obsequious and friendly on the outside, but in reality calculating, with an extraordinary sang-froid. Department VI, encouraged by Anzulović, learned patience and improvisation. And cunning.
He was the one who’d arranged for Strumbić to do the occasional bit of intelligence work for della Torre.
“You didn’t drive all this way in an almost new car, two hours before you normally get up, to give me an American cigarette.”
“Have another one.”
“Thanks, I don’t mind if I do. You can develop a taste for these.”
He lit the cigarette and smoked in silence for a while.
“Somebody wants me dead,” della Torre finally said.
“We work for the UDBA . Plenty of people would happily dance on our graves.”
“No. It’s not like that. Somebody put a hit on me.”
“Oh? How do you know?”
“Because last night I was in a car with the guys who were going to do the job and on my way to a very unpleasant end.”
“You’re sure they wanted you dead? I mean, you seem a bit stiff, but you’re not what I’d call a corpse.”
“They weren’t very good. Remember those guys who did the really messy hit in Karlovac on that businessman who wouldn’t play with the local protection racket? That’s the story, anyway — had a factory and wouldn’t pay his insurance.”
“I remember. Bosnians, wasn’t it? The Karlovac cops were surprisingly reluctant to investigate.”
“That’s the one.”
“And? You got in the car with them because . . . ?”
“I was set up,” della Torre said.
“I see. Set up by . . . ?”
“A friend. I’ll tell you about him later.”
“So your friend wants you dead. Sure it wasn’t your wife? Couldn’t say I’d blame her.”
Anzulović had always had a soft spot for Irena, whom he inevitably compared favourably to his own women.
“I had a word with my friend. He says he was put up to it. Had no choice. That sort of thing. It was a help-or-else proposition.”
“So if your friend doesn’t want you dead, who does?”
“Belgrade.”
“Oh? Anyone in particular? Or has the federal government decided it doesn’t like you?”
“I don’t know. Somebody took offence at something I had.”
“This is starting to feel like twenty questions. I think I’m just going to have a little shut-eye on the way into the office and enjoy my luxurious surroundings, and if you decide to start talking sensibly, maybe I’ll listen.”
Della Torre drove in silence for a while.
“Nice leather. Should fetch a bit,” Anzulović said in his slow, ruminating way. “Shame it’s stolen. Though it’d be hard to keep, even if you got yourself new plates. Expensive to run. Still, if you could flog it there’d be a few pennies in it. Lord knows we could all use the money. I think Belgrade and Zagreb are competing to see who can starve us out of our jobs first.”
“Okay. You’ve got me. I was selling stuff. Selling some files to this friend. Nothing sensitive. Just some of the lowest-classified stuff that was kicking around.”
Anzulović nodded.
“Really. No state secrets. I promise. Nothing to compromise anyone or any investigation. Just the sort of dross they’re not even bothering to burn.” Files were being destroyed wholesale at the UDBA ’s various archives.
“Alright. I get it. So these files you flogged got you into trouble?”
“See, that’s the thing. They didn’t. Not the ones I sold.”
“I’m afraid I’m a little slow. Probably has to do with age. When I was a younger man, I could watch those Russian films that never made any sense except as some sort of puzzle. You know, Tarkovsky,” Anzulović said. But della Torre didn’t know. Anzulović was always going on about films that della Torre hadn’t a clue about. “But these days it’s Hollywood straight down the line. Give it to me Hollywood.”
“The person I was selling files to didn’t find them very useful. So he stole some. From me.”
“And just what sort of files did he happen to
He was the one who’d arranged for Strumbić to do the occasional bit of intelligence work for della Torre.
“You didn’t drive all this way in an almost new car, two hours before you normally get up, to give me an American cigarette.”
“Have another one.”
“Thanks, I don’t mind if I do. You can develop a taste for these.”
He lit the cigarette and smoked in silence for a while.
“Somebody wants me dead,” della Torre finally said.
“We work for the UDBA . Plenty of people would happily dance on our graves.”
“No. It’s not like that. Somebody put a hit on me.”
“Oh? How do you know?”
“Because last night I was in a car with the guys who were going to do the job and on my way to a very unpleasant end.”
“You’re sure they wanted you dead? I mean, you seem a bit stiff, but you’re not what I’d call a corpse.”
“They weren’t very good. Remember those guys who did the really messy hit in Karlovac on that businessman who wouldn’t play with the local protection racket? That’s the story, anyway — had a factory and wouldn’t pay his insurance.”
“I remember. Bosnians, wasn’t it? The Karlovac cops were surprisingly reluctant to investigate.”
“That’s the one.”
“And? You got in the car with them because . . . ?”
“I was set up,” della Torre said.
“I see. Set up by . . . ?”
“A friend. I’ll tell you about him later.”
“So your friend wants you dead. Sure it wasn’t your wife? Couldn’t say I’d blame her.”
Anzulović had always had a soft spot for Irena, whom he inevitably compared favourably to his own women.
“I had a word with my friend. He says he was put up to it. Had no choice. That sort of thing. It was a help-or-else proposition.”
“So if your friend doesn’t want you dead, who does?”
“Belgrade.”
“Oh? Anyone in particular? Or has the federal government decided it doesn’t like you?”
“I don’t know. Somebody took offence at something I had.”
“This is starting to feel like twenty questions. I think I’m just going to have a little shut-eye on the way into the office and enjoy my luxurious surroundings, and if you decide to start talking sensibly, maybe I’ll listen.”
Della Torre drove in silence for a while.
“Nice leather. Should fetch a bit,” Anzulović said in his slow, ruminating way. “Shame it’s stolen. Though it’d be hard to keep, even if you got yourself new plates. Expensive to run. Still, if you could flog it there’d be a few pennies in it. Lord knows we could all use the money. I think Belgrade and Zagreb are competing to see who can starve us out of our jobs first.”
“Okay. You’ve got me. I was selling stuff. Selling some files to this friend. Nothing sensitive. Just some of the lowest-classified stuff that was kicking around.”
Anzulović nodded.
“Really. No state secrets. I promise. Nothing to compromise anyone or any investigation. Just the sort of dross they’re not even bothering to burn.” Files were being destroyed wholesale at the UDBA ’s various archives.
“Alright. I get it. So these files you flogged got you into trouble?”
“See, that’s the thing. They didn’t. Not the ones I sold.”
“I’m afraid I’m a little slow. Probably has to do with age. When I was a younger man, I could watch those Russian films that never made any sense except as some sort of puzzle. You know, Tarkovsky,” Anzulović said. But della Torre didn’t know. Anzulović was always going on about films that della Torre hadn’t a clue about. “But these days it’s Hollywood straight down the line. Give it to me Hollywood.”
“The person I was selling files to didn’t find them very useful. So he stole some. From me.”
“And just what sort of files did he happen to
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