First Impressions

When Holden told Paddy he was taking a short job in Albania, Paddy had reacted with disbelief. "What the fuck do you want and go and do that for. Its the arse end of Europe, I mean its not much better than working in Basra and corrupt, mate they could teach the world a thing about corrupt."

Holden was somewhat taken aback by Paddy's response, "Where did you hear all of this then Paddy, not like you to a walking talking travel guide".

"Albania's in the news papers mate, their criminals are all coming over here taking over the drugs and the vice, the mail was all over it this morning." Holden smiled at his former platoon sargeant" I can see the Mail headline now Albania's illegal immigrant Mafia steal jobs from our hardworking British villains, you plonker its not like the Mail is the most reliable source of information in the world."

There followed a short and rather formulaic argument about there personal choice of newspapers, it was the same one they'd been having since Holden had been a young subaltern and Paddy his more experienced platoon sergeant, Holden could see Paddy's heart wasn't in it, and was surprised to see the man genuinely upset about the location of his new job.

"Anyway its a done deal" interrupted Holden. "I've even got my ticket, Business class, I'll have you know and with British Airways into Tirana. Now if things in Albania were that bad I doubt British Airways would be flying there would they."
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Holden's first impressions of Albania were not good ones. The flight was OK, business class was a change to travelling cattle class. Even passport control had been relatively straightforward, nothing more than a cursory glance at face and passport, by the bored looking official behind the desk. At baggage claim his rucksack was almost the first off. A pleasant surprise seeing as most of Holden's fellow travellers were left three deep at the carousel trying to lug of luggage which seemed larger than they were.

Then he'd walked through the door into the arrivals lounge and immediatly been hassled by a series of young men as soon as he caught their attention, each offered a range of services whether it was carrying his luggage, to arranging a car, to getting him the cheapest Hotel room or even someone to keep his bed warm. After fighting off the first enthusiastic attempt to carry his rucksack he'd ignored them all and simply headed for the exit.

Outside he avoided another crowd of young men and made his way towards the rather weary looking taxi driver who held a sign with the name Holten held over his head a wet brown cigarette clenched between his lips.

The driver didn't speak any English and Holden gave up trying to communicate via sign language he sat back trying to take in his surroundings. He'd read somewhere that there had only been 600 cars in Albania during the communist era, all owned by communist bigwigs; now there are thousands, all apparently driven by lunatics, among who he quickly included his own. The road from the airport was potholed and cars played chicken with one another as well as the pedestrians who would apparently wander aimlessly into the road at a moments notice. If the traffic was anything to go by Holden thought Tirana was a complete bloody mess.

Holden's mood picked up as he arrived at the hotel, outside it seemed just like any of the other grimy buildings on a nondescript side street. Inside it was neat and tidy. The room while not loaded with extras was clean well cared for the even ran their own restaurant in the buildings restaurant.

Von Junzt had told him the rest of the party would not be arriving in Tirana until the day after Holden so he decided to spend the day wandering, he also had to make some phone calls to arrange a meeting with an old contact of Paddy's to arrange for some specialist equipment. In the daylight Tirana was a different city, literally alive with colour. Although Holden had to admit to himself painting a Grim communist era apartment blocks have been painted in bright greens and reds and blues, did little to hide the fact it was falling to pieces.

At an open-air cafe by the side of a park, Holden found a table and bought himself a beer. While he sat waiting for his beer he removed a small red sim card from his wallet and inserted it into the mobile phone which had been his first acquisition in Albania. Taking a sip of beer he pulled the slip of paper Paddy had given him from his wallet and dialed the number. The man on the other end of the phone didn't exchange pleasantries and neither did Holden. Twenty minutes later a battered Mercedes pulled up outside the the man who stepped out of the car sports bag in one hand could easily have been Paddy's cousin.

After the phone call Holden had expected a short perfunctory meeting but in person Christos Anastasios was a completely different person. When Holden had offered him his money, US dollar bills bundled discretely inside a copy of the local newspaper, Christos waved it away. Holden tried to buy him a beer, but Christos placed one hand on his own chest.

"It would not be right, I am an Albanian, hospitality is the law and you are a guest in my country. Please let me." he waved for the waiter and ordered them both a beer."

They made small talk, Christos was a part of the Greek-speaking minority, who many Albanians regarded with suspicion, he'd lived in Tirana for most of his life and like Paddy seemed genuinely disturbed when Holden mentioned he'd be travelling into the North of the country.

"In the countryside life has changed little since the medieval period." said Christos "Many roads they are not paved, while those which are have so many holes even a short drive will take you twice as long as you think while you take the route down road least likely to damage your car." Christos dropped some coins onto the waiters tray, then took a sip of the beer before continuing. "In the country many still use horse and wagon or donkey. Tirana is not Albania, all the asylum seekers and criminals you get from here they are all from the countryside."

Holden smiled as a horse and car clopped past them apparently transporting color televisions. "Fair enough, Christos but a fair amount of ducking and diving goes on in Tirana too doesn't it. You can't tell me those guys in the park trying to sell me dollars are on the up; or all those CD's and DVD's I can buy for a quid are legit, and the phone I rang you on came from a shop which only seemed to sell knocked off mobile phones."

Christos shrugged then smiled in return "True, but these are little crimes they hurt no one, but in the mountains, death and hardship are a way of life, they are not so nice people."

After this the conversation moved on to cover the restaurants Holden should go to to sample the best Albanian food, the cafes Holden should hang out at in order to watch the leggy girls parade by. At last Christos admitted he was late for a prior appointment and had to leave, he stood up shaking Holdens hand before picking up Holden's newspaper with the wad of dollars inside and walked back to his car he left the sports bag by Holden's feet.

Back in the privacy of his hotel room, Holden unzipped the bag, removing a first a large dark pistol which he concluded was a Chinese replica of the Beretta 92F, then a similar Chinese copy of the AKS-74U, part sub-machine gun part assault rifle and based on the extremely robust AK-74, beloved of both terrorists and freedom fighters around the world. At the bottom of the bag wrapped up in a sports towel were magazines for both weapons, as well as enough rounds of ammunition to start a small war.

Holden checked everything over, taking his time to strip both weapons down then happy they were in good reassembling them. Once both weapons were reassembled, he repeated the same process for the magazines checking each one in turn for dents or other defects which might prevent them working just when he needed them to. Happy the weapons and magazines were good he started to load the magazines, it turned out the rounds were also Chinese. Happy his new aquisitions were in good working order he placed everything back into the sports bag. He locked the bag inside his bedside cabinet, hardly the safest place, but he had no other real alternatives. Holden doubted he would need any of it, but von Junzt had been adamant he should bring some form of protection with them. Holden had been against it, it was completely illegal and Holden had no desire to wind up in an Albanian prison, but von Junzt had simply increased Holden's pay and assured him he’d pay whatever bribes were necessary to get any charges dropped.