KOSOVO

CHAPTER Four

Sara sat at her desk, compiling the notes from her first interview, an artist working in stained glass. She had excitedly described her work, her background, her inspirations - Sara had filled 6 pages. Promising to send her biography and photos, she had thanked Sara profusely before hanging up. She had made appointments to meet with two artists locally, had arranged a time to call the other two, but had not yet tried to reach her biggest fan, Washington artist Marc Gorman.

Sara reached into her drawer and pulled out Marc's e-mail, and read it through again. She really didn't know what to make of it. At first it sounded genuine, but as she read on it took on a sarcastic tone. "I'll call him tomorrow", she said to herself, and flipped her planner open. "Call Marc Gorman", she wrote at the top of Tuesday's page.

"How's the research coming?” Roger asked as he approached her desk. Sara quickly stuffed Gorman's e-mail into her drawer as she answered. "Fine. Got one down already."

"I'm sorry," Roger said, motioning towards her desk. "Something personal?"

"What? Oh, IÉ no." She said as she opened her drawer. She pulled out the e-mail and handed it to Roger. "Just a little something from one of our readers."

"An artist?" Roger asked, keeping the e-mail folded.

"Yes, a clay artist in Washington, in fact. I was thinking of calling him tomorrow"

"That's great", said Roger, as he handed the paper back to Sara, unread. "We don't have a potter yet, do we? And in Washington, too. That kills two birds with one stone - give him a call, Sara."

"Right away sir," Sara said as she flipped him a mock salute. "He's already on my list."

b c b

The two men sat in the near-dark cafe, huddled over the newspaper between them. They had discussed this matter many times over the past few months, but now they were stepping perilously closer to action.

"Are you sure it will get past their x-ray?" Ivan asked his companion; a man he knew only as "Mal."

"It's completely undetectable." Mal said persuasively. "It's the same way we got it into the embassy."

The embassy had been ripped in two; blown off its foundation. Ivan wanted to target only one man - kill one man and send an unmistakable message - Don't send us your cast-offs to ease your national conscience.

"How much would be needed to take him out?" Ivan asked the assassin.

"A piece the size of your thumb could do it," said Mal. "But you'd have to make sure he was within a few feet of the package, and that the timing was precise."

"Do it," said Ivan, as he pushed the paper toward Mal. He picked up the paper and pressed it between his hands, feeling the thickness of the envelope within its folds.

"Meet me here on Friday," Mal said, as he stood to go. "Same time."

Ivan watched as he turned to go. He crossed the plaza with the paper beneath his arm, disappearing between two buildings on the other side.

Ivan rested his head in his hands, feeling the cold sweat on his forehead. "For you, Slatko," he said to himself as he rose to leave.