Page 118 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight
“Thank you.”
“But trust me, Aida. I’ll get to the bottom of all of this, one way or another.”
“I know you will, and I’m grateful.”
Aida turned off the asphalt and onto a hard-packed dirt road that led through a copse of trees, opening up to a clearing. She slowed to a stop in front of her place. She nodded at the house.
“Let’s forget about everything we talked about and just enjoy our last night together, okay?”
“Okay.”
—
The main house was big by Bosnian standards, a two-story chalet style with steeply slanting rooflines, matching the pine-covered slopes it was planted against.
Inside, the chalet was as cozy as Jack expected, a realmountain retreat with heavy leather furniture, woolen rugs on the hardwood floors, and old wooden skis and snowshoes on the walls. She asked Jack to make them a fire while she cooked, handing him a glass of The Macallan single-malt whiskey.
Thirty minutes later they sat at a thick wooden dining table, eating pan-fried sausages, onions, and potatoes flavored with a mix of spices that reminded Jack of thecevapi, only hotter. The ice-cold beer matched it perfectly.
“I wish I wasn’t leaving tomorrow.”
“I hate it, too. Are you sure you have to?”
“Only if I want to keep my job.” He took a swig of beer. “I checked my flight schedule while you were cooking and I reserved another ticket for you.”
She took a drink of beer, smiling. “That’s very thoughtful of you, but it’s too soon, I’m afraid. Another group of refugees is coming in five days, and another a week after that.”
“So you’re open to the idea?”
“Open? Yes.”
“Then come out in three weeks. You’ll like Washington, and we’ll figure this stuff out together.”
She popped the last bite of sausage into her mouth. The fat glistened on the curve of her lower lip. “I’ve always wanted to visit America.” She smiled as she chewed.
Jack had a few pieces of sausage on his plate.
Aida stabbed one of them and held it up in front of his mouth. “Hurry up and finish your dinner. You’ll need your energy.”
Jack bit the sausage off the fork. “Energy for what?”
She touched his hand, flashing a come-hither smile.
Jack didn’t bother asking about dessert.
BRODARICA, CROATIA
Dom, Adara, and Midas stood with the operative from the Croatian Security and Intelligence Agency (SOA) a discreet distance away from the modest stone and red-tiled-roof home overlooking the dazzling blue Adriatic Sea. It was currently occupied by an Irish family on vacation.
“Zvezdev’s remains were found here,” the operative said. “Fermenting in a kimchi jar. But you already knew that.”
“And no evidence of any kind was found?” Dom asked.
“Nothing useful. The few fingerprints we found were Zvezdev’s, and those were mostly smudged. Someone definitely cleaned the place, but we think he wasn’t here for very long, because he was on the run. I’m sorry you traveled all this way for nothing. Too bad you let your suspect in Slovenia get away.”
“She wasn’toursuspect,” Dom said. “And she didn’t get away. She was killed.”
“By this so-called Iron Syndicate you referred to, yes?”
