“My nephew is not an outstanding young man. Also my sister’s son. But he is an idiot. Yet he is my nephew.” Kajevic shrugged, with the same hapless gesture most adults on earth had employed now and then in talking about certain family members. “And very loyal. He is a drug addict who claims he is cured, despite weekly relapses. But he mixes well in low elements. He bought these guns. And was very proud of himself.”
“He dealt with the Roma?”
“Ah yes. Face-to-face apparently. I knew nothing about this in advance. I had no choice but to beat him once he told me the story.” Kajevic added that fact with utter serenity. Violence, as he’d said, was part of nature.
“And why were you displeased?”
“Because he had dealt with Gypsies. Gypsies care only about Gypsies. It is untrue that they have no sense of honor. But it is limited to Gypsies.”
“Had he told the Gypsies whom the weapons were for?”
“He claimed not. But his uncle is all my nephew has with which to impress. Girls in bars. Whoever. He has been cautioned a dozen times but is incorrigible. And even what he admitted saying was too much—how his important uncle would enjoy the fact that the weapons had been stolen from the Americans. Who else around Tuzla or Doboj would that apply to? The Gypsies are very clever. And my nephew all but gave them our precise whereabouts to deliver the goods. They would have been fools not to follow him back the few blocks. And because they are Gypsies, they would think nothing of selling weapons to us on one hand and then, on the other hand, selling information about our location to the Americans.”
“So that’s how you knew the Americans would be coming for you? Surmise?”
“More than surmise. Expectation. Based on certainty about the Gypsies, Mr. Ten Boom. We knew they’d betray us and that NATO would arrive. When was not clear. If we moved, we might have fallen into the Americans’ snares. So we prepared. And remained hidden. I had people to watch for me all over Bosnia. You have learned that.” Face averted, he again delivered a superior look of considerable satisfaction. “I had them on alert, and so learned that NATO was on the way an hour or so in advance.”
I’d asked dozens of times how Kajevic had been so ready for the Americans, but no guess, not mine or anyone else’s, had been entirely accurate. As a prosecutor and defense lawyer, I’d always loved the moment when the defendant finally opened up. Even the most exacting reconstruction of events before that turned out to have missed something.
“And how did the Americans know that their troops were shot with guns stolen from them?”
“Unfortunately, Americans were not the only persons to die in that incident. We left our dead and their weapons behind as we were escaping, and could remember our comrades only in our prayers. The Americans always recorded the serial numbers of the weapons they confiscated and usually put laser engravings on the components.” Kajevic smiled again in his disturbing way. “This is very amusing to me, your questions,” he said, “the degree to which the Americans have kept you in the dark.”
As I would have expected, Kajevic was a genius at spotting vulnerabilities. Despite supposedly ruing his dead, he had probably been supremely satisfied to leave a few assault rifles behind to complete the Americans’ disgrace. It was not hard to imagine the combination of indignation, sorrow, and rage the US forces had felt, assessing the magnitude of Kajevic’s triumph.
His smugness and his powerful ability to shape reality to his liking made me eager to put him in his place.
“And yet it was you, President Kajevic, according to what we have heard repeatedly, who sent an emissary to threaten the people of Barupra.”
Bozic’s fine blue eyes rose from his pad. He’d been taken by surprise by the question and was alarmed. He laid his thick hand on Kajevic’s forearm.
“A word with the president, please,” said Bozic. But he had the client from hell, who pulled free.
“As I have told you, Mr. Ten Boom, I was hundreds of kilometers away. I did not menace anyone.”
“Are you aware of any threats being made on your behalf against the people in Barupra?”
Bozic lifted his palm to call a halt. Kajevic, whose eyes never left me, again answered anyway.
“Whatever was said was idle talk. No actions were taken at my order.”
“But do you know if the Roma of Barupra were informed that you would be exacting revenge against them?”
“War is not a parlor game, Mr. Ten Boom.”
“Does that mean that to the best of your knowledge such threats were made?”
“I would say yes to that. Certainly I would not want to encourage others to do as the Gypsies had done.” This was what Attila had explained the night I got to Bosnia. Integral to Kajevic’s success in remaining at large was terrorizing anyone who might turn against him. Threatening the Gypsies for betraying him was essential.
“And what precisely was communicated, President Kajevic?”
“I would not know. I probably had no idea then, and certainly no memory now. Enough to instill fear: vengeance on any person involved—and those they cared for.” He added the second piece casually, as if there was nothing special about threatening innocents.
I pondered. “But given your purpose, President Kajevic, which was to deter anyone else from helping NATO, it doesn’t seem to me that what you yourself call ‘idle talk’ would have been sufficient.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “We will never know. The Americans killed the Roma.”
“Before you could?”
He offered only a tiny, canny smile. He was after all a lawyer, and knew just where the lines were. To Bozic’s considerable relief, Kajevic signaled with a hand that he was now done answering on that subject.
“Have you ever considered that it was not the Roma who informed against you, but someone else?”
“It was not someone else, Mr. Ten Boom. We both know that. We dealt with outsiders infrequently for just this reason. Only the Roma knew where we were and by their natures would get maximum value for that secret.”
I turned to Goos, to see if he had questions. He had been typing like mad on his laptop, and pressed a button to go back.
“Did your nephew tell you the name of the Gypsy he bought the guns from?” Goos asked.
“Probably. But who could remember after more than a decade?”
“Ferko Rincic?” Goos asked.
Kajevic threw up his long, elegant hands at the uselessness of attempting to recall.
“What about Boldo Mirga?” Goos clearly was beginning to hatch a different theory about why Boldo and his relatives had died. Kajevic appeared more impressed by that name. He pulled on his chin.
“That seems more familiar. But who knows with memory?”
I glanced again to Goos for any more questions. He shook his head.
“You are surprised, of course,” said Kajevic, “by what I have told you.”
“Somewhat.”
“The Americans, I assume, have blamed me for the deaths of these Roma.”
I tossed my head in a way meant to show I couldn’t say.
“No, that is how the Americans are. They love to look as innocent as schoolboys, but they are devious to the core. After our escape, we were required to make the threats we have just been discussing. Once the Americans learned that, they knew they could annihilate these Roma with impunity. And they did so. And then denied it, of course.” He shook his head, sincerely amazed by the depravity of the Americans. Like every other hypocrite alive, he was very good at applying unyielding standards to others.
Bozic again straightened up to apply a note of caution.
“Once more,” he said, “I remind you that President Kajevic described these threats as ‘idle talk,’” said Bozic. “No action of any kind was ever taken by him or anyone he had the power to guide.”
“That is quite correct,” said Kajevic.
“Do you know who among the Roma received those idle threats?” I asked.
Kajevic looked upward a second to think.
“I believe it was the fellow who sold the guns. Baldo? If that’s the right man. I did hear that he denied on the lives of his children that he had informed the Americans. As if we would believe that. We do not understand the Gypsies, Mr. Ten Boom. But, alas, they do not understand us.”
We were all silent a second. Kajevic’s serene willingness to be both judge and executioner left a weird disturbance in the quiet room.