Retribution

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

“What is the purpose of your visit to Skopje?”

“Business.” I replied, nodding towards my luggage bag as it was searched by a pair of security guards. “Journalism.”

The uniformed man before me grunted in acknowledgment, and scribbled something down on his clipboard. Whatever efforts he had made to look smart were countered by the thick stubble that covered his chin, and the bags under his eyes that suggested he hadn’t slept the night before. His attitude was lax, and high morale didn’t appear to be one the strengths of his job. Watching how he stood as he continued to collect my details, I figured that he was overworked and underpaid. He spoke with a heavy eastern European accent, and seemed to have learnt what little English he knew through writing rather than speech - it had an obvious effect on his pronunciation. His questions were routine, and it seemed anyone passing through the airport was getting the same treatment. Although at this stage we had nothing to hide, I couldn’t help but feel nervous. With a civil war raging on the other side of the border, airport security had been stepped up, and anyone suspicious could end up in a holding cell or worse.

The guard sighed deeply as he went over his notes. For a moment he stopped, rubbing his left eye with the palm of his hand. For his sake, I hoped his supervisor wasn’t watching. His body language clearly spelt out that the only thing on his mind right now was his next lunch break. I knew, however, that his lack of efficiency and effort was only increasing my chances of leaving the airport as planned.

Taking a last look at his clipboard, the guard turned to his workmates, and gestured for them to finish their search and move onto the next passenger. I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Thank you sir, we are done. Enjoy your stay.”

I nodded in politeness as I retrieved my passport, and took my bag from the table. Further down the line, I could see Mark queuing to go through the same checks. We had sat separately on the plane in order to avoid raising suspicion, and would continue the act until both of us were outside. Making sure I gave no more than a quick glance, I made my way through the waiting area, and out of the front doors.

A taxi rank stood before me, and behind it there was a car park, sparsely populated by grubby looking vehicles. Small crowds of people stood either side of me clutching suitcases, some waiting for family, others making their way into parked cars and buses. I paused for a moment, resting again the wall, and waited for Mark.

Our flight had been relatively uneventful, and no-one had really questioned our claims to be journalists. So far, the plan seemed to be going well, but I knew the hardest parts had not yet begun. Flying between international airports with recording equipment was not illegal; purchasing weapons from a black market arms dealer was, and that would be where possible difficulties would really start to arise. Looking out towards the surrounding mountain ranges, I wondered if Mark's contact was already out there, just waiting to conduct business with us later that night. I looked at my watch; we had a little less than eight hours before the meeting. After that, we would move straight to the RV point to link up with our pilots and then head across the border into Serbia. At that point, there would be no turning back. Our time as law abiding tourists was very limited, and we still had tasks to do before we left the civilised world.

“Alright, let’s find a taxi and get into the city.” said Mark, appearing behind me. He made no mention of the flight or the security checks we had just passed through; once in country, he always became more business orientated.

Approaching the nearest taxi, I leant down, and caught the attention of the balding driver behind the wheel.

“Speak English?” I asked, not entirely sure how bilingual the general population was. The driver nodded, but said nothing. He seemed to be occupied by folding his newspaper and trying not to spill his coffee. I continued.