I gave him and Jovan a scornful look. If I had heard of this sort of atrocity back in the States, I would probably have been impressed enough to mutter “Oh, terrible,” only to forget about it in an hour. After all, this would have been only one of many frightening stories printed in publications I had worked for, and there were more that were never published. We journalists couldn’t eat our hearts out over them. Cruelty happens in other places where the minds and deeds of the inhabitants are different from those of normal human beings like us. But now I was about to see the real thing. Should I say “Yes.”?

 I know I went pale, and the soldier turned a superior smile on me, the smile of a stronger male to an understandably weaker and emotional female. I felt an urge to spit in his insolent face.

 “No, not necessary,” I muttered.

 Kosta began talking about the battle, but I didn’t listen. I was trying to cope with nausea, for I had now caught a whiff of burned flesh. When Jovan finished his translation, I simply nodded in acknowledgement.

 “Now I want to ask you something else,” I said, regaining control of myself. “You witnessed the abduction of a young Serbian girl a few months ago.” I unfolded a newspaper with an article on Lilya. “Remember it?”

 Kosta frowned.

 “Yes, I do. Why you are interested in it?”

 “I believe that it would be of great interest to the American public. American people are very sensitive about cruelties against civilians, against helpless and innocent people.”

 “How do you know about me?” he asked rather sharply, with a note of menace.

 “I’ve talked to the detective,” I lied. “He told me that you’d been the only witness who stepped forward. That’s odd.”

 “Why?”

 “According to the newspaper article, the girl was murdered by Croatians for revenge, supposedly in response to the rape and murder of their girl. How come nobody else wants to be a witness against a mortal enemy? Could you tell me what you saw?”

 “What else did the detective tell you?” he insisted.

 “Not much. He told me that you were not cooperative. That’s odd too.”

 “Bloody jerk. I can tell you what I said to him. On the way home I noticed a very pretty blond girl, about fourteen or fifteen years old. She had a very short skirt, nice legs, a mane of blond hair – not a mature woman yet, but almost ripe, you know . . . Not that I’m that type of a man, you know . . . I have a daughter too . . . but this one did attract attention. All of a sudden a car stopped. Two guys jumped out of it, grabbed the girl, and threw her into the car. Next moment they were gone. The whole thing took a few seconds.”

 “Thank you. Have you identified them as Croatian men?”

 He shrugged his shoulders. “Who can tell that for sure? There were so many mixed marriages for centuries. After all, we are all the same people, just different religions.” He turned his attention to the group of soldiers, who were busy removing something heavy from the house. A light wind brought a murmur of their conversation and an already familiar, revolting odor.

 “Would you be able to recognize any of them, if they happen to cross your path?”

 “Perhaps.” He turned to me again. “Take my advice, Madam. Drop it.”

 Now I sensed something that made my heart pound. He was quite sincere in giving his advice. Why? My journalistic instincts screamed inside me: ‘Push him! He knows something.” I took a one-hundred-dollar bill from my purse and held it out towards him.

 “If you give me meaningful information, this is yours.”

 The sight of hard currency did marvels. He became softer, if not friendly.

 “I don’t know if what I am about to say is of any use to you. I don’t think so.”

 “Doesn’t matter. Take it.”

 I darted a covert glance at Jovan. His face was rigid and impassive, as if carved in stone. I continued to hold out the money, and finally Kosta took it.

 “Make it confidential, though,” he said, hiding the bribe in his inside pocket. “I haven’t told you anything. Okay?”

 “Okay. I’m all ears.”

 “The guys are local pimps.” Jovan’s voice was smooth in the translation, as if the conversation was about cooking.

 “Pimps?” I cried. “Are you sure?”

 “Quite sure. I have seen one of them once before.”

 “Where?”

 “In one of the bars. I’d call it a brothel. I was there with a friend of mine for a couple of beers.”

 “In what brothel? Where it is located?” I asked impatiently.

 “Hey, hey, lady,” he protested. “I thought that you were interested in political matters. What could be of interest for you in this case? It has nothing to do with the war or politics.”

 “Prostitution is of great interest to me. It’s an international problem, as far as I know.”

 “I can’t help you with that,” he said, rising. “I haven’t told you anything. Okay?”

 I stood up as well, looking him up and down contemptuously.

 “Are you afraid of pimps?” I asked. “A Slavic soldier is afraid of petty criminals?”

 This ostensibly macho man fixed me with an angry stare.

 “Do you know how much per day a pimp makes?” he asked.

 “I have no idea. How much?”

 “From five hundred to a thousand dollars per girl per night. If he controls ten or more girls, how much money would he make per day?”

 “It’s an impressive statistic,” I said.

 “Smuggling girls to other countries is no less profitable,” he continued, ignoring my remark. “Hordes of them from Russia and Ukraine pass through our country now. Because there is no law and order here. No control over people.”

 “Why do you tell me this?”

He stepped back and crossed his arms on his chest, slowly lifting his eyes from my legs to my hips, then to my bosom and my lips. He gave me an ugly smile.

 “In our troubled times, money and insanity rule the world. These people have enough money to buy everyone’s silence. Good luck, Madam.”

 Choked with indignation, I turned my back on him, ready to leave.

 “Oh, by the way,” he said in a merry, mocking way. “Take my advice, Madam. Stay away from this business. Another death won’t change the world.” This made me turn back.

 “Whose death?” I asked, looking into his sharp, narrowed eyes.

 “Your death.”

 Waves of horror ran up and down my spine.

 “W..w..what?”

 “For your own good, Madam. There are thousands of criminals in this international syndicate. You will be like a small insect standing in their way. Our police work together with them. One wrong step and you are dead. Stay away. Thank you for your donation to our army.”

 Jovan and I walked in silence towards the road. The colonel was already waiting for us. Back in the Jeep, I looked at Jovan’s face; it was pale and grim.

 “What’s your take on it?” I asked.

 “Something’s fishy in what he said. The autopsy concluded that she was a virgin. Pimps wouldn’t have killed her; they would have raped her and sold her to another country. They wouldn’t have dared to force a local girl into prostitution here. Locals would have killed them and burned their brothels.”

 “True,” I agreed. “And yet, my gut feeling is that he’s told the truth. Something is seriously amiss.”