Slobodan Mitric

Introduction by the editor Robert J. Kelder

This short novel was first published in the London based Yugoslavian magazine NASA REC (Our Word) as a feuilleton in ten monthly instalments between August/September 1978 (Vol. XXXI, Nr. 297) and June 1979 (Vol. XXXII, Nr. 306) under the heading ARTS AND CULTURE PROGRAM. It appeared, however, not under the name of the real author Slobodan Mitric, who at that time was still held in confinement in The Hague for his role in the Vlado Dapcevic case as described at the end of this novella, but under a pseudonym Zoran Jovanovic. Mitric was namely advised by Desimir Tosic, the publisher of NASA REC and the Dutch authorities to adopt this pseudonym in order to facilitate the granting of a residence status to him in The Netherlands. This Zoran Jovanovic subsequently appeared to be a real person, namely a co-worker of the magazine NASA REC, who later apparently rose to political prominence in Yugoslavia partly based on his false claim to being the author of this short novel. In 1981, it was translated into Dutch and as such provided the basis for Mitric’s book GEHEIM-AGENT VAN TITO (Tito’s Secret agent), first published in a circulation of 5000 copies by “Karate Europa” Publishing Co. and reprinted (10.000 copies) in 1982. The promises by the Dutch authorities to grant him a residence status in this country, however, did not materialize in the end, and Mitric was reduced to eke out a meagre existence for himself and his partner/wife below the welfare minimum as an undesirable alien. A Dutch court order in 1986 forbade his extradition to the then Yugoslavia for fear that he would be put to death for high treason, a situation which, contrary to what the Dutch government claims, has not changed since.

Only lately (on October 16, 2008) Mitric was informed to his great surprise and anger that his short novel was republished in 21 instalments between April 14 and May 10, 2004 in the national (at that time still) Yugoslavian newspaper DANAS and again under the same pseudonym Zoran Jovanovic! This at a time when, as mentioned, he was reduced to earn his livelihood for himself and his ailing wife by collecting scrap iron on the streets of Amsterdam! Had he been given the financial remuneration, his wife who died due to lack of proper medical attention and even foul play, might still have been alive!

Now, one may indeed ask, who are Desimir Tosic and Zoran Jovanovic? This is what Mitric wrote and emailed in the original Serbian and in English translation in January 2007 to answer this question:

“Who are Desimir Tosic and Zoran Jovanovic?

Desimir Tosic said that he was born in 1920 in Bela Palanka and that he [in World War II] was held as a German prisoner. It is true that he emigrated to Paris, that he studied there at the faculty of economy and law and that he used a pseudonym – he was editor-in-chief of NASA REC (Our Word) in London [the leading journal of the Yugoslav Diaspora]. His real surname is not Tosic. Desimir and his brother claimed that they changed their surname when they immigrated, and that they named themselves after the name of their father Tose and that their surname was Tosic.

In the mid seventies, he had a meeting with a chief from the [Yugoslav] state security service UDBA from Novi Sad, who lived at that time in Switzerland. After that meeting, articles taken from the novel “Tito’s Secret Agent” appeared in NASA REC, signed by Zoran Jovanovic as the “author”; after a year that part of the book “Tito’s Secret Agent” was printed separately. The Yugoslav public remain unaware of who the real author of the novel is. Desimir Tosic and the fake author Zoran Jovanovic are still hiding the truth from the Yugoslav and especially Serbian public – as well as a snake hides its legs! We [hereby] inform all the deceived readers of NASA REC that the real author of the novel “Tito’s Spy” published in NASA REC is Slobodan Pivljanin [Mitric] , the Serbian artist-poet-writer and leader of the DPS (Democratic Party of Serbia) – whose [political] program was also stolen by the same gentlemen, who named it the so-called Democratic Party of Serbia.

For all information write to: slobodan-radojev-mitric@hotmail.com“

Desimir Tosic has since then died. The present fate and position of Zoran Jovanovic is not known. May the dramatic background to this story finally become known in Serbia and abroad and may the real author finally achieve the status as a writer he deserves, accompanied by the financial rewards that he is equally entitled to!

