Free All Cry Chaos by Leonard Rosen Page B

Banović has ordered the . . . elimination of your wife, your son, and his wife and children." A pause. "This is an unusual development, to be sure. Banović said that you were not to be harmed."
        A sudden heat rose through Poincaré's chest. His breath caught in his throat, his grip on the phone tightening. "How do you know this? He's locked in the most secure prison in the world. What harm can Banović do?"
        "Several of his lieutenants remain at large, as you know. His death squad was disbanded, but their money was never found. With those men and those millions, Banović can reach anyone he pleases—even from prison. Understand that our facility cannot acknowledge tape recording a privileged conversation between a client and his attorney, even if that meeting turns out to be a ruse. That would only confirm our violation of international agreements. But given the extreme circumstance, I am alerting you—off the record. Ask your questions, Sir. This is the last I can speak of the matter."
        "Banović would go after my family ?" Poincaré yelled, forgetting where he was. He spun, dazed, and saw Ludovici, De Vries, and Laurent staring, their faces slack. Quito studied the photographs.
        "Who knows what this man will do?" answered the director. "His contact is Aleksandr Borislav. From what we can gather, he flew to The Hague for this one visit, arriving three nights ago, and returned to Bosnia just after the interview with Banović. Borislav's so-called law offices were located in Mostar. We have since discovered that this address is a cafeteria. We surmise that Borislav knew Banović from the war. My own view is that since we photographed and fingerprinted him, as we do everyone who enters this facility, and since Banović knows as much, Borislav is not himself the contractor but rather the agent who will procure contractors. I suggest that you begin with him. We will fax you his photograph, his prints, and a transcript of the conversation. You know where to find Banović and can have access to him at any time—quietly, of course. As for Borislav, we can be sure this is not his real name. He left The Netherlands on a flight to Bosnia; beyond that, we don't know where he is. I'll leave it to you to bring this information to Interpol. They will shield you."
        Poincaré stared into the dead space below the ballroom's chandeliers. All his life he had labored to keep the brutality of his work from Claire and Etienne. And now a threat not of his making, that he could not control, had intruded. What had Banović to lose? Adding a few more murders to scores already committed, heaping new agonies on old, would mean little at his sentencing. The most severe punishment the International Court could pronounce was life in prison, and Banović was already assured that. As long as his life was forfeit anyway, Banović must have reasoned, why not have his fun?
        "This interview is over," said Poincaré.
        Quito looked up from the photographs. "Some unpleasantness? I couldn't help but overhear, Inspector. Only the worst sort of man would threaten innocents."
        "Forget what you heard."
        "Consider it forgotten. But let me say that Indigenes have endured centuries of brutality. Our great mistake was not meeting force with force. How else could Pizarro and 180 soldiers have conquered an empire of millions?" Quito shouldered his backpack. "Protect your innocents, Inspector. Meet this threat with force. It's all the barbarian understands."
        Poincaré walked to the door and opened it. The contract would take weeks, possibly months, to put in place. He had time, but not much time. He reached to meet Quito's outstretched hand and heard a voice that sounded like his own say, "Thank you for your visit."
        Quito took a long, last survey of the room and of Poincaré. "Meet force with force," he said. "Brutality only understands itself."

    CHAPTER 10

    Car horns breaking