I don't get it, how other people, all around me
can be having fun.
Laughing.
Joking.
Full of life
when I am so empty, devoid of the same
laughter,
jokes,
life.
This has always been
and I suppose it always will.
Perhaps, like a wintery night or
a wet, dank, dreary day
this is how I am supposed to be.
Maybe, as there are bright days and dark days,
dark people are meant to be.
If that is so,
then this is me.
(C) Copyright Marcel Trepanier 2013
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
From the Shadows I watch
From the shadows I watch.
In the shadows I live.
I see people moving, loving.
I see their intentions of greed, self serving need.
From the shadows I watch.
In the shadows I live.
I see the lies spoken.
The promises broken.
From the shadows I watch.
In the shadows I live.
Some have entreated me to some into the light.
To share some warmth, joy, and delight.
From the shadows I watch.
In the shadows I live.
I point out the hypocrisy, the lies, and greed.
In feigned shock to me they say that is not at all the way.
From the shadows I watch.
In the shadows I live.
The shadows have never lied to me.
The shadows share all that there is to see.
(C) Copyright Marcel Trepanier 2013
In the shadows I live.
I see people moving, loving.
I see their intentions of greed, self serving need.
From the shadows I watch.
In the shadows I live.
I see the lies spoken.
The promises broken.
From the shadows I watch.
In the shadows I live.
Some have entreated me to some into the light.
To share some warmth, joy, and delight.
From the shadows I watch.
In the shadows I live.
I point out the hypocrisy, the lies, and greed.
In feigned shock to me they say that is not at all the way.
From the shadows I watch.
In the shadows I live.
The shadows have never lied to me.
The shadows share all that there is to see.
(C) Copyright Marcel Trepanier 2013
Sunday, September 22, 2013
The Shadows Come
The Shadows Fall
Sometimes you are walking along the pathIt's the right path by all accounts
Full of life and vibrant
Then, without warning, the darkness comes
The light falls back in fear
Jumping away like a startled deer
It comes on wings so swift and silent
Like a giant owl dropping silently on its prey
On a cold, moonless night
It settles in with a stale air
A firm presence
A cold, empty stare
The presence of it permeates your very being
Encrusting every thought
Making every beat of the heart a painfully exhausting strain
Although the light is shining all around
From me comes a hollow sound
As the darkness comes again
(C) Copyright Marcel Trepanier 2013
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Sarajevo to Banja Luka (Part 1)
Livno
Dudakovic smiled at the sincerity and earnestness Jason showed. This was very easy, perhaps too easy.
No, thought Dudakovic, this fellow is sincere and too open for the job he is doing. He wanted to believe that every person he met was inherently good and that they wanted only to affect good. Jason never liked the idea of using a cover name or manipulating the conversation is any way. He felt that those actions were dishonest and deceitful so he did his job with no pretenses.
Milan continued talking and Emira translated, "I was commander of the Livno Defense Brigade here, in this valley, during the war. With only ground troops and riflemen, mostly, I stopped an armored column here. These were tanks of Serbs and they were stopped here by my men. We fought them only a little, once the tanks were stopped and trapped we only had to wait them out." Jason listened to Milan intently, he was picturing in his mind what this terror might look like.
Dudakovic continued talking and Emira translated, “If a terrorist got hold of the item then he could make more than just a dirty bomb. It would not go off in Livno, nobody knows of us here. But, it could go off in ...” Dudakovic's phone rang. “Da?”
His conversation was going to be translated and noted by Emira and Milan knew this. This call was important enough to excuse himself to the empty bar area. “Gospodine,” the voice on the phone spoke.
“We have confirmed that Lonon is the man's name. His wife is named Sandra. They have two daughters, Sherry and Emily. We have found their house at 127 Heavens Way in Los Angeles.”
Milan scowled. Looking up at Lonon Dudakovic spoke, "Izvinite, ovo je hitno." After that he got up from the table and walked briskly into the bar area. Emira spoke up, "You must excuse him, Jason.
This appears to be a very important phone call." She shrugged and added, "I have never seen a contact get up and walk away, but Milan, well, he has a habit of not showing up for meetings. I cannot explain this."
When Dudakovic was in the bar area with this phone call Lieutenant Rendor spoke sharply to Lonon, “Why do you continue to let this guy run you?! Dudakovic is handling you, not the other way around, Jason.” He was very angry as he addressed Jason. Rendor was more than irate, this was a tired and old conversation, but still necessary. Rendor knew about Lonon's propensity to reveal everything and conceal nothing prior to their being teamed up. He didn't like the behavior in rumor and he loathed it in person as he felt that he was being put at unnecessary risk. "I have no idea why the Commander keeps you out here working. You know you are going to get someone hurt or killed like this!" He glared at Lonon.
Jason smiled his almost naive smile, the one he used whenever he was blatantly discounting what other people were telling him. “It's fine, Nemes,” Maybe Jason was being naive, but he hated to lie under any circumstance. He refused to use a cover name or story of any sort. “We need to be honest with ... “
Rendor cut Lonon off sharply, “If you use my real name, so help me, I will more than hurt you, I will kill you.” Jason hated it when Rendor talked of or threatened violence. “Rendor, what is this guy going to do? He ...”
Angrily, Rendor again cut Jason off, “You do not know what he could or even would do! You use no cover name, you do not do anything to protect yourself, us, or even your family from what these people can do.” Rendor, although Bulgarian, had seen what criminals of this sort were capable of. He grew up watching the Communist thugs pushing people around, robbing them, raping them, stealing anything that they wanted from the people. They operated outside of and beyond the law in his home town and across the country. "Need I remind you that my country is very near to this place? I know what the people in this war did and continue to do. I understand that they will kill us without thought and loose not a single moments rest over it!"
Jason had heard the stories Rendor told him, he felt too often, “My family is in LA and we're here in Bosnia. Seriously, what is this paranoid guy going to do?” Erdy was ready to reach over the table and throttle Lonon.
Dudakovic was walking back towards the table now, smiling. He nodded to the waiter who quickly brought the bill for the dinner. He spoke, Emira translated, “He calls you his good friends,and that he must take his leave. There is a situation which he must attend to.”
Milan Dudakovic watched as Lonon and Rendor listened and feigned disappointment. “Mr. Dudakovic, thank you for your time this evening,” Lonon said. “I hope that this urgent matter is handled easily.”
As Emira translated Lonon's statement Dudakovic smiled broadly, but with no warmth in his eyes. Dudakovic spoke in English with a heavy accent, “Oh, it vill be handled tonight.”
Milan left the restaurant with quick steps. Moments after the front door shut his car left. Nobody noted that the car went north.
“Jason,” Emira began, “I know that it is none of my business and I am happy that you trust me with your name and talk about your family, but”
Cutting Emira off Jason said, “I am not going to come in here and tell these people that I am going to help them AND lie to them. There is nothing good that will come of lies.”
Erdy cut in sharply, “Listen to me, then, Jason! I am the officer and you are the enlisted! I am ordering you to be more cautious with this. You are also putting Emira and me at risk by exposing yourself. You should be more careful!” He jabbed his finger into Jason's chest to emphasize both his point and his anger.
Jason just looked at the two with confusion. Emira and Erdy knew that they had not impressed upon Jason with the risks he was taking. Without saying another word they all climbed into their SUV to head back to their field office. Nobody spoke as Jason made a right turn out of the parking lot and headed north.
