Alina's Revenge Page 14

  Oric touched Dimitrov on the arm and nodded. The general turned back to Hubchev and said, “That’s fine with me. Now tell me what you have so far.”

  “Who are these men?” the commander said, pointing to Oric and Dzadzic.

  Dimitrov did not miss a beat. “They are special liaisons from Serbia. The terrorists struck there yesterday. They tracked them into our country. They are here strictly as advisors, nothing more.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy the commandant. He indicated the dead men. Blood pooled beneath each one. “Multiple gunshot wounds to each of them, especially the men on the loading dock. Judging by the number of shell casings in the area alone we can tell it was quite a firefight. You should be proud of your men. They put up quite a struggle before they died. One survived with a gunshot to the leg. He is on the way to the hospital as we speak. He is the one who told us what happened here.”

  “That is good to know. Once I have his statement, I shall put it in my report to the General of the Army. Now, have you seen the surveillance video?”

  Hubchev shook his head. “Not yet. I was about to when you arrived.”

  “Then let’s go have a look, shall we? I’ve already called in a dozen helicopters for the search. It would be quite useful if we could print a frame of the truck from the video and disperse it among my men.”

  “Good idea, General. Follow me.”

  They walked into the warehouse and turned the corner. A stout man with a very long mustache met them at the door. “I’ve been expecting you,” the foreman said. “I have the video all prepped and ready to go. Here, have a look.”

  He pressed play and all the men huddled around the computer screen. Grainy images showed the initial contact to the truck pulling away.

  “As you said, Commander, quite a firefight,” Dimitrov quipped. “That cab is shot up. Should be easy to find.” He turned to the foreman. “Can you print from this?”

  “Yes, sir, but the images are poor. As you can see, our equipment is not high definition.”

  “They’re good enough. Back it up to where the truck is pulling into the loading dock. I want a picture of the license plate.”

  The foreman adjusted the controls, rewinding through the bloody scene to the specified point in time.

  “There!” the commander said. “That’s a good shot. Print that.”

  “Commander, can you run a license check on that plate?”

  “It’s a Serbian plate. I think our guests may be better able to help you on that.”

  Oric took the printed sample and handed it to Captain Dzadzic. The captain got on the phone and walked out of the office.

  “Anything else, gentlemen?” the foreman asked.

  “Yes. I need that disk,” the commander answered.

  “But of course.” The foreman punched out the disk and handed it to him.

  “I’ll keep this,” the commander said to Dimitrov.

  “No problems here. I’ve seen all I need to see. Those are the terrorists we’re looking for. You already have their pictures?”

  “Yes, they were all over the news.”

  “Good. Make sure all units have a copy. My men will be scouring the city along with yours. Between us, we should be able to kill them before they strike.”

  “Kill them? Don’t you mean apprehend them?”

  “No, Commander. I mean kill them. Don’t take any chances. You’ve seen what they are capable of. Now they have a truckload of weapons. What do you think will happen if a unit pulls them over and asks for some ID?”

