Chapter I

April 1965

Belgrade, Yugoslavia

JOVAN DIVAC JAMMED HIS HANDS into his pockets and felt the pair of envelopes he had been handed. One was full of cash. The other? He wasn’t sure what comprised its contents, but he wasn’t going to look or ask either. The less he knew, the better. The mere act of carrying such a package put him at risk if he happened to get caught by the SDB, Yugoslavia’s secret police. But given the employment opportunities in Belgrade—or lack thereof—Divac didn’t hesitate to take such a gamble. With a wife and two young daughters to take care of, he couldn’t refuse paying work, even if it was dangerous.

Divac spent the next hour circling a lengthy path of more than a dozen city blocks. On days when his handyman work was nonexistent, his routine consisted of stopping regularly at random cafes to kill time as well as avoid suspicion from any SDB agents milling around. They were always watching.

He ducked into a coffee shop and ordered a cup of coffee. When he went to pay, he looked down and realized he’d grabbed a one thousand dinar note from his envelope. Divac was sure he’d arranged them in a manner so he wouldn’t draw a wary look from any store owners who love to earn a handsome tip for turning in someone behaving suspiciously.

“Do you have anything smaller?” the man asked as he shook the bill.

Divac chuckled and shook his head before handing over ten dinar note. “I wouldn’t want to exchange my monthly rent payment for a cup of coffee, would I?”

The man snatched the cash from Divac and then handed him his change. Divac took a deep breath then drank his coffee slowly, glancing at the man periodically.

One of Divac’s neighbors, Drajan Kovac, settled into a chair across from Divac. Kovac leaned forward, hunching over his coffee. He glanced around the room before speaking in a hushed tone.

“They’re everywhere, you know,” Kovac said.

“Who?” Divac asked.

“The SDB, that’s who. Even when you think they aren’t watching you, they are.”

Divac shook his head. “If you’re that convinced the SDB is everywhere, should you be speaking with me like this in public?”

“You’re probably right.” Kovac stood up suddenly and moved to an empty seat across the room.

After five minutes, Divac turned to see the store owner casting a wicked glare. Divac froze and tried to act natural. But the man kept his gaze trained on Divac all while yanking the phone off the hook and dialing a number. Divac took another sip and tried to read the man’s lips. As soon as Divac realized the man had mouthed for someone to get to his shop immediately, Divac bolted for the door.

Hustling down the street, Divac searched for a way to blend in even as the store owner followed behind. He shouted to a pair of SDB agents on the opposite sidewalk and pointed at Divac.

Divac kept his head down as he wove in and out of the pedestrian traffic, keeping track of the men pursuing him with shifty glimpses of the scene behind him. The agents pursued him in silence, which Divac used to his advantage. Had he been a thief, the Belgrade police would be begging the public to stop him, but the SDB preferred to remain low key. Despite their attempts to be almost invisible through low-profile activities, the residents of Belgrade could spot SDB personnel from several blocks away. Everyone had either been the recipient of an SDB visit or watched as agents corralled a suspect to the ground. And their pristine suits made them stand out in crowds, especially in a district full of mostly skilled laborers.

Divac used the trick his CIA contact had shared once the job began. Confidently, Divac turned the corner and disappeared down an alleyway, using the clothes hung across lines to obstruct the agents’ views. He dashed out the other side and across the street, meandering along another route until he lost them.

That was easy.

He looked up and was face to face with an SDB agent.

“We need to talk,” the agent said.

Divac’s instinct was to run, but the gun trained on him convinced him otherwise. He raised his hands slowly.

“What is this all about?” Divac asked.

“This way,” the agent said, using his weapon to direct Divac.

He walked cautiously in front of the agent, meandering through several alleyways until they reached a furniture store. Once inside, they went to the back of the store and entered a door that opened up into a small windowless room. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead in what was an otherwise eerily quiet space.

“Did I do something wrong?” Divac asked as he sat down.

The agent eyed Divac carefully. “You tell me.”

