3 JANUARY 2006
THE GUARD ZWOLSMAN had been given the job of escorting Marin Katich out of the prison. Marin sat on the bunk, his bag packed, waiting for the guard to unlock the cell and come bumbling in. Eventually he did, his simpleton’s smile broader than ever.
‘Come along, Mr K,’ said Zwolsman. ‘The sky is blue today. I will take you to the outside and you can look at it for as long as you like.’
‘Thank you, Zwolsman,’ said Marin, climbing to his feet and shaking the man’s hand. ‘I won’t miss you.’
Zwolsman chuckled. ‘That’s all right, Mr K. Did you say that to Mr Milosevic when you said goodnight to him?’
‘What are you getting at, Zwolsman?’
‘Nothing, nothing.’ The guard chuckled again. ‘Time to go.’
Marin picked up his bag. As Zwolsman pointed out helpfully, it was small enough to fit in an overhead locker. Inside were his clothes, toiletries and a few books. He found a chess piece in his pocket, a black king. He looked at it for a moment then threw it into the bag.
He followed Zwolsman out of the cell for the last time. The guard unlocked the steel door at the end of the corridor and took him down the familiar stairs to the exercise yard. It was empty, but he had a moment of fight-or-flight panic and clutched his chest as he remembered the fast thumps and the blade plunging through his ribs.
Zwolsman seemed not to notice, but then he turned to Marin and said, ‘No more basketball games for you.’
They went through another locked door into a corridor, and past the glassed-in meeting room where he had seen Anna Rosen for the first time in more than thirty years. The conjugal room was close by, a mocking reminder of what would never be. At a reception-type desk near the entrance, a uniformed man handed him a sealed package, which contained his wallet; a few hundred Croatian Kuna and a thin wad of Euros; his credit and debit cards, neither of which were out of date; and his waterproof watch, which hung loose on his wrist when he slipped it on.
Alberto Rossi had sent him a letter recently, assuring him his apartment in Rovinj, full of his belongings, was waiting for him and that the old man had been keeping up the maintenance on the antique Venetian boat while Marin was away. Rossi must have been the only person Marin knew who thought he would ever be free. The old man said that a table would be waiting for him at Giannino’s with a carafe of malvasia and a chessboard.
So close now to walking free, Marin still refused to let himself think about it as something real. Zwolsman’s joke about Milosevic had been like a trigger that set his nerves on edge. Would he be met at the entrance by Dutch detectives, handed an indictment for murder and marched straight back inside, this time to be remanded into the general prison?
But Rossi’s letter and the promise it contained had produced the first taste of renewed life on his enervated palate. For a fleeting moment, he imagined his daughter sitting in the bright sun in the back of the old water taxi; he would take Rachel out of the boat harbour, past Katarina and out over the sapphire waters to the islands in Zlatni. He blinked and Anna was there too, sitting in the back with her arm around Rachel; she would have seen what he had named the boat and be happy for it.
‘Mr K?’ Zwolsman brought him back to reality. ‘We must go. They are waiting for us.’
‘Who’s waiting?’
‘The whole world is waiting,’ said Zwolsman. ‘Did no one tell you?’
The guard led him out of the war crimes unit, through the wire, past the prison hospital and through another locked door into the reception area of the general prison. There, beyond the security zone, he saw Anna Rosen and the lawyer van Brug. Zwolsman took him through the zone.
‘I will leave you with your lawyer,’ he said. ‘Goodbye, Mr K.’
‘Thank you,’ said Marin and turned away, too distracted now to think of anything else but the fact that Anna was there. He had not seen or heard from her since news broke of the raid on Rebic’s compound.
The lawyer came forward and shook his hand. ‘I have your release papers,’ said van Brug. ‘You are free to leave. We have a car here. But I must warn you, there are very many cameras and journalists waiting for you outside.’
Anna continued to hang back and he saw the tension in her face. He ignored the lawyer and spoke directly to her. ‘I’m really sorry about Pierre.’
She didn’t answer, but instead turned to van Brug and gripped his elbow.
‘Willem,’ she said. ‘Will you give us a minute alone?’
‘Of course,’ said van Brug.
Only when the lawyer had moved out of earshot did Anna look up at Marin.
‘You should be sorry about Pierre,’ she said. ‘He died trying to help you.’
‘I know that,’ said Marin. ‘I still can’t believe it. I read that he was in Motovun with Rachel.’
