Free Retribution by Adrian Magson Page A

long sigh filtered down the line. ‘Yeah, pretty much. There was a witness to the killing: an old lady who freaked out with the shock. Kept shouting about “a man with dark eyes . . . a man with dark eyes”. They haven’t got a useful word out of her since.’ He coughed. ‘It chimes with something the Paris police said. A couple of barflies where Orti had his last drink said there was a man with dark eyes in the café.’
    â€˜What was Broms doing in Brussels?’
    â€˜He was on secondment to the embassy, Two I/C of their security section. The embassy’s closed down but they had a skeleton staff packing up and needed a security presence. Broms rotated shifts with two other guards, and lived in a section house nearby. He died of a single stab to the side. The cops say his chest had been mutilated. I asked for pictures, but they haven’t sent them through yet.’
    Harry thought about what kind of man could kill two experienced soldiers with such apparent ease. First Orti, who would know every possible move of rough-house fighting going, then Broms, big enough to shrug off most men with little effort. Whoever the killer was, he had used the element of surprise backed up with lethal skill.
    Deane said, ‘You remember Anton Kleeman?’
    â€˜How could I forget?’ Harry almost had, until now. He vaguely recalled a handsome man in his early forties, smooth and urbane, with the healthy glow of the outdoors common to many Americans; a professional politician but not one you would necessarily like unless he wanted it.
    â€˜Well, he’s moved up the UN totem pole since Kosovo. He’s now a Special Envoy and nobody’s taking bets that he doesn’t try for one of the top jobs one day. He’s got the clout and influence to get his hat in the ring; he just needs something to propel him the last few rungs of the ladder.’
    Harry wondered where this was leading. He soon found out.
    â€˜He called a press conference earlier today in New York. It was supposed to be a follow-up briefing dealing with reports about brutalities committed by UN forces in Africa. Word is, he was using it to beef himself up prior to a number of Security Council meetings. There was certainly no need for any briefing on the subject today. Unfortunately, he got sandbagged about the alleged rape and murder in Kosovo.’
    â€˜Which he discounted?’
    â€˜Which he did not. He actually said the matter would be fully investigated and the guilty trooper, even if no longer serving, would be charged and punished.’
    â€˜But it was twelve years ago.’
    â€˜Some other allegations are even older – the accusations against the British in Kenya . . . against the US in Vietnam and Cambodia, the UN in Haiti and Somalia. Memories are long when it comes to injustices.’
    It wasn’t what Harry had meant; he’d been thinking of the time span compared with more recent allegations. But Deane was right: there was no statute of limitations for accusations against nation states. ‘What happened?’
    â€˜You can imagine. When he said “trooper”, the
Times
reporter nearly had an orgasm.’ Deane huffed down the line. ‘Man, what an asshole.’
    â€˜What do you want me to do?’ said Harry, sensing it was his turn.
    Deane didn’t even express surprise. ‘Ideally, find the rest of the team. Go talk to them . . . Koslov, Bikovsky, Pendry . . . see if they’ve got anything to hide. Oh, and the compound guard, too. See what they say, did they have any scams going on the side involving girls in the compounds – that kind of thing.’
    â€˜Why should they tell me anything?’
    â€˜You’re one of them. They’ll talk to you. They won’t give me Jack shit.’
    â€˜They’ll know what I’m doing, though – who I’m reporting to.’
    Deane came straight back. ‘Listen, we’ve got two ex-KFOR