them around for?" he demanded, pointing at the huddled women and children sitting off to the side, under armed guard.
"We wanted to save a few of them for you and your men," Nenad replied.
"Get rid of them, and get out of here. I want this wrapped up in thirty minutes."
"Grab your rifle, and hop in the rear vehicle. You smell like donkey shit," Radovan uttered, still glaring at Brujic's battered, duct-taped face.
Marko ran off to grab his gear. When he returned, Radovan and his entourage were already on their way to the Range Rovers, forcing him to sprint to catch up with them. Radovan glanced at him.
"Sniper, eh? Any good?" he said.
Nenad stood a few feet away and answered the question for Marko.
"One of the best I've seen in a while. Don't embarrass us, Resja," he said and slapped Marko on the back.
They exchanged momentary glances, and Marko nodded before climbing into the back seat of the rear SUV. The rich smell of leather penetrated the stench he had choked on for the entire three-day field operation, easing him into the vehicles luxurious interior.
"Fuck, man. You do smell like shit. Crack the windows," the man directly in front of Marko in the passenger seat said.
"Bojan," the burly guard next to Marko said, extending his hand.
"Thanks. Marko. What’s going to happen to them?" he said.