The drive back to their office at the Canadian camp in Drvar would take about two hours. In the darkness along the main road, just outside of Halapic two cars were parked along the side of the road. The seven occupants of those two cars waited silently.
A phone rings in the darkness inside Milan's car. Milan picked up the phone, “Yes?”
“Milan, it's Rade. They have just left.”
Milan smiled a very cold smile, “Thank you, Rade.”
“Nema problema, Gospodine.”
Jason Lonon had always prided himself on honesty. No one had ever said that he had lied nor that he had ever misled anyone. He was determined to not change that. Lonon was tired of hearing his coworkers on this set of orders continually harping on him to use a cover story. The cover story was not so much to protect ourselves, his commanding officer would say, it is to protect our families and our jobs. Captain Douglas Dunn, USMC, was currently Lonon's commanding officer. Captain Dunn had all but given up on trying to impress Jason with the reality that, at least some of the people they would work around, had the reach and capacity to get to the families of some of the field operators. Jason listened to all the urging, but chose to ignore the advice.. As he drove along the road heading straight north out of Livno, Erdy Rendor and Emira Abdic had given up trying to convince Jason that he may be putting himself at undo risk.
Jason had driven about 45 minutes and was heading up into the mountains. There were no other cars on the road. Just one or two other cars an hour seemed to be coming south. He did not anticipate the dark car that suddenly appeared on the road ahead of him. It was in his lane. The headlights blinded and disoriented both Jason and Erdy. Emira, who had been resting in the back seat, screamed in terror as Jason slammed on his breaks and turned the steering wheel hard to the right. The Land Rover hit the sharp inclining embankment and came to a stop. Before Jason or Erdy could react and draw their weapons the driver's side windows were being smashed. Jason felt the deep, severe pain of fingers being pressed deeply into the small space at the back of the jaw and just under the ear while another hand clamped hard over the right side of his head. Jason was painfully ripped through the open space that was his window.
Emira screamed as she was wrenched from the vehicle. She was feisty, that was for certain as her scuffling was clearly audible. Erdy was also being dragged from the Land Rover and was being beaten. This initial attack lasted only seconds, although the pain and sudden nature made Jason feel as though it had been a much long er time. He found himself forced into a kneeling position. By the feel of the ground Jason was knew that he was in the road.
“What the hell is going on?” Jason managed to spit out the question. The response came in the form of a foot in the middle of his back. He was stomped down against the road surface. One of his arms was cranked around. The pain and pressure from this new position kept Jason still.
“Just one moment, if you please, I am making a phone call.” Dudakovic! It was Dudakovic talking from the darkness. Jason realized, far too late, that he had been too trusting and was now about to pay the price for it, as were Erdy and Emira.
In Los Angeles the doorbell at the Lonon house rang. “Just a moment, please!” Sandra was in the kitchen going over papers while pulling together lunch Sandra hurried to the front door to find no one there. There was, however, a long box from a local florist on the door step.
“What? I wonder who these could be from,” Sandra said to nobody, as her two children were at school. Smiling and thinking of Jason she opened the box, expecting to see a dozen long stem red roses, she gasp a little in surprise. Black roses? Who, in their right mind would send me black roses, she asked herself. Sandra was interrupted by the phone in the kitchen ringing.
Flowers in hand she answered the phone, “Hello?”
“Good day, gospodice,” Dudakovic spoke into the phone with a sick smile, “Is this the Lonon residence at 127 Heavens Way in Los Angeles?"
There was a moment of silence as Dudakovic turned the phone speaker on.
“Yes,” Jason heard Sandra's voice clearly.
“It is? Good.” Dudakovic was smiling that sick and twisted smile of his, the one that Erdy had mentioned after their last meeting with this guy.
Sandra Lonon's voice wavered noticeably as she responded, “Who is this?”
“Mrs. Lonon, you do not know where your husband is, do you?” Dudakovic said.
“Sandra!” Jason yelled.
“Who the hell is this and what is going on?” Sandra's voice was shrill and fearful.
Dudakovic spoke calmly, “We know precisely where he is.” Dudakovic nodded at the man holding Jason down by his right arm.
The man holding Jason down started to twist his arm stressing the shoulder joint and twisting the bones painfully. He tried not to make any noise. The man twisting Jason's arm suddenly jerked hard, breaking it. Jason yelled in pain.
Panic shot through Sandra at the sound of her husband's pain filled yell. Reflexively, she call out to Jason.
From the darkness someone laughed. “I'm still alright, Sandra,” Jason spoke through the pain. “They're just trying to scare us, honey.”
One of the people behind Jason cocked a gun. The clanking of the slide slamming back into place nearly echoed in the night. Sandra heard that sound clearly over the phone. There heard a gun shot and the phone went dead.
"JASON!" she screamed into the phone. The line was dead
I liked the M249 I had, but what I really wanted right then was an M60. The other gunner went down in a hail of lead. With the morning light pouring through the open door on the other end of the hallway the spraying blood was highlighted and bright.
Someone upstairs reached around the top of the stairs and threw a grenade towards me. It bounced in my direction and I jumped to the left for my life. All I knew then was to get some cover between me and that grenade. The concussion from the grenade exploding hit me.My head was pounding and ears ringing were ringing. There was no other sound.
(C) Copyright Marcel Trepanier 2013
Livno is actually a beautiful place. The long winding valley runs
north to south. As you drive in from the north you come off of a
switchback mountain road and onto a straight stretch of road. The
stretch was originally designed by Tito to double as an air strip in
times of national threat or need. Driving fast along it was too much
to be resisted. The fields on wither side were filled with flowers of
the most brilliant and vivid colors. The flower fields, as most who
worked in this area called them, were about a quarter mile wide and
went back across the fields. They seemed to carry on to the base of
the mountains that lined the valley. One stretch of flowers was a
deep purple, the next red, then orange. The colors went on and were
the most vivid colors that could be imagined against the green of
grasslands. It was hard to believe that, at one time, the Livno
Defense Brigade was using its light infantry to defend this valley
against a tank company.
Mixed in with the beauty there were ghostly reminders of that and other similar events scattered sparsely throughout the fields. There were occasional burnt out and rusted T-55 Soviet era tanks to catch the eye and rudely bring you out of the almost fairy tale fields. There was also a good number of bright red signs along the roads near unplanted swaths of of farm land clearly warning of mine fields. The signs were in the Latin alphabet that the Croatians used as well as in Cyrillic, such as the Serbians used. It was another stark reminder of the training that I received in Sarajevo, only walk on the pavement.
Mixed in with the beauty there were ghostly reminders of that and other similar events scattered sparsely throughout the fields. There were occasional burnt out and rusted T-55 Soviet era tanks to catch the eye and rudely bring you out of the almost fairy tale fields. There was also a good number of bright red signs along the roads near unplanted swaths of of farm land clearly warning of mine fields. The signs were in the Latin alphabet that the Croatians used as well as in Cyrillic, such as the Serbians used. It was another stark reminder of the training that I received in Sarajevo, only walk on the pavement.
Coming into Livno
from Drvar there was a tiny restaurant to the left on the outskirts
of town. It was dark, but open and almost always quiet. None of the intelligence
operators who worked this area believed that the place had any
business but theirs.