* * * * * * *

I – Enrolment in the Yugoslav Secret Service

It was springtime. Everything was teeming with life and clouds were flying overhead!

I was stationed as a soldier at that time at Slavonska Pozega.

For the first three months, life was normal and easy-going.

One day our whole detachment was ordered to line up in front of the army barracks and to empty our pockets and give away everything we had with us at that moment! We did not dare protest, although everybody knew what this farce was about.

We got all our personal belongings back, except our pens. Previously, every one of us had to sign their name with their own pen!

After this weird search, the soldiers said that there were spies among us. They also said that Nazi symbols had been smeared in the toilets and on the walls of the barracks – and that anything was bound to happen. We didn’t know what to expect. My friends and I were scared to death; we were very young, none of us was more than twenty years old. I was only nineteen. I had just started shaving myself for the first time that year. The fear of the spies caused wrinkles in my young face. I was more afraid of spies than death!

It was only two days after the ceremony with the pens that they started searching and hearing us again. Three of my friends, Zorz, Bokan and Misa had escaped from the army barracks. A general alarm was sounded and we all received our gear for a full-scale war. The soldiers were talking among themselves that my friends were spies underway to the Austrian border and that the Secret Service was pursuing them.

Other news was circulating among us, for example, that there were mines planted and that the army barracks could any moment be blown up! That panic was stopped by the rough voice of our battalion commander Major Djura. He ordered us in an angry and very loud voice to return to our barracks immediately, because the escaped soldiers had been caught.

I knew those three men from the time that we were still in Belgrade. We played together as kids, so I couldn’t understand why they were considered spies! Now I had formed a completely new image of spies – a spy could be just anybody.

The next day, before lining up for military training, the corporal ordered me to report to Major Djura, the battalion commander.

Standing in position of him and sweating, I looked like a burning candle dripping with wax.

Major Djura was accompanied by a high-ranking captain. They were talking about something as if I did not exist and paid absolutely no attention to me. I started trembling, for ten minutes had already gone by since I entered their office. Then I stood still and said, “Zoran Jovanovic, soldier of the third battalion, first detachment and third unit, at your service, Comrade Major.”

Since Major Djura did not say ‘dismissed’, I kept standing in the position of the ‘burning candle’, eagerly waiting for that command, but the minutes turned into hours! Finally, the liaison captain looked at me and, faking surprise, shouted loudly as if I were a hundred year old deaf man, “Comrade Zoran, dismissed!”

After bellowing that, he smiled at me cordially, as if we were trueborn brothers! The captain was almost two meters tall. His whole appearance was that of a true soldier; his voice and his face were strong as stone. I felt scared most of all when the slim captain shook hands with me. ”I’m Captain Zarko. I sent for you, Zoran, to help me with a very important matter.”

I couldn’t believe what I heard. Confused, I held his hand in mine while he looked deeply into my eyes and smiled at me. “I just telephoned your father. He sends you his kind regards. He said that he believes you will uphold the honor of your family.”

Listening to these words confused me even more. His whole behavior baffled me, especially when he said that he had called my father! Fear overwhelmed me! I felt something important was happening. I was afraid someone had told them that it was I who had drawn those swastikas. I almost started crying and begged him to believe me that I hadn’t done it, when Zarko’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Comrade Zoran, please sit down.”

Zarko pointed to a beautifully designed sofa in the corner of the room, took out a cigarette case and handed it to me. “Have a cigarette, comrade Zoran.”

“No thanks, I don’t smoke,” I muttered. I refused the cigarette and could hardly utter a word. Something was choking me and taking my breath away. Sweat was dripping from my face down my shivering chest.

“How nice that you don’t smoke. I’d be happy, if I could stop. And, do you drink alcohol?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t smoke or drink any alcohol.”

“You’re really a tough guy!” He smiled at me and winked at Major Djura, who was blinking all the time and wiping the sweat of his forehead.