Divac looked down. “I do everything that is asked of me. I am loyal to this country.”

The agent nodded. “That is why we came to you. We’ve been looking for you for a while.”

The other agent stepped forward. “We believe your neighbor is a spy.”

“Mrs. Cacic? The old lady with the poodle?” Divac asked.

“Looks can be deceiving. We have recorded a series of coded messages she tried to pass to a man that we believe is an American spy.” The agent slid a picture across the table to Divac. “You have probably seen this man in your apartment.”

Divac swallowed hard and nodded. The picture he was staring at was also his contact.

“If you know this man is a spy, why not eliminate him now?” Divac asked.

“That is not how the SDB operates,” the agent said. “We must be sure that all strands of the web are severed before we go after the primary target.”

“So, how can I help?”

“It is a simple request. We want you to slide her a message underneath her door while she is out walking her dog. We need to confirm that this is how the spy is communicating with her.”

“That’s all?”

The agent nodded. “Do you think you can do that for us?”

Divac exhaled slowly and slid his fingers along the envelope tucked inside his jacket. “It would be my honor to help the SDB in this way.”

He stood and pushed the chair back with his knees before collecting the document.

“We will be watching,” the agent said. “You can show yourself out.”

Divac wound his way through the store before emerging onto the sidewalk. Despite agreeing to help the SDB, Divac wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

Perhaps this is a trap and they're testing my loyalty.

Divac considered that possibility and many others as he walked home for lunch.

While contemplating his next move, Divac ascended the steps leading to his apartment. He plodded upward while his eyes were cast downward, his own footsteps echoing in the stairwell. But a different noise made him stop and look up.

Mrs. Cacic was standing on the landing ahead of him, clutching her poodle. Their eyes locked, increasing Divac’s angst.

Was she really a spy for the Americans too? Or was she a spy for the SDB being used to ferret out his loyalties?

His mind raced, unable to settle on the likeliest outcome.

“Good day, Mr. Divac,” she said, nodding politely as she passed him.

“Good day, Mrs. Cacic.”

Divac wanted to slide the envelope underneath her door and be finished with his task. If she was spying for the Americans, he had almost decided she would have to deal with the fallout herself. He lingered at the top of the steps, watching her descend and disappear from sight before making another move. After she was gone, he shoved his hand in his pockets and reached for the message. Instead, he felt the package of cash, causing him to ponder his own situation.

Would I want someone else to be so cavalier about my life?

Divac held the envelope up to the light but couldn’t read anything. He clearly saw something written on the paper, helping him reach the conclusion that it wasn’t a dummy note. But such information didn’t enable him to rule out anything. A blank note would’ve only proven that the task was about deciphering where his loyalties rested. But an actual note? The stakes were officially raised. He needed to see what was written inside.

Divac entered his apartment to find his wife and two young daughters playing in the living room. The two girls ran up to greet him, each clinging to one of his legs. He tousled their hair and knelt before kissing them both. His wife, Maja, stood a few feet away, waiting her turn to kiss her husband.

Divac peeled the girls off his legs before turning his attention to Maja. They locked lips briefly before Divac withdrew as he knit his brow.

“What is it?” she asked.

“That smell,” he said. “Are you making my favorite?”

She smiled and nodded. “Chicken soup.”

“But it’s not even Sunday. You never make that on any other day of the week.”

“I thought you deserved a good surprise with how stressful work has been for you lately.”

He flashed a faint smile.

“Thank you,” he said as he eyed the boiling pot in the kitchen.

“Are you ready to eat now?”

“I need to put a few things away. Maybe in five minutes.”

“Okay,” she said before returning her attention to the girls, who were tugging on her dress.

Divac eased into the kitchen and glanced over his shoulder to make sure Maja wasn’t watching. He pulled out the note from the SDB agent and held it over the steam. Divac nervously looked back in the living room at his wife, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

Come on, come on.

The adhesive had started to loosen up but not enough that he could open the letter without giving away the fact that it had been resealed.

