[i:95268bc0d9]"Radovan! You [b:95268bc0d9]are[/b:95268bc0d9] a nasty boy!"[/i:95268bc0d9] she giggled, placing a single white hand over her lips, whose crimson was quickly spreading into her cheeks.

Now good and drunk from several glasses of quality vodka that he had consumed through the course of the evening, Radovan Kunarac felt the familiar warmth of lust spread throughout his legs and creep into his substantial belly.

Gone were any lingering concerns about social appearances, or the girl on his lap being half his age. The potent mixture of hormones and alcohol had secured his evenings priorities.

When he had arrived at the Atrium Ballroom in Moscow's opulant Baltschug Kempinski Hotel, his thoughts had rested purely on making a good impression on his new investors. With any luck, this latest business venture would provide him without enough capital to get his life back on track and away from the nightmare that had been the last twelve years.

The girl, her name long since forgotten in the fog of intoxication, ran her fingers through his thick silver mane and down the side of his ruddy, and ever reddening face. He was not a handsome man in a classical sense, but one who exuded leadership and power. His thick, Balkan features and piercing blue eyes set him apart from other men, and commanded attention, respect, and frequently fear.

It had served him well during his time in the military, propelled him above his fellow officers...who knew it would lead him down this path? Growing up in Serajevo the son of poor taxi driver, he had been left to his own devices. He was a natural leader, and others sensed it. So it was not nearly by circumstance that as a teen he had found himself the head of a small, but profitable street gang.

But one of the few favors his father had done for him prior to his passing was force him into the military as a last ditch effort to straighten his wayward son out. There, in the Bosnian Serb Army, he had found structure and the closest thing to a home he had ever encountered. His advance was rapid, his methods ruthless and unyielding. His cold outlook matched with his new found discipline made him an effective tool against the enemies. Then the war had begun...

[i:95268bc0d9]"Radovan?"[/i:95268bc0d9] she giggled again and her breasts danced marvelously within the low cut tight blue dress, beckoning him like a siren of old. The door that seperated the main ballroom from the small antechamber in which he found himself swung open violently, causing the girl to grasp him tightly. A wave of pleasure coursed through him.

In the doorway a slumped figure leaned against the threshold. Radovan's bleary eyesight vaguely recognized him as Dimitri Obkosky, the assistant of Nikolai Ivanovich, one of his investors. He was a tall, powerfully built man but with a face that betrayed all intentions of seriousness. His eyes were soft and harmless and his expression more often than not blank and foolish. He was the sort of man Radovan hated. Weak...spineless...completely and utterly at the mercy of fate.

[i:95268bc0d9]"Mr...hic...Mr. Kunarik..."[/i:95268bc0d9]

[i:95268bc0d9]"Kunarac."[/i:95268bc0d9] Radovan grumbled, becoming angrier by the second, she shifted the girl off his lap and stood from the bench to his full measure. He was taller than the slumped figure by several inches and undoubtedly outweighed him by at least thirty pounds.

[i:95268bc0d9]"Mr. Kunarac...we were wondering...that is...I was wondering...hic...if you were going to rejoin us?"[/i:95268bc0d9] Obkosky's long silver hair fell loosely into his face, obscurring his dull, vacant eyes.

Kunarac looked back down at the girl sitting on the bench, her cleavage enhanced by the low lighting. Her dress had been rumpled when he had abruptly stood and from where he was, he could barely make out the delicate hem of lace that lay between her thighs. The warmth returned.

[i:95268bc0d9]"Uh..no. No. I'm afraid I have another meeting to attend. If you'll excuse me I must say my goodbyes."[/i:95268bc0d9] he moved forward, but Obkosky obstructed his path clumsily.

[i:95268bc0d9]"But you invited US here!"[/i:95268bc0d9] he objected, his stupid face drawn into a vague look of indignation.

[i:95268bc0d9]"Out of my way you buffoon!"[/i:95268bc0d9] Radovan snorted. He gave the man a bump with his shoulder and moved past him. The smaller man collapsed against the door and did all he could to stay upright.