Inside
and to the back in a corner sat four people. Sergeant Jason
Lonon, Lieutenant Erdy Rendor of the Hungarian Army, their
interpreter Emira Abdic, and Milan Dudakovic. Emira was more a petite
woman with dark hair, dark eyes, and a fit body. Jason Lonon did not
look like the typical military professional. He was lean, but not ripped
as would a hard trained professional soldier would be. Something about
his eyes were trusting and honest. Erdy Rendor, his real name Nemes, was
larger than life. He stood nearly seven feet tall and was
proportionally built. Erdy was a career solider and he looked it. Not
just his large build, but there was something about him, something that
clearly stated that he was not to be messed with. Milan Dudakovic was a
local politician who bragged about having been the Commander of the
Livno Defense Brigade. He was older than the three others, his hair was
grey around the edges.
Milan's eyes were steely and just as cold. He seemed to long for those days when you listened to him talk about them. He missed his glory days. When you think about it, who doesn't miss the old days? Those days when strength, stamina, and quick wits got you through the dark and dangerous times or simply made the mundane exciting. Milan Dudakovic also had a string history of constantly trying to distract SFOR personnel from their jobs. He did this in a multitude of ways.
The most effective was with stories of red phosphorus or promising to deliver ubiquitous lists of names with the alleged war crimes those persons were to have committed. Red phosphorous was a mythical substance that the Russian KGB made up as a means of making money from the uninformed. This magical substance was pushed as the vital component in making nuclear devices. That proved to be an easy sell and a quick source of income for the cash strapped organization. To those field operators and intelligence personnel who had been around a while this distraction did not work. The newbies and uninformed, well, they were easily hooked. Those previously promised lists never materialized for any SFOR team. Sergeant Lonon never seemed to mind the delays. Dudakovic was also prone to listen to a questions carefully and then not answer it. He was easily collecting against SFOR. Several operators missed this and were quickly distracted.
The other way in which Milan worked against SFOR was to set up meetings and not show up. This would keep SFOR personnel from finding anyone or anything that may be useful to their ends. Over the last three months that Jason had been trying to get meetings with Milan he had been blown off at least four times.
This was only the second meeting the Milan had showed up to with Jason.
Perhaps, as Jason was told, Dudakovic blew off those meetings to waste time, but Jason thought better of his contact.
Milan looked at the two SFOR troops at the table, now talking tersely with each other, and smiled. This man, he thought to himself, was not cut out to gather information about anyone. This evening would be a good way to provide his people with some breathing room for a few weeks. The Commander of SFOR was going to have to reevaluate things soon. “You see, Jason, the Red Mercury is part of the nuclear device's triggering system,” Emira was translating. “It is extremely important to get this product, he dares not say the name of it again, out of the area. He is afraid that someone else will buy it and use it against the US or her allies.” Jason was considering this, he saw it as vitally important. He could not understand why Dudakovic was being considered for removal from the company's database. Jason was thinking about the impact that a nuclear device would do to the people in the impact area. He was also picturing his own family as part of the impacted people.
“I could not agree with you more,” Jason answered.
Emira continued, ”The General is very eager to remove threats of any and all sorts from the area. As a political leader in Livno and in the canton Mr. Dudakovic is very concerned about the people here. He is deeply interested in seeing that the people of Bosnia are able to return to their homes and live in safety.” It did not appear that Emira had ever heard of this threat before.
Milan's eyes were steely and just as cold. He seemed to long for those days when you listened to him talk about them. He missed his glory days. When you think about it, who doesn't miss the old days? Those days when strength, stamina, and quick wits got you through the dark and dangerous times or simply made the mundane exciting. Milan Dudakovic also had a string history of constantly trying to distract SFOR personnel from their jobs. He did this in a multitude of ways.
The most effective was with stories of red phosphorus or promising to deliver ubiquitous lists of names with the alleged war crimes those persons were to have committed. Red phosphorous was a mythical substance that the Russian KGB made up as a means of making money from the uninformed. This magical substance was pushed as the vital component in making nuclear devices. That proved to be an easy sell and a quick source of income for the cash strapped organization. To those field operators and intelligence personnel who had been around a while this distraction did not work. The newbies and uninformed, well, they were easily hooked. Those previously promised lists never materialized for any SFOR team. Sergeant Lonon never seemed to mind the delays. Dudakovic was also prone to listen to a questions carefully and then not answer it. He was easily collecting against SFOR. Several operators missed this and were quickly distracted.
The other way in which Milan worked against SFOR was to set up meetings and not show up. This would keep SFOR personnel from finding anyone or anything that may be useful to their ends. Over the last three months that Jason had been trying to get meetings with Milan he had been blown off at least four times.
This was only the second meeting the Milan had showed up to with Jason.
Perhaps, as Jason was told, Dudakovic blew off those meetings to waste time, but Jason thought better of his contact.
Milan looked at the two SFOR troops at the table, now talking tersely with each other, and smiled. This man, he thought to himself, was not cut out to gather information about anyone. This evening would be a good way to provide his people with some breathing room for a few weeks. The Commander of SFOR was going to have to reevaluate things soon. “You see, Jason, the Red Mercury is part of the nuclear device's triggering system,” Emira was translating. “It is extremely important to get this product, he dares not say the name of it again, out of the area. He is afraid that someone else will buy it and use it against the US or her allies.” Jason was considering this, he saw it as vitally important. He could not understand why Dudakovic was being considered for removal from the company's database. Jason was thinking about the impact that a nuclear device would do to the people in the impact area. He was also picturing his own family as part of the impacted people.
“I could not agree with you more,” Jason answered.
Emira continued, ”The General is very eager to remove threats of any and all sorts from the area. As a political leader in Livno and in the canton Mr. Dudakovic is very concerned about the people here. He is deeply interested in seeing that the people of Bosnia are able to return to their homes and live in safety.” It did not appear that Emira had ever heard of this threat before.
Dudakovic smiled at the sincerity and earnestness Jason showed. This was very easy, perhaps too easy.
No, thought Dudakovic, this fellow is sincere and too open for the job he is doing. He wanted to believe that every person he met was inherently good and that they wanted only to affect good. Jason never liked the idea of using a cover name or manipulating the conversation is any way. He felt that those actions were dishonest and deceitful so he did his job with no pretenses.
Milan continued talking and Emira translated, "I was commander of the Livno Defense Brigade here, in this valley, during the war. With only ground troops and riflemen, mostly, I stopped an armored column here. These were tanks of Serbs and they were stopped here by my men. We fought them only a little, once the tanks were stopped and trapped we only had to wait them out." Jason listened to Milan intently, he was picturing in his mind what this terror might look like.
Dudakovic continued talking and Emira translated, “If a terrorist got hold of the item then he could make more than just a dirty bomb. It would not go off in Livno, nobody knows of us here. But, it could go off in ...” Dudakovic's phone rang. “Da?”
His conversation was going to be translated and noted by Emira and Milan knew this. This call was important enough to excuse himself to the empty bar area. “Gospodine,” the voice on the phone spoke.
“We have confirmed that Lonon is the man's name. His wife is named Sandra. They have two daughters, Sherry and Emily. We have found their house at 127 Heavens Way in Los Angeles.”
Milan scowled. Looking up at Lonon Dudakovic spoke, "Izvinite, ovo je hitno." After that he got up from the table and walked briskly into the bar area. Emira spoke up, "You must excuse him, Jason.