“Putting away some things?” Maja said from the living room. “It looks like to me you are inhaling the fumes from the chicken soup.”

Divac held the letter close against his chest and looked over his shoulder at Maja. “Am I not allowed to enjoy the aroma of my beautiful wife’s delicious cooking?”

She smiled and shook her head. “I know what you are doing. But I thought you knew by now that I do not respond to flattery. Despite your best efforts, I will not be making chicken soup every day for you.”

“A man can dream.”

He watched her engage with the girls again, tickling the youngest, Sasha, which resulted in a lengthy episode of non-stop giggling. Refocusing on his task, Divac eased the envelope back over the steam and waited a few more seconds. He slid his finger along the flap, which separated easily. He retreated back to his room, checking to make sure all the blinds were pulled before reading the message.

After he shut the door, Divac dropped to his knees and opened the letter. Scrawled inside was a short directive: “Kill him tonight, and make sure other tenants know about it.”

Kill who tonight?

Divac’s paranoia convinced him that he was Mrs. Cacic’s target, even though the idea sounded preposterous—a seventy-five year-old assassin. But no one else lived in her apartment, so it had to be her. Divac considered for a moment the possibility that she was merely a courier herself and would be delivering that message to someone else, but he dismissed the idea almost as soon as it entered his mind.

Mrs. Cacic is an assassin, not for the Americans but for the SDB.

Heaviness settled over Divac. He had to deliver the message now. If Mrs. Cacic didn’t get the note, the SDB would come after him. Yugoslavia’s secret police were testing his allegiances. If she did get the note, he could be the target and might end up dead. Both scenarios were unacceptable to him, though the latter sounded somewhat preferable. At least if he was prepared, he would have a chance against an elderly woman, depending on her method of delivery.

He loosened one of the floorboards beneath his side of the bed and stashed away the money he'd received from his CIA contact. He was pressing the board back into place when Maja entered the room.

“Jovan, is everything all right?” she asked, her brow furrowing. “What are you doing down there?”

“Just tidying up,” he said as he scrambled to his feet.

“Are you sure everything is okay? You seem distracted today.”

He kissed her on the cheek. “Everything is fine. Let’s go eat some chicken soup.”

Over lunch, they discussed the general happenings at home and at work. As usual, Divac lied, making up a story about one of his favorite fictional customers. While he worked as a messenger for the CIA, his wife believed his handyman business was his only source of income. In reality, he rarely did any work for anyone else.

“How does a man who acts like that survive in this world?” Maja asked, which was the same question she wondered aloud after every such story her husband told about a disagreeable client.

“It’s all about who you know,” he said, “not how you act.”

“Guess he knows someone important then,” she said, completing the repeated conversation.

He stood. “I have to get going now,” he announced before stooping down next to Maja and kissing her. He kissed both his daughters on top of their heads and then hustled back to his bedroom. Digging the message out of his pocket, he resealed the envelope and hid it by draping his jacket over his arm. Once he exited his apartment, he slipped up to Mrs. Cacic’s door and slid the note underneath.

He heard footsteps down the hall and immediately stood upright, spun on his heels, and strode toward the stairwell. Looking up, he noticed Mrs. Cacic returning from her walk with her poodle.

* * *

LATER THAT EVENING, Divac returned home with a plan to keep Mrs. Cacic at bay. Subtlety was vital. He walked into the kitchen after getting mobbed by his girls and Maja.

“Do we have any more of that chicken soup left?” he asked.

Maja arched her eyebrows. “I know you like that soup, but I didn’t know you would prefer to eat it several times a day.”

“Actually, I wanted to take a bowl over to Mrs. Cacic,” Divac said. “I saw her on the sidewalk this afternoon after lunch and she looked sad. She told me it was the anniversary of her husband’s death from seven years ago.”

“Dušo,” she said. “You are too sweet. Let me heat it up and ladle a bowl for you.”

“I appreciate it,” Divac said. “I’m going to go change.”

