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Dulic, Bosnia & Herzegovina, 1992
I was next in line to use the restroom. I waited, impatient, for the prisoner ahead of me to return. He finally arrived, and the guard said, “Next.”
As I hurried across the road for my minute of humanity, a Serb second lieutenant walked toward me, signaling me to halt. I resented the intrusion on my precious time, but I had to stop.
“I know you. You’re an athlete, aren’t you? A kayak racer?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You won a gold medal representing Yugoslavia.”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“I know who you are,” he said. “Do you have anyone I can contact, a telephone number where I could call them and tell them you’re okay?”
I hesitated. Surprised. Suspicious. Was he serious? Or was this some kind of trick, like freeing prisoners at dusk, never to be seen again. If I gave him Anya’s number, would they harass her? I couldn’t risk it.
“Yes, I have a phone number,” I answered slowly, “but I don’t have anything to write on.” The stranger slipped a pen and small notebook from the pocket of his uniform and handed it to me. I wrote Rad Simic’s name and phone number, the Serb racer Nik and I were friends with. He glanced at it before sliding it into his pocket.
“I know this name, too.” He grinned. “You have good friends.”
“I am in here with another athlete. Nik Petrović,” I said, anxious to use the restroom but reluctant to leave.
“The Bosnian?” He laughed. “He’s a hothead, that one. I watched you all race at Yugoslav National Championship near Belgrade in ’85, at Lake Ada Ciganlija. I was there. I’ve watched your interviews on TV after the Olympics.”
I nodded deferentially, wondering if this might help get Nik and me out.
“Go on now, and don’t worry,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, and hurried on to the restroom. When I returned just a minute later, he had vanished.
A couple of days later, a guard slid the warehouse door open and strutted inside, accompanied by a young officer wearing a camouflage uniform, a military police insignia on one shoulder, a braid draped over the other. The braid designated a special operations unit. He wore a red beret.
The officer had a boyish face with the shadow of a mustache, as if he were trying to grow one without much success. His dark hair was cut short, and he looked around the warehouse with intelligent brown eyes. All of us prisoners braced ourselves, wary.
“Novak,” the guard called.
My heart sank.
“Luka, come over here.”
Apprehensive, I stood and walked to them. The officer reached out and offered his hand in greeting. “It’s an honor to meet you,” he said.
I was speechless as I shook the man’s hand.
“Luka,” the guard interrupted. “Let’s go out and talk a little more to the captain.”
I had learned in prison that seemingly good news usually masked something ugly that was about to happen, and I didn’t like to be separated from the group. Nothing good ever came from being singled out.
I followed them out of the warehouse into the bright noon sun and over to an office in the brick building. The guard poured us each a cup of coffee and we sat down to talk.
“I’ve heard many good things about you,” the Red Beret captain began, but I barely comprehended what he was saying as he turned the conversation to sports, as if we were just shooting the breeze on a pleasant afternoon. I focused on my coffee. I picked up my cup with a shaking hand and sipped. The coffee aroma, the body, the overwhelming flavor. I sipped and sipped as we talked, or rather as the captain talked and I listened in cautious apprehension. Soldiers passed by the office, peeking in, curious about this Red Beret in their midst.
After about fifteen minutes, the captain said, “My apologies! I haven’t properly introduced myself. I’m Captain Kostić. As you can tell, I’m a huge fan.” He looked embarrassed, as if realizing he had gone on too long.
I sat stunned. A powerful officer in an aggressive army was chatting as if we were having coffee at a downtown café. After about a half an hour as the discussion seemed to be going nowhere, I grew increasingly uncomfortable. I just wanted to get away from them.
“If we are finished,” I ventured, “I would like to go back to the warehouse. My friend Nik Petrović is there, too.”
“Of course, Nik,” the captain said, “We mustn’t forget about Nik. You’re free to go.”
We all stood up and I headed to the door, made it nearly there when the captain said one simple word. “Stop.”
I froze. The coffee, the nice little chat, had all been a cover. Now the truth of the meeting would now be known. I turned slowly back to face them.
“Can I do anything for you?” Captain Kostić asked.
What was his game?
“Yeah, sure you can,” I answered.
“What can I do for you?”
I studied the young officer, trying to figure him out. “You can free Nik and me from this place.”
The captain looked pleased, as if I’d answered correctly. “I think I can do something for you.”
“Yeah?” I said. “Well, you know where to find me.”
I opened the office door and headed outside. A soldier appeared and walked me over to the warehouse.
Back inside, Nik rushed over to me. “What happened?”
But before I could, answer other prisoners gathered around, all talking at once.
“Luka, they’re going to release you. You are going to be free.”
“Those guys, they can get you out.”
“Did you see that Red Beret? You have friends in high places.”
I said nothing but returned to my spot with Nik. Leaning against the warehouse wall, I watched through the gap in the door as the captain and a few soldiers who must have arrived with him climbed into a car and drove away.
“Who was that?” Nik asked, agitated.
“Someone who knows us from racing,” I whispered. “He’s the second Serb officer who’s talked to me about my kayaking career.” I looked away from the gap to Nik. “About our careers.”
Nik grew excited. “Maybe they’ll get us out of here.”