Anna stared at him and he was surprised to see anger flaring in her eyes. When she spoke her tone was icy.
‘Why did you send your own daughter into such danger?’
‘I didn’t!’ He stepped back as if she had slapped him. ‘I told her that Lovren’s life could be in danger and that she should ask you to get him police protection.’
‘She never called me,’ said Anna. ‘She was angry with me and wanted to find the truth about her father for herself. She decided to go to Motovun and Pierre went along to look out for her. They walked straight into the hands of Rebic. You should have been much more careful about what you told her, Marin.’
‘You think it’s my fault? Rachel came to see me in hospital. Can you imagine what that was like? I didn’t know she existed. You had lied to her and kept the truth from me. Look, I get it, I don’t blame you for that. But I don’t know Rachel. I had no idea she was so headstrong.’
He looked at Anna, beseeching her to understand, but her hard gaze was unchanged so he stumbled on.
‘I was in bad way, Anna. Rebic had come after me and I knew he would go for Lovren. I just wanted you to warn him, to protect him. I never thought for a minute that she would race off to find him.’
‘Pierre and Lovren were both killed in front of Rachel,’ said Anna and now her eyes were glistening.
‘Oh, dear God!’ he cried. ‘I didn’t know that.’
Marin dropped his head to stare at his feet.
‘I’ve only seen what’s in the papers,’ he said, looking back up. ‘I tried calling you. I left messages for van Brug … Forget that. This is terrible, Anna, horrible. How is she?’
‘She’s still in hospital,’ said Anna. ‘Here in The Hague. She’s recovering physically, but what she went through was unimaginable. Right now she’s being interviewed by Croatian security people. She’s expecting us to bring you to see her.’
‘That’s all I’ve been thinking of.’
‘I don’t think you should see her,’ said Anna and he was struck again by the coldness in her voice.
‘Why are you saying that?’
‘There’s a reason I haven’t been to see you since she was rescued.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you remember the letter you wrote me?’
‘Of course.’
‘You said you didn’t recognise yourself in the picture I sent you. That you’d done too many bad things, things that still burn in your soul.’
‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘They turned me into a killer.’
‘Yes,’ said Anna. ‘An assassin. A man who kills in cold blood.’
‘The men I killed were killers themselves,’ he said, aware that a babble of voices was welling up in his head. ‘They had all done terrible things, but that doesn’t mean their deaths don’t torment me.’
The voices were roaring now in unison, indistinguishable cries of outrage, and in Anna’s face he saw contempt.
‘What about the boys?’
‘What are you talking about?’ he said, and now he could barely hear his own voice.
I told you.
His father cut through the cacophony, as he always could.
We are the same, you and I.
‘NO!’ said Marin. ‘I’m not.’
‘What?’ said Anna, confused by his outburst. ‘I’m talking about those you executed in revenge for your mother’s death, the Serbs you executed on the side of the mountain before you destroyed their guns. Rebic told me about this. He said many of them were young conscripts, barely out of school. He told me how much he admired you for this action, how he cheered when he heard about it … Marin, did you hear what I said?’
The lawyer was now moving towards them, disturbed by the confrontation, but she waved him back.
‘What do you have to say for yourself?’
‘The ones I killed had murdered hundreds of innocent people, they were old enough to do that,’ said Marin loudly. ‘I thought I was delivering justice, but it’s true that I wasn’t in my right mind.’
Anna weighed up his words before speaking.
‘No. I’m sure you weren’t. But the element of the crime is that you murdered prisoners of war. I don’t know how many you killed or all the details yet, but that is a war crime, no matter what your state of mind was. You understand that don’t you, Marin? I told van Brug when I began working on your case that if I found evidence of war crimes I would be bound to report it.’
‘You have evidence?’
‘I expect you to confess.’
‘All war is a crime,’ said Marin. ‘I’ll confess to that. There are no rules but the ones you make up for yourself. I had one rule: protect the innocent.’
‘I’ll find the evidence, Marin. You know I will. I’m writing a book about you, and it will be the full story as I know it. Yesterday, I spoke on the phone to Amir Ramic. Do you remember him?’
‘I thought he was dead.’
‘He was in hiding because Rebic was trying to have him killed. Amir was in Bosnia under the protection of a powerful imam. As far as we know, he was the last man alive, apart from you, who knew the truth about Rebic. We found that Rebic had systematically murdered all the others. Now that the monster is dead, Ramic is safe and his testimony was necessary only to set you free.’
