Searching for Stolen Love Page 12

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  I jerked awake, and both my back and neck throbbed in pain. Then I jolted up and looked around while the wool blanket fell to the ground.

  I couldn’t believe I had slept in the chair in the living room, in Boris' lab. I fell asleep in the enemy's lair. I glanced at the table next to my chair and saw the gun still lying there. Then a strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee assaulted my nose.

  My stomach began growling.

  Then Boris walked into the room, carrying an old tin tray with a Bosnian breakfast on it.

  I saw a chevapi, a Bosnian sandwich usually eaten for lunch or dinner, on a plate with a cup of hot coffee and a little container of hot sauce. I rarely eat chevapi because the sandwich is too greasy.

  Boris set the tray next to the gun lying on the table and said, “Good morning; I thought you would be hungry. I made you a Bosnian lunch, well I mean breakfast. I figure you’ll need some energy today.”

  I replied, “Thank you.”

  I picked up the fork and removed the top bun. They always fried the buns in a lake of sausage grease. I used the fork to push the thick layer of freshly, diced onions off the sandwich, onto the side of the plate. Then I used a knife to cut the bread and beef sausages, stabbing at them with the fork. At least the grease from the sandwich would help it slide down my throat better, lubricating my insides.

  Boris watched me eat my breakfast solemnly as I gobbled the sandwich.

  Then Boris asked, “How’s the chevapi?”

  “The chevapi was excellent, but I usually don’t eat these because they’re too greasy.”

  “Good. I hoped you would like it. I want you to have plenty of energy today. You have plenty to do.”

  After I cleaned my plate, except for the small hill of onions to the side, Boris began, “Keith, it’s almost time. Jasmin rises early, and I would expect him around seven this morning.”

  I scanned the room for a clock and saw the hands pointed at 6:40 AM. Then I asked, “What should we do?”

  Boris lay out his plans, “Let’s start...”