This appears to be a very important phone call." She shrugged and added, "I have never seen a contact get up and walk away, but Milan, well, he has a habit of not showing up for meetings. I cannot explain this."
When Dudakovic was in the bar area with this phone call Lieutenant Rendor spoke sharply to Lonon, “Why do you continue to let this guy run you?! Dudakovic is handling you, not the other way around, Jason.” He was very angry as he addressed Jason. Rendor was more than irate, this was a tired and old conversation, but still necessary. Rendor knew about Lonon's propensity to reveal everything and conceal nothing prior to their being teamed up. He didn't like the behavior in rumor and he loathed it in person as he felt that he was being put at unnecessary risk. "I have no idea why the Commander keeps you out here working. You know you are going to get someone hurt or killed like this!" He glared at Lonon.
Jason smiled his almost naive smile, the one he used whenever he was blatantly discounting what other people were telling him. “It's fine, Nemes,” Maybe Jason was being naive, but he hated to lie under any circumstance. He refused to use a cover name or story of any sort. “We need to be honest with ... “
Rendor cut Lonon off sharply, “If you use my real name, so help me, I will more than hurt you, I will kill you.” Jason hated it when Rendor talked of or threatened violence. “Rendor, what is this guy going to do? He ...”
Angrily, Rendor again cut Jason off, “You do not know what he could or even would do! You use no cover name, you do not do anything to protect yourself, us, or even your family from what these people can do.” Rendor, although Bulgarian, had seen what criminals of this sort were capable of. He grew up watching the Communist thugs pushing people around, robbing them, raping them, stealing anything that they wanted from the people. They operated outside of and beyond the law in his home town and across the country. "Need I remind you that my country is very near to this place? I know what the people in this war did and continue to do. I understand that they will kill us without thought and loose not a single moments rest over it!"
Jason had heard the stories Rendor told him, he felt too often, “My family is in LA and we're here in Bosnia. Seriously, what is this paranoid guy going to do?” Erdy was ready to reach over the table and throttle Lonon.
Dudakovic was walking back towards the table now, smiling. He nodded to the waiter who quickly brought the bill for the dinner. He spoke, Emira translated, “He calls you his good friends,and that he must take his leave. There is a situation which he must attend to.”
Milan Dudakovic watched as Lonon and Rendor listened and feigned disappointment. “Mr. Dudakovic, thank you for your time this evening,” Lonon said. “I hope that this urgent matter is handled easily.”
As Emira translated Lonon's statement Dudakovic smiled broadly, but with no warmth in his eyes. Dudakovic spoke in English with a heavy accent, “Oh, it vill be handled tonight.”
Milan left the restaurant with quick steps. Moments after the front door shut his car left. Nobody noted that the car went north.
“Jason,” Emira began, “I know that it is none of my business and I am happy that you trust me with your name and talk about your family, but”
Cutting Emira off Jason said, “I am not going to come in here and tell these people that I am going to help them AND lie to them. There is nothing good that will come of lies.”
Erdy cut in sharply, “Listen to me, then, Jason! I am the officer and you are the enlisted! I am ordering you to be more cautious with this. You are also putting Emira and me at risk by exposing yourself. You should be more careful!” He jabbed his finger into Jason's chest to emphasize both his point and his anger.
Jason just looked at the two with confusion. Emira and Erdy knew that they had not impressed upon Jason with the risks he was taking. Without saying another word they all climbed into their SUV to head back to their field office. Nobody spoke as Jason made a right turn out of the parking lot and headed north.
The drive back to their office at the Canadian camp in Drvar would take about two hours. In the darkness along the main road, just outside of Halapic two cars were parked along the side of the road. The seven occupants of those two cars waited silently.
A phone rings in the darkness inside Milan's car. Milan picked up the phone, “Yes?”
“Milan, it's Rade. They have just left.”
Milan smiled a very cold smile, “Thank you, Rade.”
“Nema problema, Gospodine.”
Jason Lonon had always prided himself on honesty. No one had ever said that he had lied nor that he had ever misled anyone. He was determined to not change that. Lonon was tired of hearing his coworkers on this set of orders continually harping on him to use a cover story. The cover story was not so much to protect ourselves, his commanding officer would say, it is to protect our families and our jobs. Captain Douglas Dunn, USMC, was currently Lonon's commanding officer. Captain Dunn had all but given up on trying to impress Jason with the reality that, at least some of the people they would work around, had the reach and capacity to get to the families of some of the field operators. Jason listened to all the urging, but chose to ignore the advice.. As he drove along the road heading straight north out of Livno, Erdy Rendor and Emira Abdic had given up trying to convince Jason that he may be putting himself at undo risk.
Jason had driven about 45 minutes and was heading up into the mountains. There were no other cars on the road. Just one or two other cars an hour seemed to be coming south. He did not anticipate the dark car that suddenly appeared on the road ahead of him. It was in his lane. The headlights blinded and disoriented both Jason and Erdy. Emira, who had been resting in the back seat, screamed in terror as Jason slammed on his breaks and turned the steering wheel hard to the right. The Land Rover hit the sharp inclining embankment and came to a stop. Before Jason or Erdy could react and draw their weapons the driver's side windows were being smashed. Jason felt the deep, severe pain of fingers being pressed deeply into the small space at the back of the jaw and just under the ear while another hand clamped hard over the right side of his head. Jason was painfully ripped through the open space that was his window.
Emira screamed as she was wrenched from the vehicle. She was feisty, that was for certain as her scuffling was clearly audible. Erdy was also being dragged from the Land Rover and was being beaten. This initial attack lasted only seconds, although the pain and sudden nature made Jason feel as though it had been a much long er time. He found himself forced into a kneeling position. By the feel of the ground Jason was knew that he was in the road.
“What the hell is going on?” Jason managed to spit out the question. The response came in the form of a foot in the middle of his back. He was stomped down against the road surface. One of his arms was cranked around. The pain and pressure from this new position kept Jason still.
“Just one moment, if you please, I am making a phone call.” Dudakovic! It was Dudakovic talking from the darkness. Jason realized, far too late, that he had been too trusting and was now about to pay the price for it, as were Erdy and Emira.
In Los Angeles the doorbell at the Lonon house rang. “Just a moment, please!” Sandra was in the kitchen going over papers while pulling together lunch Sandra hurried to the front door to find no one there. There was, however, a long box from a local florist on the door step.
“What? I wonder who these could be from,” Sandra said to nobody, as her two children were at school. Smiling and thinking of Jason she opened the box, expecting to see a dozen long stem red roses, she gasp a little in surprise. Black roses? Who, in their right mind would send me black roses, she asked herself. Sandra was interrupted by the phone in the kitchen ringing.
Flowers in hand she answered the phone, “Hello?”
“Good day, gospodice,” Dudakovic spoke into the phone with a sick smile, “Is this the Lonon residence at 127 Heavens Way in Los Angeles?"
There was a moment of silence as Dudakovic turned the phone speaker on.
“Yes,” Jason heard Sandra's voice clearly.
“It is? Good.” Dudakovic was smiling that sick and twisted smile of his, the one that Erdy had mentioned after their last meeting with this guy.
Sandra Lonon's voice wavered noticeably as she responded, “Who is this?”
“Mrs. Lonon, you do not know where your husband is, do you?” Dudakovic said.