‘I heard that Rebic had him killed back in 1992 when he purged our Muslim fighters, but Amir would certainly have seen the worst of Rebic’s crimes before then.’
‘And your own, Marin,’ said Anna. ‘He was with you on the mountain that night, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘He was there.’
‘I know Ramic,’ she said. ‘I sat with him in Bosnia. He’s a decent man, an honest man. He wouldn’t talk about it on the phone, but I’m sure I can convince him to tell me what he saw you do to those prisoners.’
‘Have you told Rachel about this?’
‘I want you to tell her,’ said Anna. ‘But if you don’t, I won’t protect her from the truth any longer. That was a terrible mistake. Pierre died trying to find the truth about you. Rachel was kidnapped and traumatised and nearly killed trying to prove her father was not a war criminal. But now I know for sure that you are …’
Marin’s ghosts cried out at this. Their voices swelled up, hissing and shouting until the chorus of condemnation almost drowned out Anna’s words. His hands flew up to his ears and he grimaced. Anna was alarmed.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ he said and voices subsided. ‘Nothing.’
Anna scrutinised him for a moment, then continued.
‘I thought deeply about this in the past few days, Marin. You might think I’m completely heartless, but I intend to tell the world who you really were and who you are and what you have done, the good, the bad and the very bad, and if I find the evidence and witnesses you’ll end up back in here facing a new war crimes trial. You’ll walk free today, but every day you’ll be looking over your shoulder.’
The voices died away. The ghosts were still and expectant, and he stared in silence at the woman he still loved who would now be his prosecutor.
•
Marin Katich walked through the prison’s central gateway, which seemed, with its stone towers on either side, like the entrance to a castle. Leaving this fortress, he felt exposed, suddenly naked. He had been safe hidden away inside under another man’s name—at least until they found out who he was and came to kill him. He remembered what Zwolsman had said and paused to look up at the clear, blue sky. He was alone beneath it. His foolish daydream of ferrying Anna and their daughter through the waters off Rovinj had evaporated like morning mist.
Anna Rosen and Willem van Brug followed him out, but stayed back as he made his way to the small podium. With the vast array of microphones clamped and taped in place, the podium looked like an electronic hedgehog. He gripped the edge of it as if this flimsy object would keep him upright and steady. In front of him were dozens of television cameras, photographers and sullen muttering journalists. It was a familiar scene from a lifetime of looking into television screens at thousands of press conferences, but it was completely different to be the one looking out at the ravening pack.
He glanced from face to face and saw not a single sympathetic expression. Hard professional cynicism was the main impression. A few clicks and flashes, then multiple flashes began across the pack. He expected a barrage of questions but, looking out again, he realised they were expecting him to say something first. He raised his head, picked a spot above the pack as his father had told him to do when he was fifteen years old and about to address a large crowd in Sydney Town Hall. He chose a stately old house on the other side of the raised roadway. He was about to speak when he saw a reflective object glinting in the attic window. He was instantly distracted. Then more blinding flashes came from the cameras nearest him. He blinked and looked above the cameras again.
Something glinting, attic window.
He looked back to where Anna was standing with the lawyer, ten paces behind and off to the side. Her face was grim, implacable. As much as he longed for it, there would be no redemption. Marin turned back to the cameras and gestured lamely over his shoulder.
‘I want to begin by thanking my legal team,’ he said. ‘Without them, I would still be behind bars on false charges.’
He dropped his head, smiled, then looked back up.
‘Above all Anna Rosen …’
Attic window, glinting.
‘Anna Rosen,’ he repeated as the nagging thought became an epiphany.
Sniper!
A flash.
The bullet hit him in the top right of his forehead. Everything blurred. Unbearable red-black, red-black pain. Burning scalp, bone, brain matter. Falling.
‘Such a long …’
We’re waiting.
‘… time.’
Waiting for you.
Don’t fight it.
Come join us.
You’re here now …
He saw Anna above him. She was on her knees, sobbing as she cradled his head in her lap. She stroked his face with bloody hands as the light in his eyes went out. Then Marin was floating on his back in the Towamba River. It held him as gently as a mother. The shadows of iron bark and ghost gums reached out to him. He looked up and the blue sky went on forever.