In his bedroom, Divac changed into some more casual clothes and then rushed to open the plank in the floor where he kept his cash. A small vial given to him by his CIA contact was also nestled beneath the stash of money. Holding the poison up to the light, Divac didn’t notice much inside. He had never even checked it, hoping that he would never have to use it.

“One drop for someone else if you want it to be discreet and appear like a heart attack,” the agent had said. “Two drops or more if you want a quick way out or you need someone to die almost immediately.”

Just one drop for you, Mrs. Cacic.

Divac pocketed the poison and re-covered his hiding place. Easing back into the kitchen, he saw Maja standing over the counter while preparing a bowl of soup on a tray.

“One steaming hot bowl of chicken soup for Mrs. Cacic,” she said as she handed the food to Divac. “Tell her that I am thinking of her.”

“Of course,” Divac said before taking the tray.

Maja opened the door for Divac. “I can come with you,” she said. “And the girls, too.”

“No, no,” he protested. “It’ll only take a minute, less time than it would for you to round everyone up.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “Just don’t stay gone long. I want to talk with you about something.”

“Okay,” Divac said as he exited their apartment.

He steadied the tray as he strode down the hallway. Stopping a few feet short of Mrs. Cacic’s door, he pulled the vial out of his pocket and tapped out one drop of poison. He mixed it in using the spoon and proceeded to knock on the door.

“Why, Mr. Divac,” she said without a hint of a smile, “you shouldn’t have.”

“I care about you, Mrs. Cacic. I thought you might enjoy a bowl of hot soup tonight, maybe keep you off your feet a bit.”

“I actually love to cook,” she said as she took the bowl. “Come inside if you wish. I know you’re not just here to deliver me a meal.”

Divac didn’t move.

She motioned for him to come in. “Come on, now. No need to be stubborn about this.”

Mrs. Cacic turned her back on Divac and hobbled inside. For a moment, he considered turning around and leaving, but he doubted she would eat the soup if he did. But he followed her lead, leaving the door wide open as a matter of safety.

“What's wrong with you?” Mrs. Cacic asked as she turned and noticed the door open. “I cannot heat all of Belgrade.”

Divac hustled back and pushed the door almost shut, leaving it cracked just a smidge. When he turned back around, Mrs. Cacic was shuffling toward the kitchen.

“Did you hear about Drajan Kovac?” she asked as she sat down at the table.

“The plumber in 4C?”

She nodded. “He’s the one—and he’s dead.”

“Dead? What happened to him?”

“If anyone knows, they aren’t saying. It only happened a few hours ago.”

“How did you—”

“I passed by his unit as they were wheeling him out into the hallway. The doctor helping said it appeared to be a heart attack. But you never know for sure, do you?”

“You think someone did this to him?” Divac asked, his suspicion of her reaching an all-time high. He would bet his life on the elderly woman being an assassin for the SDB.

She shrugged. “Maybe. But that doesn’t really matter now. He’s gone, and I’ve got no one to fix my pipes that burst last night. Think you might be able to help me? I know you’re a handyman. It would surely be more helpful than bringing me a bowl of this soup.”

Divac watched as Mrs. Cacic brought the spoon up to her mouth and stopped short before setting down her utensil. He was barely paying attention enough to answer her question, thinking hard about what she had said before responding. But he never received an opportunity to retort as she continued her thought.

“You know, I wish we had more men like Mr. Kovac around. He never even charged me for all the work he did for me. Guess he had plenty of money, though I have no idea where it came from. One of a kind that man, I tell you.” She gestured toward the seat across from him. “Please, have a seat.”

He pulled out the chair across from her and settled into the seat.

“Tell me about your day,” she said. “Did your work go well?”

Divac eyed her closely, trying to sort out everything clattering around in his head. For starters there was the anticipation of Mrs. Cacic actually slurping down a spoonful of the soup. There was also her tone, one that made Divac uncomfortable.

Is she doing this on purpose? Does she know the truth about me?

There was an even bigger question nagging Divac though.

Did she kill Mr. Kovac?

Before he could answer, a knock at the door interrupted their conversation.

