The Dark Passage: A Sam Raven Thriller, page 20
“Sounds fine.”
Hasanaj held the door for Raven, and they went inside.
The hospital room was a sterile cage where Lieutenant Vojin Stojanovic lay tethered to an IV drip and the weight of his choices. The bandages across his chest and thigh were tight, a constant reminder of the bullets fired into his body during his one-man raid on Anton Vercuni’s house. The pain was dull now, blunted by medication, but it flared with every breath, as if his body refused to let him forget.
He stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles for the hundredth time, when the door creaked open. Captain Rostoder stepped inside, his uniform crisp, his face etched with a mix of concern and disapproval.
“Vojin,” Rostoder said, his voice low but firm, like a father addressing a wayward son. “You look like hell.”
Stojanovic managed a weak chuckle. “Feel like it, too, Captain.” He gestured to the chair by the bed. “Sit. Unless you’re here to arrest me.”
Rostoder’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. He sat, folding his hands in his lap, his eyes scanning Stojanovic like a detective sizing up a suspect. “Why’d you do it, Vojin? Storming Vercuni’s place alone, no backup, no plan. What were you hoping to accomplish?”
Stojanovic’s jaw tightened. He’d rehearsed this moment in his head, but the truth was a tangle of half-truths and lies. “I got a tip,” he said, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “Vercuni was tied to the Vukovic murder. I wanted to bring him in myself. Make it clean.”
“Clean?” Rostoder’s brow arched. “You nearly died. For what? A personal vendetta? You’re a lieutenant, not a vigilante.”
Stojanovic looked away, his gaze settling on the window where the city’s lights flickered in the dusk.
“Vercuni’s still out there,” Stojanovic muttered, more to himself than Rostoder. “Running free.”
Rostoder leaned forward, his voice dropping. “No, he’s not. Vercuni, Melika, the man we’ve identified as the mysterious boss—they’re all dead. So are dozens of their soldiers. Happened in Serbia. Some kind of bloodbath. We’re still piecing it together, but there’s no one left to talk. The Balkan Cartel’s done, Vojin. Smashed.”
Stojanovic’s breath caught, his mind racing. Dead. All of them. The two men at the house…
The American in particular.
The news should have been a relief. He should have felt a weight rising off his shoulders. No one was left to expose him, to whisper that Lieutenant Vojin Stojanovic had been a cartel informant. He was free. Yet the guilt remained like a stone lodged in his gut. He’d betrayed his badge, his oath, even if it was to keep his wife alive. The blood on his hands wasn’t just from the raid.
“You don’t look happy,” Rostoder said, his eyes narrowing. “Thought you’d be relieved.”
Stojanovic forced a thin smile. “Just tired, Captain. It’s been a long fight.”
Rostoder studied him for a long moment, then stood, adjusting his cap. “Get well, Vojin. We need you back on the force. Your full attention this time.” The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Did Rostoder know? Had he suspected all along Stojanovic was playing both sides? The captain’s face gave nothing away, but the weight of his gaze felt like a warning.
“I’ll be there,” Stojanovic said, his voice firm despite the uncertainty gnawing at him. “Ready to start fresh.”
Rostoder nodded and left. The door clicked shut, and Stojanovic exhaled, sinking into the pillows. The cartel was gone, his secrets buried with it. This was his second chance, a clean slate he didn’t deserve but would seize with both hands. He closed his eyes, the city’s hum a faint lullaby, and vowed to make things right.
The cemetery in Podgorica stretched out in quiet rows, a patchwork of stone and memory beneath a slate-gray sky. Raven stood before Irina Vukovic’s grave, his hands clasped, his face carved from granite. The gravestone was simple, unadorned save for her name and dates; the brevity of her life etched in stark letters. Fresh flowers, roses and lilies, lay scattered at its base, their petals vibrant against the muted earth. The grave was still fresh. Her family, wherever they were, still in the early stages of grief. Elena stood to his left, her bandaged arm held close, her eyes tracing the stone with a mix of sorrow and resolve. Hasanaj, his weathered face softened by his own reflection, flanked Raven’s right. His silence was heavier than words.
“She was very brave,” Elena said, her voice low, cutting through the stillness. “The kind of brave the world needs more of. Not many would’ve done what she did.”
Hasanaj nodded, his gaze fixed on the flowers. “She deserved better.”
Raven’s jaw tightened, his eyes never leaving the stone. Irina’s face flickered in his mind. Her fierce determination, her quiet strength. He’d fought to keep her from the line of fire, but the cartel’s reach had been too long—or was he making excuses? Maybe you simply screwed up, dude. She was another to join the ghosts of battles past. She’s whispered to him in the quiet moments, same as the others, those he couldn’t save, urging him on, demanding he keep fighting for those who couldn’t fight for themselves. Somebody who could win when they couldn’t.
It was a war without end. The end would only come when Raven stopped a bullet. No sooner, no later.
Hasanaj placed a hand on Raven’s shoulder. Raven turned to him. The smuggler only nodded. Raven still didn’t speak. There was nothing he wanted to say. He only wanted to get back in the fight. Back to the war.
A gentle breeze stirred, rustling the leaves of the nearby oaks, carrying the faint scent of the flowers. Birds chirped from the branches, their song a soft counterpoint to the solemnity below. The air felt lighter, as if the earth itself offered a moment of peace. But only a moment. Peace never lasted for long.
A LOOK AT:
OCTOBER BLOOD (JACK SLAYTON 1)
This Ex-Navy SEAL still serves his Country.
Three years ago, CIA specialist and former Navy SEAL Jack Slayton lost everything when Reema Ashraf—the woman he loved and the partner he trusted with his life—vanished during a covert mission gone catastrophically wrong. The world believes she died. Jack knows the truth only because he sees her in every nightmare… and because he never stopped searching.
Then Reema returns. Her appearance is as shocking as the message she brings: a warning wrapped in riddles, pointing to a rogue intelligence syndicate operating in the shadows of Europe, and embedded deep within the very agencies sworn to protect American lives. Someone inside their circle orchestrated her disappearance. Someone wants them both dead.
Catapulted into a relentless chase through the criminal underworld, Jack and Reema must navigate double-crosses, buried loyalties, and a global conspiracy whose reach is far greater than either imagined. As Jack races to stop a terror plot engineered by those who should be allies, he must also confront a devastating truth: wanting someone back doesn’t mean you’re ready for what comes with them.
The countdown has started. The betrayals are personal. And for Jack Slayton, winning isn’t enough.
He must reign supreme.
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Thank you.
Brian Drake
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A twenty-five year veteran of radio and television broadcasting, Brian Drake has spent his career in San Francisco where he’s filled writing, producing, and reporting duties with stations such as KPIX-TV, KCBS, KQED, among many others. Currently carrying out sports and traffic reporting duties for Bloomberg 960, Brian Drake spends time between reports and carefully guarded morning and evening hours cranking out action/adventure tales.
A love of reading when he was younger inspired him to create his own stories, and he sold his first short story, “The Desperate Minutes,” to an obscure webzine when he was 25 (more years ago than he cares to remember, so don’t ask).
Brian Drake lives in California with his wife and two cats, and when he’s not writing he is usually blasting along the back roads in his Corvette with his wife telling him not to drive so fast, but the engine is so loud he usually can’t hear her.
briandrakebooks.com
Brian Drake, The Dark Passage: A Sam Raven Thriller