“I heard you train karate,” said Captain Zarko, now with a new, more flattering and provocative tone of voice.

“Yes.”

“That means you can break a brick with your bare hands.”

“No,” I answered a little more bravely. I was sorry that everyone considered a karate man to be some sort of brick-breaker or bricklayer! Karate is as an art closely related to Zen philosophy. The aim of karate training is to use the stunted, potential energy in the human body. Only ignoramuses connect karate with brick breaking!

“So, you cannot break a brick. Then you are a bad karate man,” said captain Zarko, sneering cheerfully from a pleasure only known to him. The whole scene began to disgust me and out of some kind of obstinacy caused by the captain’s teasing, I insisted that I couldn’t do it, although the truth was that I could break even two bricks. Breaking bricks is only one part of karate called tamashivari.

“Can you break a tile then?” Captain Zarko persisted in his interrogation.

“No, not even a tile,” I replied in a tone of voice that sounded even strange to me.

“What sort karate belt do you have?” the captain asked in a wicked tone of voice.

“A black belt,” I said.

“Black, come on! You mean to say you’re a karate master!”

“Yes,” I said. But this previously nice captain had now become as boring and stupid as an ox to me, and so I said ironically, “A real master and not a bricklayer.”

“Yeah, yeah. Never mind. I didn’t call you because of karate, but to answer some questions.”

Major Djura got up from his chair and started walking up and down his office. He was always strict and spoke little, but the things he did say were always thoughtful. During the war he had been a battalion commander with the famous Dalmatian brigade. He survived the war and was awarded many medals of honor. He was as tall as a highlander and thin as a match. His eyes glittered like owl’s eyes; you couldn’t reach inside them to know what he was up to. The major suddenly opened the door and left, leaving Captain Zarko and myself alone. The captain cleared his throat and after having offered me a cigarette again, which I refused again, started talking peacefully and with a certain kind of dignity.

“You, Zoran, come from a good family. I know your father personally and when I see you I see him. Thus I expect you to be honest and answer all my questions without any fear that somebody will find out about it. You know what’s been happening these days in your battalion. I believe there are many things that I don’t know that you want to tell me about. That is why I called you, so that we can help each other like two honest and friendly human beings. First of all, tell me how long have you known these three men, Zorz, Bokan and Misa?”

I felt his piercing gaze and could hardly gather the strength to answer his question. “I think about a year, maybe more. But I knew them as neighbors. We’re now more like companions here.”

“What were you talking about when you were last together? Were you planning to escape to Austria together?”

“Who was making plans?” I asked instead of answering, although I knew full well that we had been making plans; but it was nothing more than youthful haughtiness. I thought that Zorz was the first to mention something about escaping to Austria. But afterwards, we forgot all about that alleged escape plan. One thing was bothering me. Who was the person that had leaked everything to Captain Zarko?

“So you don’t know anything about that?” inquired the captain.

“Of course I don’t,” I said convincingly.

“Okay, then I’ll help you.”

Captain Zarko lit a cigarette, started pacing up and down the room and quietly started telling his story. “I am very sorry, Zoran, that you’ve gotten into this mess. But I hope that when you’ve listened to me you, you will be honest and confess everything. You know very well what it means to prepare to escape out of the country. That is called desertion, a case for which a man can be court-martialled with little mercy. Of course, such an unpleasant thing can be avoided, but a man needs to be honest. I know you’re young, but still, this is the army and that is no joke. Secondly, you messed things up before you enlisted in the army. You will have to appear in Court, because of those burglaries you committed last year. Imagine what the judge will think when we send him our recommendations! You’ll no doubt be sentenced to prison for a long time. I talked to your father about all this. He’s asking you not to embarrass him any more. And, Zoran, you know full well that your father is a very honest man and that it’s not right that, as an old man, he has to suffer because of you. I think you’re not doing the right thing. But still, I promise to help you with everything, just be honest. And then we will try to forget all about your burglaries. Now tell me, who drew those swastikas in your battalion?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know or are you afraid that those guys will beat you up afterwards?”

