The Threat

She’d taken off her reading glasses. And for the first time he’d seen the marks of fatigue on her face. She said slowly, kneading her eyes, “News organizations are reporting that Dutch peacekeeping troops have let Bosnian Serb forces carry out a huge massacre of Muslims.”

Gelzinis said, “The UN disarmed them. Made the town what they called a ‘safe area.’ So they couldn’t fight back.”

Clayton gave him a cool look, for what reason Dan couldn’t guess. “But other sources say the reports are hoaxes. They say the townspeople are hiding out in the woods after evacuating the town during an attack by Ratko Mladic. The UN’s holding secret discussions about pulling out of Bosnia. Meaning, we have to come up with a position, a recommendation for the president’s response.”

Mladic was the Bosnian Serb military leader. “What’s the CIA say’s happening?” Dan asked.

She frowned. “There’s not much coming out of the Agency. I’m not sure why. They just keep saying they’re ‘preparing a report.’ The embassy’s lost its usual contacts. Of course, we have imagery. But it doesn’t give us what we need. We’ve got to find out what’s going on on the ground.”

Gelzinis elaborated. The Bosnian Muslims were begging the UN not to abandon them. The Saudis and Turks wanted to know what was being done to protect the Muslims. The Bosnia working group had just broken from a meeting. They needed a fast, objective opinion, from someone outside State and the other diplomatic and intel stovepipes, on (1) whether there’d actually been a massacre, and (2) whether air and Tomahawk strikes could retrieve the situation.

When he finished, Sebold jumped in. “We know this is outside your current taskings. But this thing’s blindsided us. Mrs. C asked who I thought had the smarts and gumption to get in there, with the experience to give us a trustworthy opinion on the missile-strike question. The pointer stopped on Daniel V. Lenson.”

* * *

They hadn’t asked if he wanted to go. But he figured that was because it didn’t actually matter.

He’d left D.C. via a Military Air Command flight to Joint Task Force Provide Promise, a U.S. operational headquarters in the NATO compound in Naples. Dan had flown over in khakis, but they told him everybody went in-country in BDUs, the camo battle dress. He drew fatigues, cap, field jacket, socks, and boots. Uniform issue was followed by an update on Bosnia and the UNPROFOR, the United Nations Protection Force.

He’d tried to concentrate, but right now all he retained was seven points. He’d watched so many PowerPoint briefs he was starting to think in bullets:

• Bosnia and Herzegovina, formerly one of the six republics of Yugoslavia, was made up of Bosnian Serbs, Bosnian Croats, and Bosnian Muslims.

• All Bosnians were racially identical and spoke the same language.

• Bosnian Croats were Catholic.

• Bosnian Serbs were Greek Orthodox.

• Bosnian Muslims were Muslim.

• Slobodan Milosevic, the president of Serbia, was grabbing as much land as he could in Bosnia to build a Greater Serbia.

• The whole place was coming apart at the seams.

Or as the briefer, a reserve Navy captain, had put it more succinctly, “Terrible shit’s been happening in the Balkans for a thousand years. They took forty years off. Now they’re at it again.”

Maybe that was flip, Dan thought, peering down between towering mountains. Below their wings a village passed in which every house was roofless, in whose dirt streets no one moved. But what else could you say about a country disintegrating into tribes? For the past couple of years a skin-thin UN contingent supported by NATO air power had kept the lid on. Now it was off again.

The briefer had shaken his hand good-bye. “You know they won’t want you there,” she’d said.

“The Serbs?”

“Well, them too. But I’m talking about the UN. The chief of staff, Cees Nikolai. Watch out for him.”

“He hasn’t signed off on me?”

“UNPROFOR isn’t a U.S. operation. We have units down along the Macedonian border, but they don’t work for Nikolai.”

“They don’t?”

“No, they’re under a Finnish dude who works for the UN commander in Zagreb. But that’s separate from the UNPROFOR structure. Confused yet?” Dan nodded. “Good, then you’re going out oriented properly. Anyway, we’ve got a liaison who’ll meet you, but we most definitely do not have the stick up there. If we told Nikolai you were coming, guess what? You wouldn’t go.”

“So … you didn’t,” Dan said, getting that sinking feeling again.

“Exactly right, Commander.” The captain had patted his back fondly, like an older sister. “You have a great time now. Hear?”

* * *