I whirled, drawing the Colt from my hip. Danilo, Josip Pasic, and two other men were grouped at the far edge of the space, evidently having come from behind a massive boulder. Danilo had a gun, but the others were empty-handed.
“Don’t shoot,” Danilo said. “You can go wherever you’re going. We only want Peter Zov.”
Wolfe had put himself in front of Zov. “He’s with us, and he’s going with us.”
“No, he’s not. We’re taking him.”
Wolfe’s attitude was perfect for saying “Over my dead body,” but he didn’t say it. My own attitude was no slouch, with my feet planted apart and my Colt steady at Danilo’s belly. Wolfe said, “He’s under our protection, and you can’t have him. We’re American citizens, and if you harm us you’ll regret it.”
“We don’t want to harm you. Zov is a traitor to his country. He crossed the border to the Albanians. We have a right to him.”
“What do you intend to do with him?”
“I’m going to find out what he told the Albanians.”
They must have been ad libbing, for there hadn’t been time to write a script during their brief talk at the fort.
“I don’t believe it,” Wolfe said. “After the hours I spent with you, I don’t believe anything you say. Heaven only knows where your allegiance lies, if anywhere. If you are a true son of Yugoslavia, come with us — you alone, not the others. If Zov has betrayed his country the proper person to deal with him is Gospo Stritar in Titograd, and that’s where we’re taking him. If you want to come, drop your gun and start down the road. You others stay where you are.”