“Sandra!” Jason yelled.
“Who the hell is this and what is going on?” Sandra's voice was shrill and fearful.
Dudakovic spoke calmly, “We know precisely where he is.” Dudakovic nodded at the man holding Jason down by his right arm.
The man holding Jason down started to twist his arm stressing the shoulder joint and twisting the bones painfully. He tried not to make any noise. The man twisting Jason's arm suddenly jerked hard, breaking it. Jason yelled in pain.
Panic shot through Sandra at the sound of her husband's pain filled yell. Reflexively, she call out to Jason.
From the darkness someone laughed. “I'm still alright, Sandra,” Jason spoke through the pain. “They're just trying to scare us, honey.”
One of the people behind Jason cocked a gun. The clanking of the slide slamming back into place nearly echoed in the night. Sandra heard that sound clearly over the phone. There heard a gun shot and the phone went dead.
"JASON!" she screamed into the phone. The line was dead
It was cold, dark, and noisy inside that old cargo plane. Cargo and combat troops don't really need lights in flight. The wooden benches were only big enough to hold your ass. No one was comfortable.
Looking around at the faces of the others on the plane anyone could see that everyone was just there. They were all quiet, not really sitting next to anyone. None of us were in uniform, either. Once we get off the plane no one could tell that we were all military. Except for the huge, green duffel bags. Certainly they all had their guns hidden under their jackets, too.Yeah, my bags were scanned, but I wasn't. So, I carried my 9 under the coat.
So, how did I come to be sitting here on this Soviet made, Lithuanian flown, arms trader (Viktor Bout) owned plane flying into the Balkans? Me? I'm Mark Thompson, well, that was the name I was using then, and for the next year, too. Before this assignment, my name was Mark Decker. I had a varied and wildly, wicked military career. It started off in West Africa. Had me roaming deserts in the Middle East. Some time in North and East Africa, Chad, Sudan, Nigeria,Uganda, Rwanda, and Somalia were some of the lovely garden spots I got to work in. Macedonia came along and I jumped on that. I spent more than enough time running through jungles with temperatures in excess of 120 degrees. This was a region with a histdory of violence that rivalled that of anywhere i had already seen. At least the Balkan states were cool in temperature. The Balkans also weren't crawling with deadly snakes every three feet, either. So it had to be better, right?
Recovering a captured patrol was not exactly simple, but shit intelligence made it worse than it needed to be. My unit lost more people that night due to poor and shoddy intelligence than I had lost on any other job. Mission, job, orders, whatever you want to call it. I nearly bought it in that mountain compound, too.
The chaos disappeared for me. The action was still there, in slow motion. All the shouting, screaming, and gun shots were silent. My fire team had moved around the back of a building.Combs was the point man on this one so he got to kick the door in. We alternated, took turns kicking. The door slammed hard against the inside wall. I was kneeling beside Combs, shooting through the hallway. Combs writhed as he fell backwards. He was dead before he hit the floor.
The chaos disappeared for me. The action was still there, in slow motion. All the shouting, screaming, and gun shots were silent. My fire team had moved around the back of a building.Combs was the point man on this one so he got to kick the door in. We alternated, took turns kicking. The door slammed hard against the inside wall. I was kneeling beside Combs, shooting through the hallway. Combs writhed as he fell backwards. He was dead before he hit the floor.
Someone upstairs reached around the top of the stairs and threw a grenade towards me. It bounced in my direction and I jumped to the left for my life. All I knew then was to get some cover between me and that grenade. The concussion from the grenade exploding hit me.My head was pounding and ears ringing were ringing. There was no other sound.
People were running about, checking the fallen soldiers, evaluating each man's state then moving on.
A corpsman was talking to me, but all I could hear was ringing in my ears. I passed out after that.
I sat up straight. I had fallen asleep, but was still on the plane. Even now, going into Bosnia, several years later, I still had the dreams. The dreams go all the way back and they will always be there. The dreams were the worst thing about that mission. They are what's there when I close my eyes.
I decided that I wasn't going to deal with shitty intelligence again, so I tried to get into the Army Intelligence field. At that time they were only taking jump qualified linguists, I was neither. It was the Navy that said they would train me and put me to work. A cross-branch jump, a year of training, and here I was, back on a plane going back to the Balkans.
This time was supposed to be different. The Dayton Peace Accords were being implemented even though Bosnia was a hostile fire zone, that was Rotation 11, ROTO 11. The actual peace keeping would not happen until ROTO 12, the end of my tour.
Sarajevo International Airport was mess! There were still holes in buildings from rockets and bombs. There were a few patches of fresh patching compound on the tarmac. The burn marks along the bottom walls of buildings were from grenades. All I had with me was a 9mm Beretta and not a single freaking bullet. Talk about being under dressed for the ball, sheesh.
(C) Copyright Marcel Trepanier 2013
Thursday, September 12, 2013
First Day, New Town
Edvard Torgeer, a Norwegian officer, was my new partner in Drvar. Well, I should say that I was his new partner since he outranked me and had worked this area longer. This first week in town he would be showing me around and introducing me to his main contacts. Today we were having a meet and greet with the chief of police, Bratislav Drago. This was also a time to get to know the regular translator out here. Her name was Vanja Vidović. I had been collecting and working in Banja Luka and Prijedor for the past few weeks. I had just gotten into my groove there when this slot opened. The Captain said he needed me here to fill the team. Who am I? Just a fresh out of school intelligence collector with an infantry background. Today was my first day in Drvar.
Edvard led Vanja and me to a larger table inside the bar. The room was almost entirely wooden and dimly lit. Most of the light came from the windows along the street when the shutters were pulled back. Small lamps and other lights were on, but did little against the shadows and darkness deeper inside. This is the place that Bratislav chose for the introduction meeting. Mark Chapman had just been assigned to
Bratislav arrived after we had taken our seats. He approached the table with the windows behind him. At first I couldn't clearly see his face due to his being back lit by the windows. Once he sat down I had a better view, not that he was much to look at. His eyes were blue and cold. He kept his black hair trimmed close. It was his face that really stood out to me. His face was heavily scarred. I had read in the prior reports that Bratislav reported having been a prisoner of the Croats during the war. His hands were also heavily scarred, but those hands looked more like they had done more than their share of interrogating.
Edvard stood up to greet Bratislav with a smile and a handshake, "Bratislav! Thank you for meeting us on such short notice." Being from Jersy the attitude that came across from Edvard was a bit over done. It felt like he was hamming it up. Well, if that's what it took to stroke the guys ego.
Bratislav reached out to shake hands, "I am always happy to be able to take time out and talk with you about whatever is of concern to your Commander." By 'Commander' Bratislav meant General Timothy Vasquez, the commanding officer of the Stabilization Forces, known as SFOR. This rotation, ROTO 11, was still considered hostile and an area with high potential for shootings and violence. It was our job to make sure that the Dayton Peace Accords were being implemented. Corrupt police were everywhere. I just knew we were drinking with one this morning.
Looking around the table and settling his cold gaze on me, Bratislav commented, "Miss Patience is no longer with you."
Sitting back down Edvard explained, "No, she's gone back to France." He shrugged and smiled saying, "You know how the cycle goes." Edvard's smile was becoming more of a mask and less of a smile.
