9. Chapter Nine
Chapter nine
Jake Noble’s plane touched down at Nikola Tesla Airport after nine in the evening.
The big jumbo jet taxied to the terminal, and Noble had to wait nearly thirty minutes before he could disembark.
It took another forty minutes just to get through customs. He was happy to find his fake passport passed inspection.
He wasn’t exactly sweating it; he’d done the work himself, taking his time and making sure all the details were correct.
But you never knew if a fake ID was going to pass muster until it actually stood up to scrutiny by a professional.
Thankfully the bored, minimum wage processing agents working the customs desks at most major international airports are anything but professional. The agent barely glanced at Noble’s forged passport before slamming her stamp down and instructing him to enjoy his stay.
From the airport, Noble rented a grey ?koda Octavia. The Octavia is a Czech manufactured car ubiquitous in Serbia and throughout the Balkans. It’s a midsize sedan that would pass without notice on any street in America. Most people would mistake it for a Toyota.
Noble tossed his carry-on into the backseat and navigated a surprisingly simple exchange out of the airport onto the E-70 toward the heart of Belgrade.
Most airports have a confusing spaghetti tangle of roadways in and out, like they are doing their level best to confuse the poor motorist just trying to catch a flight on time.
The Serbs had bucked tradition. Noble barely needed the aid of his phone’s directions as he left the airport.
Normally he would have done a lengthy surveillance detection route as he made his way toward the heart of Belgrade, taking turns at random and doubling back in places, in an effort to spot anybody who might be tailing him.
But Noble had a sneaking suspicion Burke was worried over nothing.
He figured he’d catch up to Bill and Milena in another day or two, find them happy and in good health.
Also, it was late and Noble was tired. The change in time zones had caught up with him.
He could barely keep his eyes open. He wanted to find a room for the night, lay his head down and get some sleep.
He’d pick up the search for Bill and Milena in the morning.
If it turned out like Noble expected, he fully intended to spend a few days taking in the sights on Burke’s dime. Belgrade was one of the few capital cities in Eastern Europe he had yet to visit. Might as well see what the Serbs had on offer.
He drove past a water park in the middle of the city that was still open and hopping. The clock on the dash said it was nearly eleven at night. Noble muttered, “Some water park.”
Crossing the Danube into the heart of Belgrade, he took it slow through the narrow Medieval cobbled stone streets, and found his hostel on Skadarska Street.
In the movies, spies always stayed in lavish hotels where they sipped martinis and ordered room service.
In real life, spies want to keep a low profile, which generally meant cheap hotels, and sometimes hostels.
Noble found hostels particularly useful.
The communal atmosphere and transient nature made it easy to come and go without attracting too much attention.
Hostels were generally far less stringent about asking for ID.
Many of them were content to let you sign a guest book in exchange for cash on the table.
Skadarska Street is a tight cobblestone artery snaking between some of the most popular nightlife spots in Belgrade.
Outdoor cafes spilled right out onto the roadway so Noble wasn’t sure it was ever meant for passenger vehicles, and he wasn’t sure he was allowed to drive on it.
He circled the block, found a spot against a curb where he parked the rental, and rubbed burning eyes before climbing out.
He made sure to lock the rental, then started back up a steep sidewalk toward the pulsating sound of bass drums and the rhythmic drive of house-techno.
A trio of lovely young ladies in skimpy outfits passed him, going the opposite direction.
One of them blew Noble a kiss. He grinned and kept walking.
Skadarska was a thriving mass of mostly young, mostly good looking, humanity. The smell of perfume mixed with the sour stink of alcohol, and underneath that, Noble detected a hint of baked goods from one of the nearby restaurants.
Jake had chosen Skadarksa on purpose. Often the best way to go unnoticed is to get lost in a crowd, and the best place to do that is a popular night spot.
A quick internet search had told him Skadarska was the place to be if he wanted to party, so he had booked a room at a hostel smack in the middle of the busy thoroughfare.
As he made his way along the uneven lane, Noble keyed in on a man in a black leather sport coat watching him closely.
The man was young, mid twenties, with a shaved head and one gold earring.
He sat at an outdoor table, one hand loosely cradling a tall glass of beer.
His eyes never left Noble, watching with an open frankness that was a little unnerving.
Noble’s steps faltered. Was he being followed? Watched? Who even knew he was in Serbia? His mind started to race. He couldn’t go to the hostel while he was being followed. He should have done a surveillance detection route. It was sloppy tradecraft. Mistakes like that get people killed.
He started to turn in at one of the open bars along the constricted pedestrian walk. He needed to throw off pursuit and then, hopefully, find out who was watching him and why. Any tiredness or fatigue was gone. His brain was now on high alert.
Jake stopped at the bar, shouldered into the crowd of people waiting on drinks, and turned for a look back at his watcher.
The man was still eyeing him. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.
Bold, Noble thought.
He was just trying to figure out what to do about his tail, when another man greeted his watcher with a loud greeting and open arms. The man in the black leather sport coat stood and embraced the newcomer.
And it was clear from the way they held each other, that both were playing for the other team.
Noble nearly laughed out loud.
The man wasn’t an operative, and he wasn’t tailing Noble. It proved the old adage, when your only tool is a hammer, every problem starts looking like a nail. Noble never stopped to consider the possibility the guy in stylish black leather was gay and on the prowl.
Life is funny that way. And more than one covert operator had found themselves in a compromised position because they started thinking everybody was a spy.
A bartender called to him, asking what he wanted to drink.
Noble waved away the request. He stepped back out onto the street and crossed the cobbled bricks to the hostel. His heart was migrating from his throat, back down into his chest. Excess adrenaline made his hands start to shake.
He’d need earplugs if he wanted to get any sleep. Noble doubted if the party on Skadarska would wind down any time before three AM. But that was the price you sometimes paid for anonymity.