BETRAYAL IN THE BALKANS 35to report my attempted escape, which would likely prompt the bad guys to
accelerate their move against me.
Luck was with us, however. That morning the city and mountain were
shrouded in a light haze, so visibility was poor. The Serbs would have dif-
ficulty targeting us. Moreover, we knew the frequently inebriated BSA sol-
diers were least attentive just before daybreak.
We decided to make a run for it. We raced to the heavily sandbagged
French Battalion on top of the mountain without drawing fire. Along the
way, we sped past the smoldering hulks of several UN vehicles that had
been hit by the Serbs just hours earlier.
Throughout our escape from Bosnian territory, we were extra alert
with our weapons at the ready. If the Iranians made contact or gave chase,
we were prepared to do battle with them. I made John promise that he’d
shoot me before letting any bearded fanatics haul me off for one of their
notorious torture sessions. I was dead serious. I did not want to meet the
same unspeakable fate as Buckley.
Knowing that John would have a tough time explaining to CIA lawyers
why shooting me was actually in my best interests, I was as pleased as he
was that he did not have to make good on his promise.
After our safe arrival in Split, we bade farewell to fearless security officer
Mike and his military colleague, as well as the now harmless Bosnian spy,
and made our way by taxi to the airport. From the airport pay phone, I
called our nervous colleagues in Washington (collect) to let them know that
we had made it out alive. My headquarters friends were relieved that we
were safe and sound. And I’m sure there were more than a few bureau-
crats who breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of all the paperwork and
explaining they wouldn’t have to do, thanks to our successful exfiltration.
As the adrenaline ceased coursing through my system, I could not
resist the urge to sleep. With my duffel bag as a pillow, I passed out for an
hour on the floor of the bustling Split airport, soldiers and passengers step-
ping over and around me as I slept. John reacted with his usual aplomb,
drinking warm Cokes and watching military relief flights land and take off
as though nothing had happened. He woke me when our flight was called.
The next day in Vienna I briefed Director of Central Intelligence John
Deutch on our Bosnian mission. In Vienna for a regional chiefs of station
meeting, he’d been following our travails and was eager for a full report.