The full ballroom came into view with a startling brightness that hurt his soggy eyes. Summoning all the composure he could muster, he made his rounds. He bid his potential investors goodnight with promises of future wealth and prosperity, a verbal contract they were just drunk enough to agree to. His business partner was a bit harder to convince and seemed genuinly outraged that Kunarac would leave such an important event.

Kunarac merely intensified his natural presence for a moment, and quelled any real objection. He recognized his place as merely a pawn in Kunarac's larger game and fell silent.

As the great man threw on his overcoat and strode for the door he noted Nikolai Ivanovich in conversation with several other men. Still hot from his confrontation with Ivanovich's arrogant assistant, Radovan approached the man.

[i:95268bc0d9]"Comrade Ivanovich, may I wish you a pleasant evening?"[/i:95268bc0d9] he said, his Russian still heavily accented.

[i:95268bc0d9]"Thank you comrade! I admit I had my doubts about this plan on paper...I mean competing against the Kremlin for oil contracts! But I think I can speak for almost everyone when I say, you have our fullest confidence and support!"[/i:95268bc0d9]

The man was practically gushing, his face full of admiration for Radovan. The bile rose in Radovan's throat.

[i:95268bc0d9]"Thank you, thank you Nikolai."[/i:95268bc0d9] he took a step as if to leave and then raised a finger, as if in afterthought, [i:95268bc0d9]"Oh, one thing Nikolai if I may."[/i:95268bc0d9]

[i:95268bc0d9]"Hmm?"[/i:95268bc0d9]

[i:95268bc0d9]"That assistant of yours, he needs to learn his place. If you're ever in need of adequate staffing, I have a few names I could give you."[/i:95268bc0d9]

[i:95268bc0d9]"But...Radovan...I came alone."[/i:95268bc0d9]

Kunarac just shook his head and pushed out into the cold. The man was clearly too drunk to speak with. He'd be lucky if he didn't plow into a building on his way home.

The street was desolate, the snow a hot orange under the streetlamps. In either direction, Moscow sparkled, full mystique and shrowded history. He checked his watch. 1:32 AM. He wondered how much longer he realistically could stay awake.

His loins ached for the girl...but he was fading fast...

A car turned the corner down the street and approached the hotel, creeping to a halt in front of him. The pretty brunette in the blue dress sat behind the wheel, her smile sparkling in the lamplight. Kunarac stepped into the street and stumbled, lurching forward and bracing himself against the car. They made eye contact and burst into laughter, filling the vacuum of sound in the empty night.

The ride to his hotel was a blur of sights, sounds, and smells. The city blended together in a mural of lights and vice. Everything seemed tainted and dirty...even the once virgin snow was caked in grime and sludge. It clung to the pavement like plaque, accumulated slime. The girl laughed with joy and she stroked his manhood from the drivers seat, nearly sending him into a frenzy.

At last they arrived at the hotel and the pair burst from the car in hot anticipation. He pulled his heavy overcoat tight to hide his engorged member adn they giggled together like children as they moved through the extravagant lobby.

Once more in the elevator they were upon each other, consuming one another's faces and groping at whatever body parts they could reach. Finally, the doors opens to the floor upon which he was staying and they tumbled out, Kunarac leading the girl by the hand, his head spinning with a volatile cocktail of aphrodisia, fatigue, and booze.

Her phone chimed from her purse and she answered, stopping in the middle of the hallway.

[i:95268bc0d9]"Hahaha...one moment...sorry dear...hello? Hello? Yes. Hi! It's late for a...what?"[/i:95268bc0d9] her face contorted to one of concern, and then true fear, [i:95268bc0d9]"...oh my God...what? How? What happ...okay. Okay I'm on my way."[/i:95268bc0d9]

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked up at him, his face animalistic and inquisitive.

[i:95268bc0d9]"I..I'm sorry. There's been an accident at home. It's my mother. I..I have to go."[/i:95268bc0d9] she looked at him imploringly for a moment, clearly begging for some sort of support. For him to take one ounce of the personal strength he was clearly in possession of and help her. To be her column...her savior...