“No, that’s not it, I really don’t know anything.”

“Okay, Zoran then we have nothing more to talk about. Go back to your unit, and if by any chance you change your mind, tell the soldier on duty that you want to see me. And now get out, march!”

The next day Major Djura sent me to prison for seven days for having caused some kind of riot. I was put in the same prison cell with Zorz , Bokan and Mico. All three were tied in chains. Zorz’s head was bruised. He said that it was a ‘leftover’ from a conversation with Captain Zarko. We got fed at noon. I couldn’t eat. I was feeling sick and vomiting. At about three o’clock, the soldier on duty ordered me to go to Captain Zarko’s office. When I entered his office, Captain Zarko was smiling. “Okay then, Zoran, we have nothing to talk about.” I didn’t say a word and so the captain continued talking. “Olgica is scheduled to come here at five o’clock. I think you’re not going to be so stubborn as to force me to forbid you to see her. With only a little good will on your side, you can get permission to spend a whole twenty four hours with her in town.”

When I heard him talking about Olgica my heart froze! Olgica was my fiancée. I loved her very much and I hadn’t seen her for three months. Suddenly Captain Zarko started to disgust me. Did he have to be so heartless and senseless? He knew very well that I loved Olgica and he chose her in order to make me talk. There were two forces struggling inside me: loyalty to a friend and love for my fiancée. The latter won. My character was too feeble to remain silent. I only succeeded in not revealing everything. I was looking for a way to gain more time. “Okay,” I said, “let me go out with Olgica, and we’ll talk about everything later.”

“On your word of honor?” Zarko asked me, smiling contentedly.

“You have my word, and when I give my word, I intend to keep it.”

“Okay, you have permission for a twenty four hour leave.”

II – Enrolment in the Yugoslav Secret Service

The day off with Olgica passed very quickly. I accompanied her to the station and then went back to the army barracks. Captain Zarko called me into his office immediately. I remember that it was a Thursday. Although it was in the month of May, the days were not sunny. The sun probably has a great influence on people. On that cloudy day, I felt as if heaven was crying for me, crying, because I sold my soul to heartless people!

“So, did you have a good time, Zoran?” Captain Zarko asked me, uttering my name so warmly and softly that one would have thought it was coming from the heart. But I knew Zarko had no heart anymore and that all those nice words were coming from his lungs, where his soul used to be before being sold to the devil a long time ago in the same way I sold mine that day.

“I had a good time, comrade Captain Zarko,” I answered with the same tone of voice. A voice that only wicked hyenas understood and that was only known to wolves disguised as lambs.

“We must go and visit a comrade from the Secret Service. Secondly, you have received a summons to appear before the Belgrade district court. They have to either charge you or set you free within two days. You must keep that in mind. Our help depends on what you do today.”

I didn’t utter a word. I felt disgusted by this apparently nice officer. I couldn’t believe that man to be so evil and still look so naïve! No longer able to restrain myself, I said impudently, “So, you want to make a squealer out of me?”

Captain Zarko placed his hand on my shoulder and patted me in a rather friendly manner. “Nobody is forcing you, Zoran, to say anything. That must be clear to you. We know something, but you must be honest with us and tell us what we don’t know. For example, which one of you four guys drew those swastikas?”

Although I had expected that question, I became very afraid upon hearing it. I felt as if I were a suspect. I knew who had drawn those swastikas, but I also knew that they were drawn as a sign of a youthful rebellion. My friend hated Germans and swastikas more than Captain Zarko did. He drew them, because he liked to brag and to show that he was not afraid of anything. Since I could send him to prison with my confession, I decided not to mention his name and to bury it as a secret deep inside of me. But my resolve didn’t last long. As soon as Captain Zarko began mentioning attractive prospects, such as becoming an important person, a prospect out of reach for most people, I started talking as if I were the biggest gossipmonger alive!