Emotions jumbled inside me. Part of me hoped that the captain would set us free, but I didn’t have much faith in that happening. I feared I would never see him again and at the same time, I was very afraid to see him again. If the captain reappeared, no good would come of it, that much I figured. Most of the people I knew of who had been freed from this prison disappeared for good.
Two hours passed in silence, then a car drove up. I peered out the gap—the same car, the same captain with the red beret. This time he had only one soldier with him. They both got out and walked into the office building, emerging minutes later with a guard. The three of them headed toward the warehouse. I pulled away from the gap, heart pounding.
The door slid open, and they stepped inside.
“Novak! Petrović!” the guard called.
Nik grabbed me by the arm. “This is it, Luka. We’re getting out of here.”
I wasn’t so sure. I forced myself to stand up and step forward, but my emotions must have been written all over my face when I approached the guard and captain.
“Aw, Luka, man, you look scared,” said the guard. “Don’t be scared. You’re going home, you’re going to be free. You’ll row on the Yugoslav national team again, mark my words.”
“Don’t be afraid,” the captain added. “You both are coming with me.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To be free,” he said. “Do you have anything that you want to take?”
“No.” I answered. “But I would like to say goodbye.”
“Say your goodbyes, then,” said the captain.
Nik stayed with the captain, grinning ear to ear, while I turned back into the warehouse. All these people, what would become of them? People shuffled up to me. An old man took my hands in his. “Tell people what is going on in here,” he said. “Don’t let them forget us.”
Next came one of the few women in there. “Remember us, Luka.”
Face after face. I shook their hands. I said goodbye. And finally, I turned and joined the captain and Nik. A guard slid open the warehouse door and the Red Beret captain, Nik, and I walked outside.
This time, I knew when the hammer fell, the gun would be loaded. I knew one thing for sure.
I was a dead man walking. And so was Nik.
I walked out of the warehouse on shaky legs, sure I would be dragged behind the office, a bullet put in my head. Or maybe they would walk me down to the river, shoot me, and throw my body into the current.
We walked to the captain’s car, where a soldier handed Nik and me our papers and IDs. He opened the car door and held it for me, and with a hand on my shoulder, pressed me into the back seat. He did the same with Nik on the other side. A driver waited at the wheel. Captain Kostić got into the front passenger seat and nodded.
The driver started the car and made a tight U-turn to head out the way he had come in. We drove past the guard station and out of Dulic.
Nik and I had been in that warehouse for months. I’d lost track of the time. As we drove away, I never glanced backward.
“Do you have anything at your home that you want?” the captain asked.
“Yes,” Nik and I both said at the same time, but I thought perhaps that was where he would put the bullet in our heads.
Nik told the driver the address to his and Anya’s apartment. Serb soldiers were standing on the sidewalk outside the building when we pulled up.
“It seems a million years since I was here,” Nik whispered to me before we got out of the car, along with the Red Beret captain.
The Serb soldiers jumped to attention when they recognized the captain. “At ease,” he said to them, then to us. “Gentlemen, we need to follow you up to your apartment. We trust you, but these local Serbs could cause you some trouble.”
We climbed the stairs to the apartment, and Nik knocked on the door. I wanted to see Anya so badly, and I became aware of my appearance. My smell. Both Nik and I hadn’t had a proper shower for months. Our clothes were filthy, and Nik looked like he’d lost about ten kilos. My clothes hung on my frame, and I figured that I, too, had lost a lot of weight.
After a long wait in silence, disappointment flowed through me that Anya wasn’t home. Then there was a small sound, and the door opened a crack. I heard an intake of breath, then the door closed, the metallic sound of a chain lock being slid open—that was new since I’d been taken away. Then the door opened and there she stood. My beautiful Anya, staring at us with eyes wide with shock, delight, and, when she spotted the captain behind us, fear.
Nik spoke first. “I know we look a fright, Anya, but it’s us. It’s really us. This is Captain Kostić. He got us out of prison.”
Anya studied the captain with suspicion, and reached out and took my hand. “Prison?” She studied my face as if I were a stranger.
“We’ll explain later, but for now, we need some new clothes. We’re not sure where the captain is taking us.”
She stepped back, never releasing my hand, and pulled me into the apartment. Despite my condition she wrapped her arms around me and held me tight for a long time.
“We’re taking you to a friend,” the captain said. “And we don’t have a lot of time.”
“I’m coming, too,” Anya said, releasing me. “I’ll pack a bag. It’ll only take a minute.”
“No, Anya,” I insisted. “This could be dangerous. You should stay here.”
She smiled, put a hand on my cheek, and went to pack some clothes.
The captain looked amused. “Women,” he said. “What can you do?”
I followed Anya into her bedroom where I found my clothes. “You stay here,” I whispered into her ear. “I don’t trust these men, Anya. We’re all in danger.”
“Then I’ll be in danger with you. I let you both out of my sight once. I won’t again.”
I peeled off the filthy rags and changed. I longed to take a shower, but the captain seemed in a hurry. I threw my rags into the garbage, stuffed a toothbrush and a few extra clothes into a duffel bag, and rejoined the captain. Despite my repeated pleading, Anya came along. The three of us followed the captain down the stairs and back into the car. I glanced around when we stepped outside, hoping someone who recognized us would see who we were, and the car we were getting into.
Just in case we were never seen again, I was hoping for some witnesses.
