“I’ll remember it all,” I said.
She nodded, looked at her grandfather once more, and said something to him in Serbo-Croatian.
“What did you say?” I asked her.
She smiled faintly. “I said, ‘Good-bye, Grandfather.’”
20
The plainclothesman who had looked at our passports wanted to talk. Arrie went first down the stairs followed by Gordana and Knight, moving slowly and carefully in his old man’s gait. Arrie chattered away in Serbo-Croatian and when the guard looked up at Knight, Gordana moved in close to the policeman, smiling and murmuring something that caused him to look at her carefully.
As Knight went past the talkative guard, Gordana put her hand on the man’s shoulder and he reached up and gave it a small squeeze. The other guard turned his attention toward his colleague’s flirtation.
Knight moved slowly to the entrance door. Gordana caught up with him and took his arm, as a dutiful granddaughter should. Arrie and I followed and we were almost at the door when the talkative guard called something. I couldn’t understand what he said, but I did catch the name Pernik.
“What’s he want?” I said to Arrie as Knight stopped and turned slowly. The guard approached him.
“He wants some papers that Bartak gave you for Pernik and Gordana,” Arrie said. I stepped into the guard’s path and made a show of taking the thick brown envelope from my pocket and handing it over. The man examined its contents and kept two forms. Arrie asked him what they were and he told her with a bored shrug. “They’re the forms necessary for Pernik to leave his house,” she said.
The plainclothesman handed me back the envelope, waved casually at Knight who gave him an old man’s wave in return, and we left the apartment. I hurried to catch up with Knight “Keep up your imitation,” I told him. “Somebody might be watching this place.” He nodded and shuffled on down the street until we were around the corner where the Mercedes was parked. I put Knight and Gordana in the backseat next to Tavro. Arrie sat between Wisdom and me in the front
“Where to?” Wisdom said, starting the engine.
“I’ll give you directions,” I said.
As we started, Tavro said, “I demand to be told who these people are and what it is that you’re planning, Mr. St. Ives.”
I kept looking at a map of Belgrade as I said to Wisdom, “I thought you were going to tell him a story.”
“I did,” he said, “but he wasn’t much interested. Which way?”
“The next left,” I said.
“I repeat my request Mr. St. Ives,” Tavro said in a cold tone.
I turned partially in the seat. “The gentleman at the wheel and the one next to you are colleagues of mine. The young lady in the rear is your new granddaughter, Gordana Panić. The papers that I have which may get you out of the country say that you’re Anton Pernik, a poet by trade.”
Tavro muttered something. “What’d he say?” I asked Arrie.
“That Pernik is a discredited poet.”
“He’s also a dead one,” I said.
“But his papers are still good?” Tavro asked, leaning forward.
“They’re official, if that’s what you mean.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No,” I said, “I didn’t kill him.”
“If you have his papers, it is a logical question,” Tavro said. “Who is the other woman?”
“This one?” I said, turning to look at Arrie.
“Yes.”
“She’s with the CIA.”
This time Tavro didn’t mutter his comment, and I didn’t ask for a translation. Profanity can be a universal language.
“You’re telling everybody, aren’t you?” Arrie said to me.
“I thought you could take the credit in case anything goes right.”
“There doesn’t seem to be much danger of that,” Wisdom said. “By the way, where are we headed?”
“Someplace safe, I hope,” I told him. “If I can find it again.”
There wasn’t much further conversation, especially after I got us lost twice. I kept checking the rear window for possible tails, but there seemed to be none. The night had grown much colder and it looked as if it might snow again. We spotted only an occasional pedestrian, bundled up against the cold and hurrying for home, as we threaded deeply into Belgrade’s working-class residential district. It was nearly midnight before I found the narrow street that I was looking for. It looked almost deserted except for a dim light that burned in one house.
“We should not come here,” Tavro said, looking around at the street.
“Stop at the corner,” I told Wisdom. I turned in the seat to face Tavro. “Why not?” I said.
“It is not safe.”
“It’s safer than anyplace else I can think of,” I said. “I don’t know of any hotel that would check us in without a lifted eyebrow and a quick call to the police.”
“I must protest it,” Tavro said in the stubborn tone of a man not much accustomed to opposition. “It is far too dangerous.”
“Whose house is it?” Knight asked.
“An American’s,” I said.
“Bill Jones?” Wisdom said.
“Yes.”
“What’s he got to do with us?”
“Nothing,” I said. “We have to stay out of sight from now until nine tomorrow night when we meet the kidnappers in Sarajevo. We haven’t got anyplace to go and the cops are probably looking for us. They’ll be looking for us in earnest when they discover that Pernik’s dead and if we’re unlucky, that won’t be too long from now.”
“What will you ask of Jones?” Tavro said.
“I’m not going to ask him to take us in,” I said. “I’m just going to ask him if he knows where we can hole up until there’s some traffic on the road to Sarajevo.”
“He will not like it,” Tavro said.
“You’d better come with me,” I said. “Maybe you can encourage him to like it.”
We got out of the car and approached Jones’s house. His was the only light on in the street which was utterly quiet except for the sound of the wind. I knocked at the door. Jones opened it a scant four inches and peered out at me. He continued to look at me for several moments before he said, “What do you want, St. Ives?”
“Tavro’s with me,” I said. “We need to talk to you.”
“It’s late,” he said.
“It won’t take long.”
He opened the door wide enough for us to enter and we followed him into the sitting room. He turned on a light. He wore pajamas and a dark gray dressing gown. On his feet were a pair of old slippers. “This isn’t smart,” he said.
“That is what I told him,” Tavro said.
“We need a place to stay until early morning,” I said.
Jones shook his head. “Not here.”
“I don’t mean here,” I said. “There’s six of us. We have to hole up.”
“Six of you?” he said. “What the hell is it, a convention?”
“It is lack of planning,” Tavro said and started to say something else until he caught my look.
Jones sank into the plum-colored chair and looked at the head of the wolf on the wall. “Remember when we got that wolf?” he said to Tavro.
“I remember.”
“Nine years ago, wasn’t it?”
“Nine or ten.”
“I happened to be looking at it today.”
“Why?” Tavro said.
“My wife wants me to move it out of the sitting room. So I was looking at it. Close. Guess what I found.”
“I don’t know.”
“A bug.” Jones reached into the pocket of his dressing gown and tossed something to Tavro who caught it and then dropped it. He picked it up and looked at it curiously.
“You removed it?” he asked.
“Sure I removed it. I was going to ask you about it when I saw you.”