  “I see what you mean. Okay, then. It’s your call. I’ll issue orders to shoot on sight.”

  ~~~

  Maric pulled the big rig to a stop in front of a white house. Like most houses in the area, it had a steep roof and a porch that ran along the front side. Two large windows framed the door in the middle.

  “This is Doctor Gruev’s house,” he grunted, holding his side. “Go and see if he’s home.”

  Goran got out of the truck and trotted to the front door. He opened the rusted screen and knocked.

  No answer.

  He knocked again, louder this time.

  “Who is it?” someone yelled from inside.

  “I’m a friend of Maric’s. He needs help.”

  The door opened and an old, thin man with wisps of gray hair appeared. He put on his glasses and said, “What’s he been up to this time?”

  “He’s been shot.”

  “What? Again?” The man shook his head. Then with a resigned sigh said, “Well, better bring him inside.”

  He looked past Goran.

  “That his truck out there on the street?”

  Goran nodded.

  “A big rig all shot up like that will draw attention. Have him pull it around back where it will be out of sight.”

  Goran got into the truck and relayed the instructions. Maric struggled to turn the wheel, angling the trailer between the doctor’s house and his neighbor’s. He pulled under a large tree that overhung the back of Doctor Gruev’s house. Maric switched off the ignition. He then collapsed against the steering wheel.

  “Come on,” Goran said to Alina. “Let’s get him inside.”

  Goran jumped out and ran around to open the driver’s side door. Maric fell into his arms.

  “Get his feet.”

  Alina crawled into the front seat and helped lower Maric’s limp form. She took his legs, and together they carried him to the house.

  Doctor Gruev had the back door open and waiting. “Get him on the table.”

  Alina grunted with the effort, favoring her blood-soaked left shoulder.

  “Looks like you could use my help too, young lady—but first things first. Let’s have a look at what old Maric’s been up to.”

  Goran started taking off Maric’s bloody shirt. The doctor went into a side room, and in seconds, he came back with a black bag. He switched his spectacles for a pair of thicker glasses and inspected the wound.

  “I’ve seen worse,” he pronounced. Feeling the exit wound in back, he added, “About all I can do is clean the wound out and sew it up. I do have some antibiotics I can give him. That will stave off any infection. Luckily, no organs were hit. When will this old goat ever go to a regular doctor?”

  “You mean you’re not a regular doctor?” Alina asked.

  The old man shook his head, still inspecting the injury. “I’m a veterinarian by trade. Retired years ago. Took care of Maric’s dog when he was out of town—which was a lot.” He shook his head again and retrieved more gauze sponges from the bag. “Don’t know why he ever got that dog. I think it was more for me than for him.” He swiped the point of entry and nodded. “Black Lab, it was. A good dog, too. Kept me company for many years.”

  “Yes, Doctor, but is he going to be all right?”

  “Oh, I should think so. Maric’s been through worse than this by far. Why I remember one time I had to dig three slugs out of him.”

  “Three?” Alina’s head came up quick.

  “Yep. Got in trouble over a gal over in Rakovski, not too far from here.” He inserted a metal probe into the wound and began scraping out damaged tissue. Maric groaned in his unconsciousness. “Her husband found out and came looking for him. That was a bad case. Don’t know how he ever lived through that one.”

  “I take it he came to you a lot then,” Goran said.

  “Oh, he popped in every once in a while,” he continued as he turned Maric over and began working on his back. “Most of the time it was for drinks. He’d bring me a couple of bottles of Vodka and we’d stay up all night talking.”

  The room went silent except for an occasional moan from Maric. Goran went to Alina and helped her with her blouse, pulling it over her shoulder to reveal the blood soaked patch underneath.

  “Duct tape, huh?” the doctor said. He looked at Goran. “Your handiwork, no doubt.”

  Goran nodded.

  “We, uh, we had trouble—”

  Gruev held up an aged hand. “I don�
��t want to know.”

  “You don’t?” Alina asked.

  “If I don’t know, then I can’t tell, can I? Besides, I already know what happened.” He finished stitching Maric’s back and patched it with some gauze. He then approached Alina, adjusting his glasses. “You were in some kind of gunfight with the military.”

  Alina winced as he stripped off the bandage. Her entire shoulder was red and inflamed. “How did you know?”