“Would you mind getting that? My feet are a little sore this evening,” Mrs. Cacic said.

Divac nodded and strode toward the door, opening it to find his wife.

“Maja, what are you—”

“I thought I would come check on Mrs. Cacic, too.”

Divac looked down and noticed his two daughters in tow.

“Come on in,” Mrs. Cacic called from the kitchen.

Maja held her girls’ hands as they followed Divac back toward the table.

“Mrs. Cacic, we just wanted to check on you and see how you were doing, considering what today is,” Maja said. She looked down at her two daughters fidgeting but still clinging to her hands.

“What is today again?” Mrs. Cacic asked.

“It is the anniversary of—” Maja began.

“We don’t need to remind Mrs. Cacic,” Divac said. “She has had a long day. We’ll be going now.”

Divac turned to leave, but Mrs. Cacic refused to dismiss them.

“No need to tip-toe around that subject,” she said as she eyed a spoonful of the soup. “That was seven years ago. I haven’t forgotten, but I have moved on. That chapter of my life is over, and there’s no need to mourn his passing any more.”

“How is your soup?” Maja asked.

“It is still so hot that I have not tried it. Here,” Mrs. Cacic said, lifting a spoon up to Maja. “You try.”

Divac’s eyes widened as he watched Maja guide the spoon toward her mouth. He had to think quickly.

“Anja, stop doing that to your sister,” Divac said as he reached for his youngest daughter. As he did so, Divac bumped Maja to draw everyone’s attention elsewhere before he knocked the bowl onto the floor, spilling the soup all over her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Divac said. He snatched a napkin off the table and blotted up the soup that was strewn across the floor.

“Jovan!” Maja said. “What on earth are you doing?”

Divac didn’t look up as he cleaned. “Just an accident. Maybe you should get Mrs. Cacic another bowl of soup while I mop this up.”

“Good idea,” she said before returning to their apartment with the girls.

When Divac finished, he stood and inspected his work. “I am really sorry about this, Mrs. Cacic. I am afraid I have brought you more trouble for your day.”

“Trouble is forgetting to feed my dog,” Mrs. Cacic said. “Offering me a bowl of chicken soup only to knock it on the floor is just rude.”

Divac decided he needed to leave—and leave immediately.

“You never answered my question, Mr. Divac. Can you help me with my pipes?”

He met her gaze as her eyes narrowed.

“Maybe later, but I need to get going, Mrs. Cacic. It was a pleasure visiting with you. And I hope you enjoy the soup Maja brings you. I have some girls who are in desperate need of a bath.”

“We need to talk soon,” Mrs. Cacic shouted as he exited into the hallway. Just outside the door, Maja was returning without the girls but with another bowl.

“That was fast,” Divac said.

“The soup was already warm as it had been simmering on the stove for quite a while.”

“Didn’t you want to talk to me about something?”

She nodded. “Just wait until I get back. This should not take long.”

Divac rushed back to their apartment but stopped short of the door. On the knob hung a red ribbon, the signal that Divac’s contact was waiting for him in the lobby with instructions for a specific mission.

He slipped inside and grabbed his coat. “I will be back in five minutes.”

“Where are you going?” Maja called. “We need to talk.”

“I need to get something for Mrs. Cacic.”

He closed the door and hustled toward the stairwell before making his way to the lobby. A man sat on a bench against the wall, reading the Novosti, Belgrade’s most popular newspaper. He proceeded to fold up the paper, set it down, and then walk away. The two men never made eye contact as they passed one another.

Divac settled onto the bench and picked up the paper and found a note tucked inside. The message was simple: Deliver the package tomorrow at noon.

That means I need to leave tonight.

Crossing the border into Italy and making his way to Venice wouldn't be easy, but he was paid handsomely for his efforts. At some point, he figured he would have enough to start a new life somewhere else with Maja and his girls. But until that day arrived, delivering documents for the CIA was the most lucrative work he could ever have. The inherent danger associated with each mission was reason enough to give him pause, but he shrugged it off. He was convinced his life was at risk every day, subject to the whims of the SDB.