"Indeed. You and your cohorts are here for far too short a time." Bratislav gestured with his hands to visualize the short time most field operators were on station. Most were deployed for 6 months which gave them about four months of real work time after they got oriented to the terrain and people.
"Let me introduce you to Mark. He will be my partner now," I leaned across the table to shake his hand. Having studied Serbo-Croatian a bit before getting in country I greeted him without Vanja's help. "Drago mije, Gospodine. Kako ste?" It was a simple greeting, pleased to meet you and how are you. I said it smoothly and meeting his icy gaze head on.
Bratislav looked surprised, if only for a moment, before smiling, "Ahh! You speak Serbo-Croatian." He said this in English and with such a thick accent that most people would need a translator to fully comprehend what he was saying. Vanja looked at both of us with a look of momentary surprise.
Bratislav and I held each others gaze and solidly shook hands. He was trying to control the amount pressure I was getting. He wanted to hurt my hand. Not to be cruel, but to show who was in the power position in this relationship. I pushed right back and met his grip. I wanted it clear to him that I was different from my predecessors. This lasted only for a few seconds, but it was a clear enough message for both of us.
Bratislav commented in Serbo, "So you speak Serbo-Croatian. Are you a linguist?" He stepped back and sat down as he spoke.
In retrospect I should not have answered in Serb, but I did, "Well, you know, I only know enough to get into trouble." As Vanja translated this Edvard joined in on the laugh. He cast a glance at me that wasn't friendly, but it wasn't angry, either.
The intention of this meeting was to introduce me and to just BS, build rapport.Bratislav looked at Edvard, "I know that we usually meet in my office, but all we ever do is talk business. Edvard, you need to relax and just have fun."
"Yea," Edvard agreed. "I have nto had too much down time here." He looked around and smiled, "I wish I could have some time to just look around, to wander and enjoy things." Driving in early this morning, at about the ass crack of dawn, I had to agree. There was a lot of beautiful, ancient forests to explore, sleepy hamlets to relax in, city areas to drink and carouse in. I was taken by the countryside. I was also very pleases to see that the women in this country were mostly hot. Some were down right dangerously gorgeous. Right then, I was thinking some down time to "explore" would be great, too.
Looking at me, Edvard stated, "I have known Bratislav here for nearly 6 months. He has a long history of talking with SFOR." Looking back at the grizzled Chief he added, "He is always willing to listen to us and talk." Talk to us? I wondered who had done more of the talking. No, I knew. I read the reports. This guy doesn't confirm much information, denies abuses, and asks directly what SFOR is looking for. He has spent most of his time working with SFOR collecting and, very likely, reporting against us.
"It has been an honor to have you here representing SFOR and General Vasquez, Edvard. I hope that I have been able assist, in some small way," He smiled, but not in his eyes. Right then, if you were to cover the top of his face and see only the smile, it would have looked pleasant; however, if you covered the bottom of his face, his eyes were sending a very different message.
Mark didn't like this posturing, but it was necessary, to a point. "So, Bratislav, what do you do for fun? I mean, other than busting crooks over the head, what else do you do to unwind?"
Vanja looked at me with shock and a bit of horror, but she translated word for word. Bratislav laughed, and this was a real laugh. He raised his glass to indicate that he drank. But, from what I had seen firsthand and heard, drinking is one of the national pass times in Bosnia.
"What is your relaxation, Mark? Do you make women a hobby?" Bratislav sipped his drink.
I smiled easily and answered, ""Women. Beer. Motorcycles. My coffee had arrived so I sipped that. "All three can really jack you up." Bratislav laughed.
"You speak like a Bosnian. You act like a Bosnian. Why don't you become Bosnian? Or are you already a secret Bosnian?"
I chuckled. "Bratislav, I am unashamedly and die hard American. I feel that the best way to get to know how a people think is to learn how they speak. Wouldn't you agree?" He nodded in agreement.
"I ride motorcycles, too. I just wrecked my Ducati a few weeks ago." Bratislav turned in his chair and showed us the healing road rash on his shoulder. "That is why, Edvard, I had to cancel our last meeting. I was in a hospital bed." Edvard shrugged and nodded. It wasn't like there was anyway to fault the guy. You ride long enough, you get reckless. Then, you wreck. Hell, ride long enough and you wreck anyway.
"Ducati is a sweet ride." I looked at him, he seemed to be relaxing a bit. I also noticed that one large gent at the bar was watching us in the mirror behind the bar. "I admire the bike, but not too much. You see, I ride cruisers. The big, bag road beasts built for long hauls. But, that's just me."Bratislav raised his glass in a toast. Assuming we were toasting to motorcycles and our own riding styles, I did, too. "So, Bratislav, what is the crime rate here? It just can't be as quiet as it looks."
I caught him mid sip. He looked like he had been stung by a bee or something. "Oh, no, Mark, it is. It really is."
"He means that it really is this quiet here," Vanja explained. "Drvar is out of the way and , since the war, it has been mostly quiet. I mean, there is some trouble with drunks, there are fights between neighbors, but that is all. It isn't anything, really. You get that whenever you have people close together. They get on each others nerves." I rather expected Bratislav to say that, but not Vadja. I looked over at Edvard.
"Really, it is quiet here. Nothing much happens." Edvard was nodding. Even the mafia knows not to crap in their own backyard, why would anyone here do that, I said to myself.
Looking at me and reading my face, Bratislav seemed to know what I was thinking. "You don't believe me." This was a statement, not question. This soon after a war diving people along ethnic lines and all had gone back to "it never happened here" was wrong. It was either a denial or a lie. It didn't seem likely that both Edvard and Vanja would swear to a lie like that. They weren't taking that line of bullshit, though. At least, I couldn't believe that they would.
"Your partner, Edvard, does not believe me. Maybe thinks that I am a liar?" Damn it, I had to work on my poker face.
"No. No, I don't think you're lying. I just doubt human nature. There are criminals here."
"Of course, there are criminals here, bad people." Bratislav assented. "But, these are petty crimes and little criminals, not murders or drugs or smuggling. I don't even have to beat any information out of them. We have issues with drunks, but doesn't everyone?" Now, he was justifying himself. Still, I couldn't fault him on that.
Vanja kicked Mark under the table and smacked my arm. She gave me an angry look. "Why are you doing this? Don't be so rude!" She looked at Bratislav, He is always a gracious host to us." Looking sharply at me, he finished, saying, "and you should be at least as gracious guest." Having said her peace, she straightened her back and turned her body slightly away from me, crossed her arms, and tilted her head up slightly.
"What? I'm just making conversation and getting," I noticed that Edvard was glaring at me. "Bratislav, I have to apologize. This was not intended to be a working round of drinks. Please, let me buy you one to make it up to you."
He waived of the offer of a drink on me, saying "Not to worry. I recognize that you are driven and focused. I can respect that." He looked at the others adding, "those are good qualities to have in police business and in your business." I didn't like being in a position of using a cover name and a cover story when the contacts and other operators already knew it. But, I also knew they were using covers as well. I looked over at the lone guy at the bar who was watching us. He had shifted and I could get a better look at him. His neck was almost as thick as most people's legs.
In order to keep thing more cordial I asked, "So, what is the night life like here? Any hot clubs?"