“Imagine, Zoran what great help you could be to your country. I am strongly convinced that you were born to be a secret agent.”

He looked at me with admiration as if I really deserved that. I was weakened and influenced by his flattery.

“For example, you could become a member of our Secret Service in a couple of months. I am convinced that you could become a miracle of a man…”

We interrupted our conversation, because of the appointment we had at the Secret Service headquarters in the military base where I was stationed during my service.

The Secret Service headquarters surprised me; it was in the ambulance station of the army barracks with a temporary hospital on the first floor! There were waiting rooms and offices for the medical staff on the ground floor. The Secret Service headquarters were situated on the top floor with no signs of its existence anywhere so as to avoid arousing any interest!

We entered the office of the officer in charge. I stood straight and as a soldier saluted a major, who was about forty years old. His hair had already turned grey; he seemed somehow strange. His behaviour was so polite and friendly that I really enjoyed listening to him.

“Hello, young man!” He shook hands with me, while I looked at him without saying a word. I had gotten used to uniforms from the time I was born. My father was also a police officer. Wherever we lived, my father’s friends were always military or police officers. I knew many officers, but having become a soldier, I understood that you cannot be honest with them. In my relationship with those men, I always used the clear and concise words ‘I understand’, whether I understood something or not, didn’t matter. And now, since I had gotten in trouble because of my friends, I couldn’t understand the sudden change of attitude and behaviour on the part of those strict and stern officers! Zarko recently allowed me to be with him on a first name basis, and this Major, whom I saw for the first time, started joking with me as if we were old friends, even though I had been in these barracks here for only three months!

“How are you getting on with your karate? You must be a tough guy? I’ve heard a lot about you. But now that I see you, I wouldn’t say you’re that dangerous. They probably praised you more than you deserve. What do you say? Am I right, tough guy?”

He patted me on the shoulder. Zarko had started patting me on the shoulder the day before, which I didn’t like at all. I was afraid of such excessive friendship.

“Well, young man, tell me how do you like it here?”

I looked at the décor of the Secret Service headquarters. The walls were covered with all sorts of maps. I only recognized a map of Yugoslavia.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” the Major asked.

His secretary, a short twenty year old brunette, smiling cordially, put three cups of Turkish coffee in front of us.

“Who drew those swastikas? Come on, tell us so that we can finish this story for good. It’s not all that important thing for us, but still, let’s get it over with.”

I didn’t know how it happened, but before I could even hear my own voice, I said, “Miso.”

“Okay, Zoran. You will go back to prison again and try to find out why Zorz is pretending to be a lunatic. Just be careful that they don’t discover that we made a deal here and that there is a Secret Service headquarters up here. You will go to Belgrade the day after tomorrow. You will be sentenced there, but that doesn’t mean that you’ll have to go to prison.”

We talked for a long time. He interrogated me on all sorts of things, while I spoke as if I were drugged. In fact, I was drugged, but with a strange sort of spying drug. Suddenly I felt an irresistible urge to spy. I couldn’t believe the enormous strength that gave me and that in such a short time I had become a talented regime spy!

That day I became the happiest man in the world. I whispered to myself: “Zoran Jovanovic: secret agent!” I imagined myself as a dignitary. I saw other people admiring and revering me as I stood before them with lots of medals pinned on my chest, shining bright like a New Year’s tree and an example for others!

I felt enormously happiness and pride. I used to read much about spies and had been afraid of them, but now I was so happy to become a spy myself, of whom many people would be afraid. I was only nineteen years old, but felt as if I were the most powerful man in the world!

As a trueborn optimist I felt as if I finally had a chance to become an important person. I only had to throw away my honesty, my character and to lose my soul, and success would be guaranteed. I couldn’t anticipate what my real future would be.

Almost a week passed by since coming back from Belgrade. I was sentenced to 18 months and ordered to go to prison there after finishing my military service. When I told Zarko and major Djoka that, they only laughed. Major Djoka told me, “Don’t worry. I’ve already arranged a conditional sentence for you.”

