The Eyewitness Read Free Page A

fluent, and when she translated from Bosnian she could convey the inferences and subtleties of what was being said. She also spoke Serbo-Croatian, Albanian and Russian, and Solomon had seen her flirt so effectively with an Italian army captain in his own language that the man had run after her in the street begging for her phone number. Before the war she'd been a teacher, but when there had been no money to pay her salary she'd become a translator, working first for the police and then the Commission. She knew when to ask questions of her own, and when to stick rigidly to what the co-ordinator was asking.
    Solomon briefed her as he took out the file on the Pristina case. Then they went down to his car and drove out of the city towards Serbia. She lit a Marlboro with an SFOR Zippo and handed it to him, then lit one for herself. Most Bosnians smoked: cigarettes were cheap and plentiful, and during four years of almost constant shelling and sniper fire by the Serbian army they had been one of the few pleasures available to the population. Until she had started to work for the Commission, she'd smoked one of the foul-smelling local brands and Solomon had introduced her to the milder Marlboro Lights that he favoured. He'd realised recently, though, that she only smoked them when she was with him. Otherwise she smoked her old brand.
    “So they've been in water for three years?” asked Kimete. She grimaced.
    “That's what Chuck says,” said Solomon.
    Six black SFOR helicopters clattered overhead in the direction of the border with Serbia. Kimete glanced up at them.
    “That's the way to get around,” she said.
    “Stop complaining,” said Solomon, and laughed.
    “It's not as if you've got to drive.”
    It took just over four hours to reach the lake, which was well away from any major roads. There were no signposts and they had to rely on a map that Kimete had open on her lap.
    They knew they were on the right road when they saw two Humvee armoured cars and a group of American soldiers with automatic weapons. One held up his hand and Solomon brought the four-wheel-drive to a halt. He flashed his Commission credentials. A young American soldier in full battle dress nodded, then insisted that Kimete also showed her ID. Solomon explained they were there to see the remains taken from the lake. The soldier told him to wait, then went over to one of the Humvees and used a radio. He came back to Solomon's vehicle and gave him directions to a nearby farm.
    Solomon wove past the Humvees and followed the directions. The farm was at the end of a half-mile-long rutted track at the bottom of a heavily wooded hill. Stone buildings formed a U-shape around a cobbled courtyard, in which three grey US Army Humvees were lined up, along with several blue police vans and two US Army Jeeps in camouflage livery. Half a dozen US troopers stood in a circle, smoking and talking. They glanced at the Nissan Patrol's diplomatic plates and carried on their conversation.
    To the right of a stone farmhouse was a large corrugated-iron barn. Two soldiers were standing at the entrance.
    Solomon and Kimete walked up to them and showed their IDs. One called into the barn, and a lieutenant in a dark blue flak-jacket came out and shook their hands. He spoke with a deep south drawl and the fingers of his right hand were stained with nicotine. Solomon offered him a Marlboro, then handed the packet to Kimete. The lieutenant took them inside the barn and Solomon lit their cigarettes. They gazed at a large refrigerator truck, covered in thick brown slime, its rear doors unlocked but almost closed.
    “How was it discovered?” asked Solomon.
    “UN helicopter flying low over the lake last week,” said the lieutenant.
    “The co-pilot called in that he'd seen something in the water but we were only able to get to it yesterday. We used a Chinook to pull it out. Hell of a job.”
    Solomon nodded at the rear doors.
    “You opened it, yeah?”
    The lieutenant nodded and