  “His wound came from a high velocity rifle. Only one that makes that kind of round is the military.” He looked closer at her wound. “Yours came from the same kind of rifle. If I was to ask, and mind you I’m not, I’d say you were shot with an AK. That means you’re in trouble with the law.”

  “You’re a wise old man,” Alina said and smiled.

  “Not wise. Just been around a while, that’s all. Seen these kinds of wounds before, during the war.”

  “Which war?”

  “Why, the Bosnian War of course. I was a doctor over there.”

  “A Bulgarian veterinarian serving in the Bosnian War? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “You’d be surprised at what kind of help the UN will take. They figured a bullet wound is a bullet wound no matter what body you pull it out of. They were desperate for doctors, and there were very few who volunteered.”

  “I know of one,” Alina said. “He helped me when I was...when I was young.”

  “Uh-huh. I see that scar on your abdomen. A Serb did that to you, no doubt. They were ruthless like that toward Bosnians. He patched you up pretty good, did he?”

  Alina nodded. “Saved my life. But how did you know—”

  “That you were from Bosnia? Your accent. The big question is how did you get mixed up with a Serb like him?” He jerked a thumb at Goran.

  “It’s kind of complicated.”

  “Usually is. But at any rate, it says a lot about your healing process. And I don’t mean that scar.” He tapped his head. “I mean up here, where it counts.”

  Maric moaned, fighting his way back to consciousness. “Goran,” he groaned. “Goran, the truck. Where’s the truck?”

  Goran walked over to Maric and took his hand. “It’s still in the back yard where you parked it.”

  “Back yard? What back yard?”

  “We’re at Doctor Gruev’s house. Remember?”

  Maric slowly shook his head.

  “We’re safe, now, Maric. You got us here. We’re safe.”

  “No. We’ve got to ditch the truck. It’s...it’s too visible. Got to switch it out.”

  “With what?”

  He spoke slowly. “Dimitrije’s truck. It’s at...his house. Remember how to get to his house?”

  Goran nodded.

  “Good...Take my truck...Exchange it for his.”

  “But your truck is still hitched to the trailer. Besides, there’s no way I could make it over there. The whole city is looking for that truck.”

  “Take my car,” the doctor said without looking. He finished the stitch in Alina’s shoulder. “It isn’t much. A ’67 Mercedes that burns more oil than gas, but it will get you there.” He pointed to a board beside the rear door. “Key’s on one of those hooks.” He went into the side room and came back with a white T-shirt. He gave it to Alina. “Here. Can’t have you going around half naked.”

  “Okay, Maric,” Goran said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Wait!” Alina said, pulling the shirt down. “I’m coming with you.”

  Chapter 16

  Goran stopped the old car at the end of the block leading to Dimitrije’s house.

  “What’s the matter?” Alina asked.

  “See that black car parked across the street? That’s a police squad car.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I just know. The forensics team has already been here.” He pointed out the house. “See the yellow crime scene tape? They’ve already buttoned the place up. I don’t know what he’s doing here. Maybe just finishing up paperwork.”

  “Should we come back later?”

  “Don’t know if we’ll get a chance later,” Goran said.

  “Tell you what,” Alina said, “let me out here, then you go to the door. When he asks what you’re doing, I’ll sneak up behind him and take him out.”

  “Sure you can do that? I mean, with your bum shoulder?”

  She nodded as she got out. “I’ll be fine.”

  Alina closed the door and Goran drove to the front of the house. He did not get out right away, allowing Alina time to catch up. At her signal, he made his move.

  His door opened on loud, rusted hinges. He walked up to the house, making a big pretense at noticing the yellow tape. He ducked under the perimeter line and knocked on the front door.

  “May I help you?” The voice came from behind him.

  Goran turned around, feigning surprise at the officer standing there. “Uh, yes. I mean no. I mean…” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Isn’t this Dimitrije’s house?”

  “It was until—”

  No one knows what made him turn around, but when he did, his gun was out in an instant.

  Alina chopped down on his wrist, knocking the gun from his hand. Then she whirled around, hitting him in the chest with a spinning side kick. He fell backward. His back hit the steps hard and he winced, holding his side.

  “Go!” Alina said. “Get the keys. I’ll take care of this one.”

  Goran tried the door. Locked. He backed up and kicked it in, disappearing inside.

  “I don’t know what you two are up to, but it won’t work, lady,” the cop said. He pulled out his nightstick.