Later that evening, after putting his girls to bed, Divac took a phone call from someone at the CIA. Whoever called never said anything, but Divac faked his end of the conversation. The ruse was designed to quell a full-scale interrogation from Maja.

When Divac hung up, he informed Maja he had to leave.

“You have to go to work? At this hour?” she asked.

He nodded. “I have to go when called upon. You know I have to take every job I get.”

She sighed. “Fine, but when will you be back?”

“I am not sure, but don’t wait up for me. I will see you tomorrow.”

Divac put his coat on and zipped it up, hoping that his last statement would actually be true. But he knew it was likely a lie. Getting to Venice and back in less than twenty-four hours wasn’t impossible, just highly improbable considering the time required to slip past the heavily guarded border. Divac figured he would be lucky if he returned home in forty-eight hours, resigning himself to deal with the consequences later.

* * *

A HALF HOUR LATER, Divac slid into the front seat of a half-empty produce truck driven by his friend Miroslav. After the CIA successfully recruited Divac to work for them, he learned Miroslav was one of the major reasons why. Easy access to a route that led him to the Yugoslavian border without raising much suspicion was valued greatly in the espionage world.

“What are you doing this time?” Miroslav asked.

Divac wagged his finger. “You know I cannot tell you any details, Miro. Just drive.”

Miroslav turned the key in the ignition, and the engine chugged to life. He turned on his headlights and eased onto the gas.

“Do you think you can get me a job with the CIA?” Miroslav asked.

Divac handed Miroslav an envelope containing a few hundred dinars. “If you quit your job, I lose this position. Don’t you like getting all this extra money for doing nothing.”

“Risking my life by letting you ride with me is hardly nothing.”

Divac shot Miroslav a sideways glance. “All you have to do is drive while you let me sit here. It is about as close to nothing as you can get.”

Miroslav shrugged. “When the bullets start flying, you might think differently.”

“No one is going to shoot at us, Miro. You can be so paranoid sometimes.”

“Is that why two SDB agents are following us right now?”

Divac leaned forward and looked at the side mirror. “There is no one behind us.”

“But there was.”

Divac chuckled. “Oh, Miro. You want to be a spy so badly. I promise you that it is not as exciting as it looks.”

“Narrowly avoiding death every day may not be exciting to you, but it sounds very exciting to me. It is far more thrilling than driving a produce truck back and forth between Belgrade and Ljubljana all the time.”

“If you want more money, just ask for it. I can always put in a request.”

“How about you request that I join the CIA. I know where a few SDB agents live, and I could sneak into their homes and—”

“You would not be breaking in to anyone’s house,” Divac interrupted. “The real reward you receive is knowing that you may have prevented something terrible from happening.”

“Or you may have caused it.”

Divac furrowed his brow. “You are confusing me, Miro. Earlier you sounded like you wanted to join. Now you sound like you want to turn me in to the SDB.”

Miroslav waved dismissively at Divac. “Just forget I said anything.”

In the early morning hours, Miroslav pulled into the parking lot of the produce company. He parked near the loading docks and locked up the truck.

“Do you want me to take you to Vrtojba on the border?”

Divac shook his head. “I have made other arrangements.”

“You mean I am not your only driver?” Miroslav asked.

“Goodbye, Miro. I will bring more money next time.”

Miroslav shuffled off to his car, kicking rocks along the way. Divac stood motionless in the parking lot until Miroslav disappeared into the night.

Divac glanced around the grounds before heading down the street for his final rendezvous. Two men crammed into a small two-door car pulled up next to him.

“It sure is a nice night for a drive,” the man in the passenger side said after he had rolled down his window.

“Only if you don’t like the stars,” Divac fired back.

The man got out and pulled the seat back, making room for Divac. After climbing inside, he slid to the middle so he could hear both men equally.

“You need to keep your head down,” the driver said. “The SDB is patrolling the area, and they saw us go by a few minutes ago. And there were only two of us in the car. If they spot a third head, they will pull us over.”