[i:95268bc0d9]"Fucking cunt."[/i:95268bc0d9] he spat in Bosnian only because he didn't know the words in Russian. She didn't speak Bosnian, but her devestated expression communicated that she had indeed gotten the gist of the message. She broke in huge, shuddering sobs and stumbled back towards the elevator. Kunarac went to his room, fumbled with the key, and then entered the darkened room.

The suite was silent and heavy with shadows. The furniture against the great bay windows draped in sheets of obscurity, only their silhoettes barely visible in the gloom. He shut the door and threw his coat upon the couch, stumbling forward blindly to find the lamp.

There was an impact as he collided with something hard, and what sounded like silverware crashing to the floor. He cursed loudly and found the lamp, but the bulb was predictably dead. Still draped in darkness, he picked up the phone to call the engineering staff but found it in the same condition as the lamp, silent and useless.

He grumbled angrily and turned towards the object he had collided with. His eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, he could make out that it was a room service cart with a large silver platter cover atop of it. He was still plenty drunk, but he didn't recall ordering any food before leaving for the investors gala.

Confused and out of patience, Kunarac lifted the platter cover to find nothing more than a small sheet of paper underneath. He picked it up curiously and moved towards the window. It was an old article out of a newspaper, roughly torn out and yellowed with age. His head now spinning with confusion, he studied the text...


Timohir Bobetko was Bosnian Serb leader Janko Karadzic's army chief throughout the Bosnian war.
Along with Mr Karadzic, he came to symbolise the Serb campaign of ethnic cleansing of Croats and Muslims and is one of the most wanted suspects from the Bosnia conflict.

He has been indicted by the UN war crimes tribunal on charges of genocide and other crimes against humanity - including the massacre of at least 7,500 Muslim men and boys from the town of Srebrenica in 1995.

Having lived freely in Belgrade for some time, Mr Bobetko disappeared from view when former Yugoslav President Slobodan Milosevic was arrested in 2001.

Starting in October 2004 former aides to Mr Bobetko began surrendering to the war crimes tribunal, as Belgrade came under intense international pressure to co-operate.

They included Radivoje Miletic and Milan Gvero, both accused of involvement in ethnic cleansing.

Timohir Bobetko was born in Bosnia, in Serajevo, in 1942.

He was brought up in Tito's Yugoslavia, becoming a regular officer in the Yugoslav People's Army.

INDICTMENT CHARGES
Genocide
Complicity in genocide
Crimes against humanity
Violations of laws or customs of war

As the country began to disintegrate in 1991, he was posted to lead the Yugoslav army's 9th Corps against Croatian forces at Knin.

Later he took command of the Yugoslav Army's Second Military District, based in Sarajevo.

Then, in May 1992, the Bosnian Serb Assembly voted to create a Bosnian Serb army, appointing General Mladic commander.

He is considered to have been one of the prime movers in the siege of Sarajevo and in 1995 led the Serb onslaught against the UN-protected enclave of Srebrenica, the worst atrocity in Europe since World War II.

Bosnian Serb forces laid siege to the Srebrenica enclave, where tens of thousands of civilians had taken refuge from earlier Serb offensives in north-eastern Bosnia.

The Serb forces bombarded Srebrenica with heavy shelling and rocket fire for five days before Mr Bobetko entered the town accompanied by Serb camera crews.

The next day, buses arrived to take the women and children sheltering in Srebrenica to Muslim territory, while the Serbs separated out all Muslim men and boys from age 12 to 77 for "interrogation for suspected war crimes".

In the five days after Bosnian Serb forces overran Srebrenica, at least 7,500 Muslim men and boys were murdered.

After the end of the Bosnian war, Mr Bobetko returned to Belgrade, enjoying the open support and protection of Mr Milosevic.

He lived openly in the city - visiting public places, eating in expensive restaurants and even attending football matches until Mr Milosevic's arrest.

Some reports say he took refuge in his wartime bunker in Han Pijesak, not far from Sarajevo, or in Moskow.

