Rough Justice Read Free Page B

was a gray and misty morning, dark because of the pine trees crowding in.
    “Looks as if there’s been no upkeep on this road since the war,” Blake said. “What’s between here and Banu?”
    “Not much at all.” Miller put the map back in his holdall. “Depressing sort of place, isn’t it? You’d wonder why anyone would want to live here.”
    “I suppose so.”
    “Are you married?”
    “For a few years, but it didn’t work out, mainly because of the demands of my job. She was a journalist.”
    “Do you still see her?”
    “No, she’s dead, murdered actually, by some rather bad people.”
    “My God.” Miller shook his head. “That’s terrible. I can only hope there was some kind of closure.”
    “The courts, you mean?” Blake shook his head. “No time for that, not in today’s world, not in my world. The rules are no rules. The people concerned were taken care of with the help of some very good friends of mine.” He shrugged. “It was a long time ago, Major.”
    “Why do you call me that?”
    “Tomas, the innkeeper. You had to show him your passport.”
    “You were military yourself, I think?”
    “Yes, I was also a major at the early age of twenty-three, but that was Vietnam for you. All my friends seemed to die around me, but I never managed it. Are you married?”
    Although he knew the answer, it might seem strange to Miller not to ask, and he got an instant response. “Very much so. Olivia. American, actually. She’s an actress. Twelve years younger than me, so she’s in her prime. Gets plenty of work in London.”
    “Children?”
    “Not possible, I’m afraid.”
    Blake didn’t say he was sorry. There just didn’t seem any point, and at that moment, there was the sound of shooting and they went over a rise and saw a young peasant riding a cycle toward them. He was swaying from side to side, his mouth gaping, panic stricken. Blake braked to a halt. The man on the cycle slewed onto his side and fell over. Miller got out, approached him, and pulled him up.
    “Are you all right? What’s wrong?” He spoke in English. The man seemed bewildered, and there was blood matting his hair on the left side of the head. “Banu?” Miller tried.
    The man nodded energetically. “Banu,” he said hoarsely, and pointed along the road. There were a couple more shots.
    “I’ll try Russian,” Miller said, and turned to the man. “Are you from Banu?”
    His question was met by a look of horror, and the man was immediately terrified, turned and stumbled away into the trees.
    Miller got back in the jeep and said to Blake, “So much for Russian.”
    “It frightened him to death,” Blake said. “That was obvious. I speak it a certain amount myself, as it happens.”
    “Excellent. Then I suggest we go down to Banu and find out what’s going on, don’t you think?”
    Miller leaned back and Blake drove away.
     
 
THEY PAUSED on a rise, the village below. It wasn’t much of a place: houses of wood mainly on either side of the road, scattered dwellings that looked like farm buildings extending downward, a stream that was crossed by a wooden bridge supported by large blocks of granite. There was a wooden building with a crescent above it, obviously what passed as a small mosque, and an inn of the traditional kind.
    A sizable light armored vehicle was parked outside the inn. “What the hell is that?” Blake asked.
    “It’s Russian, all right,” Miller told him. “An armored troop carrier called a Storm Cruiser. Reconnaissance units use them. They can handle up to twelve soldiers.” He opened his holdall and took out a pair of binoculars. “Street’s clear. I’d say the locals are keeping their heads down. Two soldiers on the porch, supposedly guarding the entrance, drinking beer, a couple of girls in head scarves crouched beside them. The shooting was probably somebody having fun inside the inn.”
    “So what do we do?”
    “Well, to a certain extent I represent United Nations interests