Laughing, Bratislav spread his arms in a gesture and said "Look around! There is nothing here, just a few coffee bars and some restaurants in Drvar. There is enough to keep people drunk and the locals entertained, but, to really party most people go to Livno or Prijedor." Putting his hands on the table Bratislav continued, "Everyone here knows that, if they get out of line the police will bust them up good. You know." He punched his right fist into his left hand. "The police here don't put up with shit. Hell, I do it myself, too, from time to time."
I shook my head. Police brutality was one of the things we were to look for. Somehow, getting roughed up by the police for general jackassery and being stupid was not considered brutal. it was what the locals expected.
The waitress returned and whispered into Bratislav's ear. He stood up, "Edvard, thank you for your time here. It has been good knowing you. Mark, I must apologize," he held his hand out and I took it. There was no game played this time. "There is some urgent business that needs my attention at the station." As he headed for the door Bratislav turned back to face us again. "I look forward to getting to know you, too, Mark."
As soon as Bratislav had left the bar the thick, heavy, bald guy at the bar thumped down some bills, got off his stool, and left. He looked our way as he left. It wasn't clear then if he was looking at the three of us or at me. I lit a fresh cigarette and breathed the smoke in deeply. It felt good. Relaxing some as I exhaled I told myself that going into things here alert was good, but paranoid was not.
(C) Copyright Marcel Trepanier 2013
Edvard led Vanja and me to a larger table inside the bar. The room was almost entirely wooden and dimly lit. Most of the light came from the windows along the street when the shutters were pulled back. Small lamps and other lights were on, but did little against the shadows and darkness deeper inside. This is the place that Bratislav chose for the introduction meeting. Mark Chapman had just been assigned to
Bratislav arrived after we had taken our seats. He approached the table with the windows behind him. At first I couldn't clearly see his face due to his being back lit by the windows. Once he sat down I had a better view, not that he was much to look at. His eyes were blue and cold. He kept his black hair trimmed close. It was his face that really stood out to me. His face was heavily scarred. I had read in the prior reports that Bratislav reported having been a prisoner of the Croats during the war. His hands were also heavily scarred, but those hands looked more like they had done more than their share of interrogating.
Edvard stood up to greet Bratislav with a smile and a handshake, "Bratislav! Thank you for meeting us on such short notice." Being from Jersy the attitude that came across from Edvard was a bit over done. It felt like he was hamming it up. Well, if that's what it took to stroke the guys ego.
Bratislav reached out to shake hands, "I am always happy to be able to take time out and talk with you about whatever is of concern to your Commander." By 'Commander' Bratislav meant General Timothy Vasquez, the commanding officer of the Stabilization Forces, known as SFOR. This rotation, ROTO 11, was still considered hostile and an area with high potential for shootings and violence. It was our job to make sure that the Dayton Peace Accords were being implemented. Corrupt police were everywhere. I just knew we were drinking with one this morning.
Looking around the table and settling his cold gaze on me, Bratislav commented, "Miss Patience is no longer with you."
Sitting back down Edvard explained, "No, she's gone back to France." He shrugged and smiled saying, "You know how the cycle goes." Edvard's smile was becoming more of a mask and less of a smile.
"Indeed. You and your cohorts are here for far too short a time." Bratislav gestured with his hands to visualize the short time most field operators were on station. Most were deployed for 6 months which gave them about four months of real work time after they got oriented to the terrain and people.
"Let me introduce you to Mark. He will be my partner now," I leaned across the table to shake his hand. Having studied Serbo-Croatian a bit before getting in country I greeted him without Vanja's help. "Drago mije, Gospodine. Kako ste?" It was a simple greeting, pleased to meet you and how are you. I said it smoothly and meeting his icy gaze head on.
Bratislav looked surprised, if only for a moment, before smiling, "Ahh! You speak Serbo-Croatian." He said this in English and with such a thick accent that most people would need a translator to fully comprehend what he was saying. Vanja looked at both of us with a look of momentary surprise.
Bratislav and I held each others gaze and solidly shook hands. He was trying to control the amount pressure I was getting. He wanted to hurt my hand. Not to be cruel, but to show who was in the power position in this relationship. I pushed right back and met his grip. I wanted it clear to him that I was different from my predecessors. This lasted only for a few seconds, but it was a clear enough message for both of us.
Bratislav commented in Serbo, "So you speak Serbo-Croatian. Are you a linguist?" He stepped back and sat down as he spoke.
In retrospect I should not have answered in Serb, but I did, "Well, you know, I only know enough to get into trouble." As Vanja translated this Edvard joined in on the laugh. He cast a glance at me that wasn't friendly, but it wasn't angry, either.
The intention of this meeting was to introduce me and to just BS, build rapport.Bratislav looked at Edvard, "I know that we usually meet in my office, but all we ever do is talk business. Edvard, you need to relax and just have fun."
"Yea," Edvard agreed. "I have nto had too much down time here." He looked around and smiled, "I wish I could have some time to just look around, to wander and enjoy things." Driving in early this morning, at about the ass crack of dawn, I had to agree. There was a lot of beautiful, ancient forests to explore, sleepy hamlets to relax in, city areas to drink and carouse in. I was taken by the countryside. I was also very pleases to see that the women in this country were mostly hot. Some were down right dangerously gorgeous. Right then, I was thinking some down time to "explore" would be great, too.
Looking at me, Edvard stated, "I have known Bratislav here for nearly 6 months. He has a long history of talking with SFOR." Looking back at the grizzled Chief he added, "He is always willing to listen to us and talk." Talk to us? I wondered who had done more of the talking. No, I knew. I read the reports. This guy doesn't confirm much information, denies abuses, and asks directly what SFOR is looking for. He has spent most of his time working with SFOR collecting and, very likely, reporting against us.
"It has been an honor to have you here representing SFOR and General Vasquez, Edvard. I hope that I have been able assist, in some small way," He smiled, but not in his eyes. Right then, if you were to cover the top of his face and see only the smile, it would have looked pleasant; however, if you covered the bottom of his face, his eyes were sending a very different message.
Mark didn't like this posturing, but it was necessary, to a point. "So, Bratislav, what do you do for fun? I mean, other than busting crooks over the head, what else do you do to unwind?"
Vanja looked at me with shock and a bit of horror, but she translated word for word. Bratislav laughed, and this was a real laugh. He raised his glass to indicate that he drank. But, from what I had seen firsthand and heard, drinking is one of the national pass times in Bosnia.
"What is your relaxation, Mark? Do you make women a hobby?" Bratislav sipped his drink.
I smiled easily and answered, ""Women. Beer. Motorcycles. My coffee had arrived so I sipped that. "All three can really jack you up." Bratislav laughed.
"You speak like a Bosnian. You act like a Bosnian. Why don't you become Bosnian? Or are you already a secret Bosnian?"
I chuckled. "Bratislav, I am unashamedly and die hard American. I feel that the best way to get to know how a people think is to learn how they speak. Wouldn't you agree?" He nodded in agreement.
"I ride motorcycles, too. I just wrecked my Ducati a few weeks ago." Bratislav turned in his chair and showed us the healing road rash on his shoulder. "That is why, Edvard, I had to cancel our last meeting. I was in a hospital bed." Edvard shrugged and nodded. It wasn't like there was anyway to fault the guy. You ride long enough, you get reckless. Then, you wreck. Hell, ride long enough and you wreck anyway.
