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chairs. To the side of the bar were a staircase and a door with the letters TOALET scrawled in white paint.
    “What a dump,” Ice murmured as he navigated his way around the furniture to the bar. The only customers in the room were the soldiers who had arrived before him. They hadn’t lost any time settling in. Their table was already crammed with pitchers of beer, delivered by two waitresses wearing heavy makeup. They looked like they had been working the scene for at least a decade, or two.
    “What you want?” the barman asked in halting English.
    “What ya got?”
    “Beer, whiskey, bitches.”
    Ice considered his options. “Beer.”
    “Five dollars.”
    He raised his eyebrows at the exorbitant price and dropped a note on the bar. A cold glass of the amber liquid was placed in front of him. He picked up the stein and turned to watch the KFOR guys.
    The four soldiers, Ice guessed they were Germans, were necking beer like it was Gatorade. One of them had a waitress on his lap and had slipped his hand inside her bra to fondle a breast. She seemed perfectly OK with the situation.
    Ice turned to face a woman sauntering down the staircase. She flashed a smile. “Hello, big boy!” Clearly another veteran. Her face was caked with makeup and her breasts were almost exploding out of her lacy bra.
    He returned the smile. “How are you this evening?”
    She grinned. “I am good.” She sat on a stool next to him. “Are you an Englishman?”
    Ice shook his head. “No, I’m an American. But you, you sound like a Russian.” Ice detected a faint glaze to her eyes. He glanced at her arms, searching for bruises or needle-marks. She looked clean.
    She pursed her lips. “You’re very smart. I am Russian. Do you want to join me upstairs?”
    “Not just yet. I’d prefer to have a few drinks first.” He gestured toward the chairs. “Would you like to join me?”
    She looked disappointed. “OK, first we drink.”
    No, thought Ice, drinking is all we’ll do. He bought her a vodka lemonade, took her by the elbow, and gently led her to a pair of armchairs. “Do you have many girls here?”
    She nodded sipping her vodka.
    “Are they all Russian like you?”
    She shook her head. “Many different girls. You want another girl?”
    “No, you’re very beautiful.” He took a swig of beer. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
    She smiled. “No, not just one. Would you like to make me your girlfriend?”
    “Maybe. I just want to make sure you weren’t with Kreshnik.”
    The girl’s smile dropped. “You know Kreshnik?”
    “I know he’s not the sort of man I would want to offend.”
    She nodded.
    “He owns this place, doesn’t he?”
    She shook her head. “No, he runs it for Zahir.”
    Ice took another drink from his stein. “It seems like a nice place.” He glanced over at the soldiers. They were surrounded by young girls, probably around the same age as the blonde from the farmhouse. Sadness washed over him. He locked eyes with one of the teenagers. She looked barely sixteen, yet her expression was cold and lifeless.
    One of the soldiers grabbed her face and kissed her.
    Ice lifted his drink and downed the beer.
    He felt the woman’s hand on his knee. “It’s a lot nicer upstairs. You should come up and see.”
    “I wish I could, but I’m out of time.”
    “Oh.”
    He stood. “When I come back, who should I ask for?”
    “My name is Svetlana.”
    “Nice to meet you, Svetlana.”
     

CHAPTER 5
     
    Ice balanced two coffees, one on top of the other, as he fumbled with the combination lock on the front gate of the CIA compound. He managed to turn the knob and push the gate ajar before jamming his boot in, and flicking it open. He repeated the process at the front door, then strode into the operations room and handed one of the coffees to a middle-aged female analyst.
    Louise smiled. “You’re an angel, James.”
    “Thought you could do with a morning kick start. Is Frank around?”
    “He’s in his