Divac remained in the hidden position for most of the hour and a half ride to Vrtojba, barely speaking another word to his new acquaintances.

Once they reached Vrtojba, the car veered off the highway and onto a washboard dirt road. The vehicle vibrated as it jutted along for a couple miles until finally stopping along the edge of a farmstead property. They only safe way over the border was on foot.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Divac asked. “What if the owner of this house comes outside with a shotgun?”

The man who had been driving eyed Divac closely. “They said you were paranoid. And they weren’t lying either.”

As they took a slight detour through the farmyard and toward the border, Divac heard a click and froze. A few seconds later, a light on the outside of the farmhouse flickered on.

The voice of an elderly man called out into the night, demanding to know who was out there. Divac watched the farmer’s shadow against the light before breaking into a dead sprint. The farmer pulled the trigger, setting off a boom that reverberated through the trees.

The other two men caught up with Divac, all pumping their arms as hard as they could while churning across the farmyard. Divac placed his hands on the fence in front of him, effortlessly jumping over it before continuing his pace. The other two men fell behind shortly but caught up when Divac hesitated as he approached the dense forest.

“Which way?” Divac whispered.

“Follow me,” the driver said.

Divac anchored down the third spot in the single file line of men racing through the woods in an effort to cross the border into Italy. One by one, the men jumped over fallen logs and scampered across shallow streams trickling past. They were making good speed until the sound of a siren roared in the distance, followed by the incessant braying of hounds.

“We need to move more quickly,” the lead man said.

Divac held his hands near his face to protect it from getting slapped by twigs and branches snapped back by his two companions. His heavy breathing resulted in billowing wisps of air exiting his mouth. Divac’s legs started to burn, but he ignored the sensation as long as he could. When he finally decided to take a short break, sweat trickled down into his eyes, stinging them.

“Let’s go,” the other man yelled over his shoulder. “You mustn’t stop for any reason.”

Divac resumed his breakneck speed until sweeping floodlights caught them all off guard. Some shouting followed by gunfire erupted in the stillness of the forest.

Divac watched numbly as the two men who had accompanied him stumbled to the ground. He wanted to help them, but he knew he would get caught and possibly be shot on sight. Against his wishes, Divac pressed on.

He reached a clearing and managed to find his second wind as he raced toward the border, which was marked by a large wooden fence topped with barbed wire. Once there, he wasted no time in grasping a wooden post and beginning his ascent. Then out of nowhere, bullets peppered the area around him.

With a deep breath, Divac moved methodically up the fence until he reached the top. He flung himself over it and shimmied down to the other side.

Dawn was breaking by the time he cleared the woods and reached the town of Gorizia, Italy, just in time to buy a train ticket to Venice.

During the ride to Venice, Divac wondered what secret message he was passing along. Any temptation to sneak a peek was quelled by the fact that the package contained a wax seal—and that his work for the CIA provided him with the majority of his income. Divac wished he could live a normal life, one devoid of worrying about money or the SDB agents who swarmed the streets of Belgrade. He simply wanted to enjoy his family.

One day we’ll escape all of this.

For the rest of the trip, he was lost in his thoughts, considering the ramifications of Mrs. Cacic being an SDB assassin and recognizing that the two men who were gunned down at the border could’ve just as easily have been him.

The hissing of the brakes and the inertia that came with the train stopping at the Venice station jolted Divac back to reality. He still had a job to do.

A half hour later, he was walking near the designated dock, searching for his contact. Divac stepped to the edge and noticed a gondola careening around the corner. The gondolier was belting out his rendition of “Moon River”, which was the signal.

Divac flagged the gondolier down and eased his way into the vessel. After a short ride through the canals of Venice, he got out of the boat, leaving the package behind.

Divac walked a few meters before glancing back over his shoulder to notice a man with an eye patch and a hook for a hand climbing into the same gondola. With a wry smile, Divac turned back around, knowing the drop had been successful.