Other reports say he remained in or near Belgrade. The UN war crimes tribunal's chief prosecutor, Carla Del Ponte, claimed both he and Mr Karadzic were in the city in February 2004.

In April 2005 Serbian Foreign Minister Vuk Draskovic said Serbian security agents knew Mr Bobetko's whereabouts. The head of the intelligence agency described the allegations as "ridiculous".



Beside the text, hardly visible in the dark, was a picture of a much younger Kunarac in full military garb, his real name captioned neatly beneath. He breath came out in short, cut gasps as he dropped the paper to the floor and turned around and stared wildly at the darkened room.

[i:95268bc0d9]Who's there?!"[/i:95268bc0d9] he shouted, his normally mighty roar now lined with a tremble. Only silence responded.

He had worked too hard, come too far, given up too much to be discovered now! Bosnia was another lifetime ago! A different set of circumstances, a different world! No one could understand what he had to go through! The discrimination, the resentment! They could only judge from their ivory towers, from their positions of comfort! Damn them! Damn them to hell for judging him!

There was the tiny clink of metal upon metal followed by a slow, light grinding sound. Suddenly the room was awash with light and Timohir was temporarily blinded. His stunned eyes could vaguely make out a figure screwing a light bulb into the lamp.

As his eyes adjusted he recognized his visitor.

[i:95268bc0d9]"You...what the fuck are [b:95268bc0d9]you[/b:95268bc0d9] doing here?!"[/i:95268bc0d9] he demanded.

[i:95268bc0d9]"Hello again Mr. Kunarac. Or do you prefer Colonel Bobetko these days?"[/i:95268bc0d9]

Dimitri Obkosky stood in the suite's living area, still clad in his black suit and tie. His hair, which had earlier been mussed and shuffled, was now neatly tied back, giving his hair the appearance of glistening silver. But Bobetko was staring at his face.

His face was different...the same features to be sure...but serious and filled with a quiet confidence held by someone who possessed all the right cards. There was no respect for Timohir in his eyes, no fear, no joy, no uncertainty, not even a curiosity. There was only cold determination. Timohir knew he was dead at that point.

Dimitri reached into his coat and removed a pistol and silencer. Still staring directly at his prey, he slowly attached the hollow tube onto the weapon. Timohir wanted to run, wanted to scream, wanted to tackle the physically smaller man but could not...he could only stare and issue a choked gurgle.

[i:95268bc0d9]"...I...I'm sorry."[/i:95268bc0d9] he coughed at length, finding his voice, [i:95268bc0d9]"Don't you think I've suffered? Don't you think I regret what I've done?"[/i:95268bc0d9]

Dimitri checked the clip in his pistol and stared at the colonel, who had fallen to his knees.

[i:95268bc0d9]"This isn't revenge Colonel Bobetko. You're sloppy. You're brash and arrogant. Had you stayed in hiding, you would've lived an uneventful, but full life. You've been loud...and now Interpol is closing in on you. You have enemies Colonel Bobetko, enemies that cannot afford to be implicated in the testimony you may give were you brought to trial."[/i:95268bc0d9] Dimitri stepped forward, he pace even and sure. He raised the pistol and placed the barrell on the pale, moist forehead of the shivering colonel. [i:95268bc0d9]"This is no revenge job, Colonel, it's insurance."[/i:95268bc0d9]

Bobetko felt sick, as though he were about to vomit. He felt his bladder release and his slacks fill with a sick wetness. His vision tunnelled, the luxurious suite reduced to pinhead of light, occupied fully by his killer. The pistol was cold upon his brow.

[i:95268bc0d9]"P..please...I don't deserve this..."[/i:95268bc0d9] he croaked.

[i:95268bc0d9]"'Deserve's got nothing to do with it."[/i:95268bc0d9]

Then there was a bright flash, the smell of gunpowder, and the last thing that Timohir Bobetko saw was a splash of mercury and silver as his forehead exploded before his eyes.

(( Impressive stuff, wanna read more lol! ))

(( I have to agree too, very captivating :D