“Do not interrupt me. I warned you at the airport. We are not playing games. We are at war. Anyone involved in espionage will be executed.” His words were all the more chilling because they were spoken softly.
He got to his feet. “This is your last warning.”
Dana watched him leave. I’m not going to let him frighten me, she thought defiantly.
She was frightened.
A care package arrived from Matt Baker. It was an enormous box filled with candy, granola bars, canned foods, and a dozen other nonperishable items. Dana took it into the lobby to share it with the other reporters. They were delighted.
“Now, that’s what I call a boss,” Satomi Asaka said.
“How do I get a job with the Washington Tribune?” Juan Santos joked.
Kemal was waiting in the alley again. The frayed, thin jacket he had on looked as though it was about to fall apart.
“Good morning, Kemal.”
He stood there, silent, watching her from under half-closed lids.
“I’m going shopping. Would you like to go with me?”
No answer.
“Let me put it another way,” Dana said, exasperated. She opened the back door of the vehicle. “Get in the car. Now!”
The boy stood there a moment, shocked, then slowly moved toward the car.
Dana and Jovan watched him climb into the backseat.
Dana said to Jovan, “Can you find a department store or clothing shop that’s open?”
“I know one.”
“Let’s go there.”
They rode in silence for the first few minutes.
“Do you have a mother or father, Kemal?”
He shook his head.
“Where do you live?”
He shrugged.
Dana felt him move closer to her as though to absorb the warmth of her body.
The clothing store was in the Bascarsija, the old market of Sarajevo. The front had been bombed out, but the store was open. Dana took Kemal’s left hand and led him into the store.
A clerk said, “Can I help you?”
“Yes. I want to buy a jacket for a friend of mine.” She looked at Kemal. “He’s about his size.”
“This way, please.”
In the boy’s section there was a rack of jackets. Dana turned to Kemal. “Which one do you like?”
Kemal stood there, saying nothing.
Dana said to the clerk, “We’ll take the brown one.” She looked at Kemal’s trousers. “And I think we need a pair of trousers and some new shoes.”
When they left the store half an hour later, Kemal was dressed in his new outfit. He slid into the backseat of the car without a word.
“Don’t you know how to say thank you?” Jovan demanded angrily.
Kemal burst into tears. Dana put her arms around him. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s all right.”
What kind of a world does this to children?
When they returned to the hotel, Dana watched Kemal turn and walk away without a word.
“Where does someone like that live?” Dana asked Jovan.
“On the streets, madam. There are hundreds of orphans in Sarajevo like him. They have no homes, no families…”
“How do they survive?”
He shrugged. “I do not know.”
The next day, when Dana walked out of the hotel, Kemal was waiting for her, dressed in his new outfit. He had washed his face.
The big news at the luncheon table was the peace treaty and whether it would work. Dana decided to go back to visit Professor Mladic Staka and ask what he thought about it.
He looked even more frail than the last time she had seen him.
“I am happy to see you, Miss Evans. I hear you are doing wonderful broadcasts, but—” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, I have no electricity for my television set. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to get your opinion of the new peace treaty, Professor.”
He leaned back in his chair and said thoughtfully, “It is interesting to me that in Dayton, Ohio, they made a decision about what is going to happen to the future of Sarajevo.”
“They’ve agreed to a troika, a three-person presidency, composed of a Muslim, a Croat, and a Serb. Do you think it can work, Professor?”
“Only if you believe in miracles.” He frowned. “There will be eighteen national legislative bodies and another hundred and nine different local governments. It is a Tower of political Babel. It is what you Americans call a ‘shotgun marriage.’ None of them wants to give up their autonomy. They insist on having their own flags, their own license plates, their own currency.” He shook his head. “It is a morning peace. Beware of the night.”