Chapter 6Ida Azemi would have been an attractive woman but the last months had been hard on her. Lines around the mouth, under the eyes and a small scar that puckered her cheek made her look a decade older than twenty-two, her actual age.
She sighed and reached for yet another folder. If nothing else the Albanian authorities were meticulous in documentation. This was probably an aftermath of rigid Stalinist communist days when the small Balkan country could count only China and North Korea as a friend. Now, of course, but only through the fact that it sat south west of Kosovo, Ida's homeland, it was flooded with NATO and American troops and a friend of the west.
She was about to open the third folder when the young border guard placed his hand on the folder.
“Our agreement,” he stuttere