The next day Captain Zarko informed me that I would be dismissed from the army as a fully disabled person. After that, I returned to Belgrade for good. My mother was very worried, because I had allegedly been dismissed from the army, because of severe heart problems. My father was the only person who really knew why I had left the army. He told me it was good that I had finally come to my senses by choosing the path that leads to the common good. He was proud of the fact that I had become a secret agent and believed that I would never again embarrass him.

Captain Zarko was also transferred to Belgrade, where we met everyday. After ten days, I met an elderly man whose name was Mico. He lived near the building in which I lived. Mico arranged with the captain to teach me various skills, such as how to use weapons. We often went to a military field in Batajnica to practice shooting with all kinds of weapons, until we became completely exhausted. I was quite a good marksman, capable of hitting a target in the head from a distance of fifty meters. Mico always advised me to aim for the head. “Nobody has a chance to survive that,” he said, smiling like Dracula from the horror movies. Mico was nearly fifty years old. He always wore dark glasses, so that I was never able to see his eyes! In his three room apartment in New Belgrade he had installed many spy training devices. I learned how to counterfeit different kinds of seals and to forge passports and many other documents. I learned how to install hardly visible wiretapping devices and how to take and develop photos myself.

I continued doing karate in a sports club called Partizan. I was in excellent shape. Then, Mico started teaching me other deadly skills. We worked for three months on so-called suicides. I studied various books, mostly criminological textbooks about the work of the public service, of the different police forces in the world, methods of prosecution, investigation and seizure of criminals. Mico constantly repeated how very important it was to learn all these things, before being sent to the West or the East.

One day in his apartment he became very serious, more then he usually was, and addressed me with dignity. “Zoran, you’re still very young. Some of my friends have told me that you’re ready to take on a most difficult task. I tried to convince them that you’re still too young and inexperienced for serious tasks and that it would be best to wait a couple of years until you have gained enough experience. Otherwise, you could easily be caught by the enemy and then everything would fail. I’m thinking about your life as well.”

“Don’t you feel sorry for me,” I yelled angrily, almost punching him with my fist. I couldn’t believe him to be such a bastard. He pretended to be my friend, but still considered me a youngster!

“Calm down. Zoran, don’t be angry with me. I finally agreed that they send you on a mission to France. It’s the beginning of August now. You will go there in a month. I will make a passport for you today with a French tourist visa for ten days. When you arrive in Paris, you can easily extend your visa there.”

I started screaming from happiness and couldn’t get myself together for a long time. I could already sniff the scent of the Seine and enjoy the charms of the Eiffel Tower…

My joy was interrupted by Mico’s words, which really struck me. That day I learned that happiness has its price. Mico’s words brought me back to reality.

“In order to go to Paris, you must totally forget one person. It is necessary that this person no longer finds a place in your heart. The only love you will feel in the future is the love for your service. Your work will help our country a great deal. So, Zoran, from now on, Olgica is dead and gone for you. You simply have to put her out of your mind, otherwise the mission will fail.”

I felt as if this wasn’t real, but somehow managed to stay calm.

Mico made cup of coffee for me. “Coffee will help you calm down and concentrate. You’re expecting a big assignment. Maybe, your entire future depends on that assignment.”

On that same day, I broke up with Olgica and concentrated myself completely on fulfilling the big task in Paris.

III – In the Hands of the ‘French Secret Service’

I travelled by train for forty-eight hours across Italy and Switzerland, finally arriving in the city of my dreams from my youth – Paris!

That was my first trip abroad. I was really thrilled, but at the same time afraid that I wouldn’t be able to complete the assignment awaiting me in Paris. After getting off the train at the station Gare de Lyon, I hardly managed to find my way, although before leaving Belgrade I had learned some French.

All the way to Paris, I remembered the advice Mico had given me many times: when you get to an unknown place, start by looking around the station. He told me to remember the biggest and most visible buildings, monuments and bridges. And never to take a taxi right away.