"Ducati is a sweet ride." I looked at him, he seemed to be relaxing a bit. I also noticed that one large gent at the bar was watching us in the mirror behind the bar. "I admire the bike, but not too much. You see, I ride cruisers. The big, bag road beasts built for long hauls. But, that's just me."Bratislav raised his glass in a toast. Assuming we were toasting to motorcycles and our own riding styles, I did, too. "So, Bratislav, what is the crime rate here? It just can't be as quiet as it looks."
I caught him mid sip. He looked like he had been stung by a bee or something. "Oh, no, Mark, it is. It really is."
"He means that it really is this quiet here," Vanja explained. "Drvar is out of the way and , since the war, it has been mostly quiet. I mean, there is some trouble with drunks, there are fights between neighbors, but that is all. It isn't anything, really. You get that whenever you have people close together. They get on each others nerves." I rather expected Bratislav to say that, but not Vadja. I looked over at Edvard.
"Really, it is quiet here. Nothing much happens." Edvard was nodding. Even the mafia knows not to crap in their own backyard, why would anyone here do that, I said to myself.
Looking at me and reading my face, Bratislav seemed to know what I was thinking. "You don't believe me." This was a statement, not question. This soon after a war diving people along ethnic lines and all had gone back to "it never happened here" was wrong. It was either a denial or a lie. It didn't seem likely that both Edvard and Vanja would swear to a lie like that. They weren't taking that line of bullshit, though. At least, I couldn't believe that they would.
"Your partner, Edvard, does not believe me. Maybe thinks that I am a liar?" Damn it, I had to work on my poker face.
"No. No, I don't think you're lying. I just doubt human nature. There are criminals here."
"Of course, there are criminals here, bad people." Bratislav assented. "But, these are petty crimes and little criminals, not murders or drugs or smuggling. I don't even have to beat any information out of them. We have issues with drunks, but doesn't everyone?" Now, he was justifying himself. Still, I couldn't fault him on that.
Vanja kicked Mark under the table and smacked my arm. She gave me an angry look. "Why are you doing this? Don't be so rude!" She looked at Bratislav, He is always a gracious host to us." Looking sharply at me, he finished, saying, "and you should be at least as gracious guest." Having said her peace, she straightened her back and turned her body slightly away from me, crossed her arms, and tilted her head up slightly.
"What? I'm just making conversation and getting," I noticed that Edvard was glaring at me. "Bratislav, I have to apologize. This was not intended to be a working round of drinks. Please, let me buy you one to make it up to you."
He waived of the offer of a drink on me, saying "Not to worry. I recognize that you are driven and focused. I can respect that." He looked at the others adding, "those are good qualities to have in police business and in your business." I didn't like being in a position of using a cover name and a cover story when the contacts and other operators already knew it. But, I also knew they were using covers as well. I looked over at the lone guy at the bar who was watching us. He had shifted and I could get a better look at him. His neck was almost as thick as most people's legs.
In order to keep thing more cordial I asked, "So, what is the night life like here? Any hot clubs?"
Laughing, Bratislav spread his arms in a gesture and said "Look around! There is nothing here, just a few coffee bars and some restaurants in Drvar. There is enough to keep people drunk and the locals entertained, but, to really party most people go to Livno or Prijedor." Putting his hands on the table Bratislav continued, "Everyone here knows that, if they get out of line the police will bust them up good. You know." He punched his right fist into his left hand. "The police here don't put up with shit. Hell, I do it myself, too, from time to time."
I shook my head. Police brutality was one of the things we were to look for. Somehow, getting roughed up by the police for general jackassery and being stupid was not considered brutal. it was what the locals expected.
The waitress returned and whispered into Bratislav's ear. He stood up, "Edvard, thank you for your time here. It has been good knowing you. Mark, I must apologize," he held his hand out and I took it. There was no game played this time. "There is some urgent business that needs my attention at the station." As he headed for the door Bratislav turned back to face us again. "I look forward to getting to know you, too, Mark."
As soon as Bratislav had left the bar the thick, heavy, bald guy at the bar thumped down some bills, got off his stool, and left. He looked our way as he left. It wasn't clear then if he was looking at the three of us or at me. I lit a fresh cigarette and breathed the smoke in deeply. It felt good. Relaxing some as I exhaled I told myself that going into things here alert was good, but paranoid was not.
(C) Copyright Marcel Trepanier 2013
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Geo-Political Summary
This piece is more in line with what I have done professionally.
Now, the Administration wants to go on the ground with US Troops supporting al Qaeda and the Muslim Brotherhood.
(C) Copyright Marcel Trepanier 2013
Syrian
Rebels Massacre Christian Enclave (Reported May 2013)
My summary below 9/13
In
April the Obama administration publicly announced that it would send
nonlethal aid to the Syrian rebels. This is also an admission that
the administration had already been aiding the rebels for some time.
It was
a public secret in Washington that Benghazi was the key to arming the
rebels fighting Assad. A view that has not been looked at closely.
But,
what is going on with the rebels? How have they been using the aid
provided by the US?
In May
2013 the UN was looking at evidence that the rebels used sarin gas.
Sarla del Ponti, a human rights expert at the UN, called the evidence
strong, concrete suspicions that fell short of incontrovertible
proof.Concrete suspicions? That sounds suspiciously like conjecture, or them saying they do not know who did what.
John
Kerry recently questioned whether the Assad regime had used the gas
on the rebels, thereby lending the appearance of credence to the
administration. Credence, that is, to some.
It all
sounds about as clear as mud. What's clear is that there are chemical
weapons in Syria. The Assad regime had manufactured chemical weapons
and stockpiled them.
What is
also clear is that rebels and Assad supporters have both held
chemical weapons compounds. Also, neither group has shown any great
care towards the non-fighting civilians or what happens to people in the crossfire.
What is
our return on this investment so far?
MEMRI.org
posted and detailed a video of Syrian teens armed with assault
rifles. The teens were singing "We destroyed America with a
civilian plane." This shows their allegiance to al Qaeda.
Alright,
you say, these teens were just dancing and singing. This rebel
coalition, the the Free Syrian Army (FSA) and their affiliates, have
also slaughtered a Christian village.
The
Assyrian International News Agency (AINA) reported in June of this
year that “The armed rebels affiliated to the Free Syrian Army
(FSA) raided the Christian-populated al-Duvair village in Reef
(outskirts of) Homs near the border with Lebanon today and massacred
all its civilian residents, including women and children. The Syrian
army, however, intervened and killed tens of terrorists during heavy
clashes which are still going on in al-Duvair village.”
They
used te arms we gave them and the money we provided to slaughter the
men, women, and children of a small Christian village trying to just
survive. To practice their right to choose how to worship.
(C) Copyright Marcel Trepanier 2013
Back to the world
It was late when I woke up. The house was quiet. i knew that my kids were either sleeping or watching TV. If it weren't for the whirl wind trip we took through southeastern PA it would be a sure bet the kids wpuld all be in front of the that thing. Sitting up in bed caused the back pain to rear its ugly head. Yeah, you know, that pain that says "You've been in bed too long, lazy ass." That kind, yeah. I felt the running around, too. My head was foggy, body ached, and I was too sluggish to even run from a turtle. Well, not that I get chased by turtles, but that is how I felt.
Tuesday morning, time for me to get back into the world, make a daily schedule happen, and kick reality in the balls.
Tuesday morning, time for me to get back into the world, make a daily schedule happen, and kick reality in the balls.
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