  “I…” She kicked him in the face when he tried to get up “…am no lady.”

  His back on the steps again, he wiped a smear of blood from his lip. “I can see that.”

  He lunged at her, nightstick raised high. Alina was ready. When he chopped down at her head, she dodged out of the way. His thrust carried his arm down to his left side, leaving his face wide open. Alina took advantage and jumped, performing a perfect whirling kick to his chin.

  The man went down again. He got up slowly, weaving drunkenly. He raised his baton once more. Alina grabbed his hand in a rolling wristlock, twisting it until she held the stick in her hand. Still swirling, she clubbed the side of his head.

  The officer went down for the last time.

  Goran rushed out of the door. “Alina, do you want…” He looked at the officer lying at her feet. “Oh, I guess you don’t need my help.”

  “You can help me get him inside. I don’t want anyone seeing him and calling more police.”

  They dragged him up the steps. Alina turned to close the door when he moaned. He was starting to regain consciousness. She used the nightstick to hit him in the head. The moaning stopped.

  “Did you get the keys?” she asked, dropping the baton.

  “I think so.” He held up a key ring. “Let’s go see.”

  The truck cab was on the side of the house. Both of them got in, Goran behind the wheel. He progressed through each key. None of them fit. Goran hit the wheel. “Must be somewhere else in the house.”

  “Or on him.”

  “If that’s the case, we’re out of luck. Come on, let’s go check.”

  When they entered the house, they heard the officer mumbling something. Alina hurried to see him speaking into his radio. She picked up the nightstick and clubbed him one more time.

  “We’re going to have company real soon, Goran!”

  “I know. I know. Help me find those keys.”

  Alina searched the bedroom. She scanned the top of the dresser. Nothing. She opened each drawer, ruffling through underwear and pornographic magazines. Picking one up, she said, “Typical!” She then made her way to the nightstand and opened the drawer. There, she saw a huge ring of keys.

  “Got them!” she yelled and ran to the center of the house.

  Goran was already heading out the door. “Come on. We don’t have mu
ch time.”

  Alina tossed him the keys and climbed into the cab.

  Goran looked at the massive key ring. “What? There must be fifty keys here. What kind of man has fifty keys?”

  “The kind of man who stocks a year’s supply of porno.” When Goran gave her a wondering frown, she said, “Never mind. Let’s go. Try one.”

  Again, Goran went through his progression. Sirens wailed in the distance.

  “Hurry!”

  “I am hurrying. Go get the car started. I’ll drive this back.”

  “But what if you can’t get it started?”

  “Then I’ll join you in two minutes. Any longer and they’ll be on us.”

  Alina jumped down from the truck and ran to the old car. She turned the key. The engine turned, sputtered, and then quit. She tried it again with the same results.

  “Come on!” she said, hitting the wheel. She tried it again. Still, the engine just spun.

  “Any luck on your end?” she yelled across the yard.

  “Not yet. What’s the matter with the car?”

  “I think it’s flooded.”

  The sound of sirens grew louder.

  Alina forced herself to sit back and take a breath. After what seemed an eternity, she tried to start the car again. The engine spun, but this time she did not let up. The engine kept spinning, sputtered, spun, and then fired to life.

  No sooner had her car started than she heard the sound of the big diesel roaring. Immediately, she put the car in gear and took off. She careened down the street, desperate to be out of the area by the time the cops arrived.

  She looked in her rear view mirror. Goran was nowhere to be seen. She slammed on the brakes and looked behind her. The nose of the white cab jutted out of the driveway and onto the street. There, it stalled.

  The sirens were practically on them now.

  “Come on, Goran,” she said. “Come on.”

  Black smoke puffed from the dual stacks. Alina watched as the cab turned onto the street, moving slow—too slow. She stuck her head out the window. She heard the sound of grinding gears in the distance.

  Alina decided he had to fend for himself. There was nothing she could do for him now. She took off at high speed. She made the first right. Off in the distance, she saw the first of the squad cars coming her way, its blue lights flashing. She turned right again, went half a block, and slowed down. She looked back and saw Goran making his way down the side street. He had just turned right to follow her when the cop car sped by, heading toward the house.