– He will agree if we convince him that the stakes are big enough. And if he sees that we have strong cards. – the lawyer turned to me. – And our cards, Ana, are with you. You will have to go and get the folder. I will arrange a meeting with Lyubomir. But you must be extremely careful. Now that Petar is wanted, it is very likely that they are following you too.
The idea of going back to the library terrified me. Being outside again, alone, vulnerable. But I knew there was no other way. This was my fight, no matter how much I didn't want it.
“I will do it,” I said firmly. “When?”
– Today. The sooner the better. I’ll give you instructions on how to move around, how to change transportation to try to get rid of a possible “queue”. Maria will stay here. She’s safe. Their whole goal right now is you and the folder.
The plan was simple and terrifyingly complex. I had to become a ghost in my own town. To move unnoticed, to be a few steps ahead of people who made their living from persecution and violence. I looked in the mirror in the small bathroom. The tired, frightened face staring back at me was not the face of a spy. It was the face of a literature teacher who had fallen into the wrong novel. But there was no turning back. I had to finish this story.
Chapter 8
Leaving Stoyanov's office was like stepping into another world. The sun was shining brightly, people were rushing about their tasks, the city was living its usual, noisy life. None of them suspected the invisible war that was being waged in the shadows.
I followed the lawyer's instructions strictly. I took a taxi for a few blocks, then got on a streetcar, got off after two stops, and entered a large shopping mall. I mingled with the crowd, went up and down several escalators, passed several stores without buying anything, all the while looking around at the people around me. I was looking for something unusual – a face that repeated itself, a person who wasn't shopping, but was just observing. I didn't see anything in particular, but the feeling of being watched wouldn't leave me. It was like an itch under my skin.
Finally, I went out through a back exit and found myself on a small, quiet street. From there, I caught another bus that took me near the library. The whole trip took almost two hours. I felt exhausted, my nerves were stretched to the limit.
I entered the library. The familiar smell of old paper greeted me like an old friend. This time, however, it brought me no comfort, but only intensified my sense of surrealism. I went straight to the rare books section. My hands shook as I searched for the thick tome on agrarian reform. I found it. I reached for it and my heart stopped.
The folder was gone.
For a moment I was paralyzed. I couldn't breathe. I checked again, feeling the entire shelf. Nothing. I looked at the neighboring books. Nothing. Panic began to wash over me like an icy wave. How is this possible? Who?
