BETRAYAL IN THE BALKANS 27I asked if they spoke any Serbo-Croatian. They did not. So, I taught
them some useful phrases. Dobar dan (“Good day”). Hvala (“Thank you”).
And puši kurac, which had them laughing for the rest of the ride. (Search it
on Google.) My language skills also came in handy that day while I medi-
ated checkpoint disputes between nervous Bosnian soldiers and the various
nationalities who comprised the UN contingent, since they typically did
not share a common language.
Not long after dark, the UN convoy began winding its way down the
face of Mount Igman and into Sarajevo. Like the city itself, all vehicle
lights were blacked out to avoid being targeted, and the drivers used night-
vision goggles to see. It was pitch black under a quiet, cloudless summer
sky. For a moment it struck me that the moon and stars shone just as bril-
liantly over Bosnia as they did in the tranquil Sonoran Desert.
We knew that the Serbs could kill us at any time. Racing down the
bumpy mountain road in the dark, inches from the edge of a steep, rocky
drop-off, was in itself risky. Within a few weeks of my trip, three American
officials were killed on this very road while attempting a similar entry.
After sixteen hours and several close calls, we made it to the newly
opened official compound, a renovated villa in the heart of Sarajevo. There
the security officer, Mike, welcomed us by providing detailed guidance on
when and when not to flush the villa’s toilets. We understood why the water
was rationed, but after our exhausting trip it took several explanations by
the exasperated security officer before we were able to straighten out our
(feigned) confusion over what constituted a flushable act.
Mike then led us to the downstairs laundry room, which would be our
living and working quarters for the next month. Since there was nothing to
eat, we tried to sleep on the dusty and bug-infested floor. After three nights
with no sleep, one more couldn’t hurt.
The next morning, we bid a grateful farewell to our quiet military col-
leagues. They returned to Zagreb via the same risky route, having safely
delivered us to ground zero. I later heard their superior officer was not
pleased that his new Jeep Cherokee required extensive repairs after the
round trip over the brutal Mount Igman road.
My primary mission in Sarajevo was to provide intelligence on the
military situation in Bosnia, and on Bosnian Serb Army (BSA) military
targets and capabilities, in advance of the expected NATO intervention.