heavy caliber.
Not that Serifovic could see it, but there was a flicker of recognition upon the face of the prison guard; he'd been told to expect this particular arrival and to make himself scarce when granted leave to do so. The guard was glad to see Serifovic squirm.
"I appreciate you waiting for me, officer?' announced the counsel in a heavy Germanic accent. "Would you mind leaving us?"
The prison guard nodded dutifully. "No problem, sir?' he replied. "I'll be right outside."
"Danke schön," the man replied.
"Who the hell are you?" demanded Serifovic as soon as they were alone. "You're not my appointed counsel. I've not seen you before among any of her team."
"There's been a slight change to your schedule, colonel," the man began, unruffled. "I'm not here to talk about your defense, but our conversation will have a bearing on your future."
"What the fuck are you talking about? What is this?" Serifovic spat defiantly. "You're no fucking lawyer."
"You're quite wrong, colonel?' came the unemotional reply. "In fact, I have a Bachelor of Law and a Masters in International Legal Studies from the University of Vienna. I am licensed to practice in both Germany and Austria. Now, let us begin."
Hermann Braunschweiger, formerly of the elite German Federal Police special operations and counter terrorism unit GSG 9, latterly recruited to the ranks of Intrepid, removed a file from his attache case and slid a large photograph across the table to Serifovic.
"You know this man." It was a statement of fact.
Serifovic's eyes dropped for a split second, barely acknowledging the image. "I've never seen him before," he lied.
"Let me refresh your memory" Braunschweiger produced another image. This one showed the same man, albeit much younger, leaning against a military vehicle and smoking a cigarette, wearing the uniform of a soldier in the Bosnian Serb Army. "He was, at one time, your personal driver. Will you make me produce the expanded version of this photograph, which includes you?"
"What is it you want?" Serifovic exploded. "And what is your name?"
"My name is of no importance to you," Braunschweiger replied dryly. "The only name that is important to you today is his."
"Why should I give a shit?"
"Because while you trusted this man, confided in him, and even promoted him all those years ago, he is the one who led us straight to you. And he had quite a story to tell about your escapades during the war, I can assure you. For example ..."
Braunschweiger allowed the significance of his words to sink in as he expanded, in excruciating detail, on the information the man in the photographs had allegedly provided to Intrepid. He studied the face of the old man carefully as the revelation clearly made its mark. Despite his reputation as a cold-blooded killer and his years as the senior intelligence officer in the Bosnian Serb Army, Serifovic had been out of the game a long time. His ability to mask his feelings had been eroded by age and ill health.
erifovic remained deathly silent. His jaw was clenched so tight that Braunschweiger could hear the teeth grinding beneath the gray flesh of his wrinkled jowls. The bitterness of betrayal etched across Serifovic's face told Braunschweiger everything he needed to know. The Intrepid agent remained impassively silent, allowing the prisoner to consider and process the amount of damage his accuser could possibly do, or already had done, to his defense options.
"What's this got to do with me and why would you believe a piece of shit like Petrovic?" he said finally. "He was just a fucking driver"
"Yes,' Braunschweiger replied. "But he was your fucking driver."
Chapter 21
MALTA
Morgan took a cab and, from a discreet distance, tracked the Fiat all the way to a side street on the outskirts of Lija. He watched the captain and the policeman park behind a Nissan Armada and walk into a semidetached terrace house, one of a row of five that stretched along half the short street.
Paying the
Not that Serifovic could see it, but there was a flicker of recognition upon the face of the prison guard; he'd been told to expect this particular arrival and to make himself scarce when granted leave to do so. The guard was glad to see Serifovic squirm.
"I appreciate you waiting for me, officer?' announced the counsel in a heavy Germanic accent. "Would you mind leaving us?"
The prison guard nodded dutifully. "No problem, sir?' he replied. "I'll be right outside."
"Danke schön," the man replied.
"Who the hell are you?" demanded Serifovic as soon as they were alone. "You're not my appointed counsel. I've not seen you before among any of her team."
"There's been a slight change to your schedule, colonel," the man began, unruffled. "I'm not here to talk about your defense, but our conversation will have a bearing on your future."
"What the fuck are you talking about? What is this?" Serifovic spat defiantly. "You're no fucking lawyer."
"You're quite wrong, colonel?' came the unemotional reply. "In fact, I have a Bachelor of Law and a Masters in International Legal Studies from the University of Vienna. I am licensed to practice in both Germany and Austria. Now, let us begin."
Hermann Braunschweiger, formerly of the elite German Federal Police special operations and counter terrorism unit GSG 9, latterly recruited to the ranks of Intrepid, removed a file from his attache case and slid a large photograph across the table to Serifovic.
"You know this man." It was a statement of fact.
Serifovic's eyes dropped for a split second, barely acknowledging the image. "I've never seen him before," he lied.
"Let me refresh your memory" Braunschweiger produced another image. This one showed the same man, albeit much younger, leaning against a military vehicle and smoking a cigarette, wearing the uniform of a soldier in the Bosnian Serb Army. "He was, at one time, your personal driver. Will you make me produce the expanded version of this photograph, which includes you?"
"What is it you want?" Serifovic exploded. "And what is your name?"
"My name is of no importance to you," Braunschweiger replied dryly. "The only name that is important to you today is his."
"Why should I give a shit?"
"Because while you trusted this man, confided in him, and even promoted him all those years ago, he is the one who led us straight to you. And he had quite a story to tell about your escapades during the war, I can assure you. For example ..."
Braunschweiger allowed the significance of his words to sink in as he expanded, in excruciating detail, on the information the man in the photographs had allegedly provided to Intrepid. He studied the face of the old man carefully as the revelation clearly made its mark. Despite his reputation as a cold-blooded killer and his years as the senior intelligence officer in the Bosnian Serb Army, Serifovic had been out of the game a long time. His ability to mask his feelings had been eroded by age and ill health.
erifovic remained deathly silent. His jaw was clenched so tight that Braunschweiger could hear the teeth grinding beneath the gray flesh of his wrinkled jowls. The bitterness of betrayal etched across Serifovic's face told Braunschweiger everything he needed to know. The Intrepid agent remained impassively silent, allowing the prisoner to consider and process the amount of damage his accuser could possibly do, or already had done, to his defense options.
"What's this got to do with me and why would you believe a piece of shit like Petrovic?" he said finally. "He was just a fucking driver"
"Yes,' Braunschweiger replied. "But he was your fucking driver."
Chapter 21
MALTA
Morgan took a cab and, from a discreet distance, tracked the Fiat all the way to a side street on the outskirts of Lija. He watched the captain and the policeman park behind a Nissan Armada and walk into a semidetached terrace house, one of a row of five that stretched along half the short street.
Paying the
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