Page 107 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight
Hewantedto believe that.
He was crazy about her.
And she was crazy about him, too. He was sure.
It had been a long day. A helluva couple days. Time for some chow and a hot shower and an early evening to catch up onsome long-needed rest. Tomorrow was going to be his last full day in Sarajevo, and then dinner with Aida.
If tomorrow was going to be anything like today, he needed to be ready for it.
PARIS
Vasilev’s glass-enclosed “clean” room—suite, really—occupied the entire fifth floor of the private hospital, located in a late-nineteenth-century Beaux Arts building in the ultra-wealthy 16th arrondissement. From his bed, the old Bulgarian had a postcard view of the River Seine below, as gray and listless as freshly poured concrete oozing through the city.
His medical suite looked like a set from the old sci-fi movieThe Andromeda Strain. The room was hermetically sealed and only select staff were permitted entrance onto the floor, and only when fully garbed in protective clothing and scrubbed spotless with the most powerful antibiotic cleansers. They adhered to BSL 3 protocols, just one step down from the biosafety level precautions the CDC would take when handling Ebola virus.
Vasilev’s experimental CAR T-cell treatment was proceeding well, according to the doctors, even better than they had hoped. But his overall health condition was extremely fragile, and his immune system severely weakened after years of traditional cancer therapies. Every precaution was being taken to protect the crime lord from infectious diseases of every sort, even the most benign bacteria, until his body had a chance to recover its own natural defenses.
Vasilev was in a foul mood for a number of reasons, not theleast of which was the strict macrobiotic anti-cancer diet his idiot doctor required of him.
Who the hell can eat spelt and miso soup all day?
But it was his blood pressure that was threatening to kill him at the moment.
Behind the glass walls, Vasilev enjoyed every possible amenity, including an encrypted Amazon Echo Show, which he was using now while lying in his adjustable hospital bed, speaking with his number two, the Czech. The entire floor was vacated, even of staff, for the video call. One determined glance from Vasilev’s soul-snatching eyes sent even his world-renowned doctors scurrying for safety on the floors below.
“My patience is running thin,” Vasilev growled. “Why isn’t Ryan dead?”
“Our first attempt failed. We’re not sure why. But the loose end is tied off.” The Czech stubbed out a cigarette in an ashtray offscreen. Gray smoke lingered in the air.
“And?”
“We’re tracking him now, in Bosnia.”
“Tracking him? You should be killing him.”
“You said you wanted his head. That makes matters more difficult to arrange.”
“Yes, Tomáš, his head. His head!” Vasilev pounded his mattress for emphasis.
The solemn Czech nodded curtly. “Of course. It will be done.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“As soon as is humanly possible. However, I do have good news about someone else.”
“Tell me.”
He did.
Vasilev chuckled. “Well done, old friend. Now finish the Ryan job.”
“Everything is being coordinated, even as we speak. How are you feeling these days?”
“I feel fantastic. Of course, for seventeen thousand euros a day, I should. I could walk out of here right now on my own two legs. Something I haven’t been able to do in a year.”
