Page 7 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight
Dzhabrailov allowed himself a small grin. “Everything is already arranged.”
“You are overly confident, Lieutenant. You couldn’t have known what my answer would be. I didn’t know it myself until an hour ago.”
“I saw what happened to you at the launch, Captain.” Dzhabrailov darkened. “I saw the same thing in myself not so long ago.” But the Chechen brightened just as quickly. “And I also knew because Allah told me that this was His plan.”
“You mean your commander’s plan, don’t you?”
“My commander is a servant of the Most High, as am I.” The Chechen smiled. “As are you, Captain.”
“Perhaps,” Walib said. “We’ll know soon enough.”
“What do you propose for tonight, then, exactly?”
They spoke in measured whispers for the next fifteen minutes while they inspected the hulking tank chassis with its giant missile box affixed above, pretending to check for signs of damage or needed maintenance. Anyone watching them from a distance wouldn’t have thought anything about them or paid attention to the short salutes they returned to the grateful guards as they resumed their posts.
The two conspirators parted ways, each in a different direction, their determined steps quickened with the urgency of the damned.
PRESIDENCY BUILDING, SARAJEVO, BOSNIA AND HERZEGOVINA
The Turkish ambassador sipped a strong, black Bosnian coffee from a cup of fine bone china. His smiling eyes gleamed behind steel-framed glasses above a sharp, distinctive nose and a thick but well-trimmed mustache tinged with gray, as was his hair, though he was nearly bald now. This gave Ambassador Topal a rather agreeable but owlish appearance, which suited his reputation as a patient and thoughtful diplomat.
He sat across the desk from the Bosnian president, a Muslim,locally known as Bosniaks. In fact, the man was just one ofthreeBosnian presidents. If a camel was a horse designed by a committee, then the Bosnian presidency was a three-headed camel; a collective head of state. It was composed of three presidents: an ethnic Croat, an ethnic Serb, and a Bosniak. But such was the mystery, and compromise, that governed the enigma of this ethnically and culturally divided republic. At least the three presidential heads were of one mind—for now.
Topal had accepted the modest posting to the small but troubled republic for a number of reasons, one of which was his fascination with its complicated politics and governance. Bosnia and Herzegovina—“Bosnia” for short—was a nation comprising two political entities, like states: the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, with primarily ethnic Croats and Muslims; and the Republika Srpska, with mainly ethnic Serbs. Bosnia was a creation of European design at the end of the Bosnian War to form a peaceful, liberal democratic republic between these three distinct but hostile groups. So far, the experiment had worked, after a fashion.
Yet in the last few years, just about the time Topal accepted his ambassadorship, ethnonationalist factions from each group began agitating for independence from one another. In recent months, small acts of insurgency had occurred across Bosnia, committed apparently by resurgent ethnic militias. Sloganeering graffiti sprayed on government buildings, smashed shop windows, burned cars. Fortunately, no people had been injured or killed by the hooliganism—at least, not yet.
Serbs, Croats, and Bosniaks were equally active on social media, airing current and historic grievances against one another while simultaneously claiming the moral high ground against the “fanatics” who “oppressed” them. Local andnational politicians from all sides were beginning to pick up their respective ethnonationalist flags in hopes of taking advantage of the increasing friction. This occurred even as the national police and security forces stepped up their efforts to find and prosecute domestic terror operations.
The senior leadership of the national political parties, along with each of the three Bosnian presidents—the titular heads of their respective parties—came up with a unique plan to stem the rising tide last year. They ordered a national Unity Referendum to be held on the same day as the upcoming national elections, just six weeks away. The idea was to show that the vast majority of Bosnians—Orthodox Serbs, Catholic Croats, and Muslim Bosniaks—all preferred to remain a single, unified democracy. The hope was that a successful referendum would curb the rising nationalist forces and, not coincidentally, assure the easy reelection of the incumbent parties that sponsored it.
The initial announcement was greeted enthusiastically by liberal democrats of all stripes and widely supported in the public opinion polls, especially among the business community. If Bosnia had any hope of entering the EU in the near future, it would have to demonstrate that it was a stable, functioning, and pluralist democracy.
The religious leaders of all three faiths even signed a joint letter supporting the referendum, speaking in favor of continued national unity as a practical act of faith in God and in one another.
But in the months that followed, opinion polls began turning in the opposite direction, particularly as local violence escalated. There was now a real chance that the Unity Referendum would fail. If it did, Bosnia would undoubtedly break up. Whatseemed like a painless, thoughtful solution last year had become both a social and political crisis of the first order today.
This explained why the Bosniak president sitting in front of him was so animated this afternoon, Topal thought. The magnificent Ali Pasha Mosque loomed in the bright fall sun in the large window behind the president’s desk.
“I don’t care what they say. This isn’t an act of religious renewal,” the president said. He was referring to the recently announced Serbian Orthodox Renewal liturgy. The president’s round, clean-shaven face reddened with each word. “It’s a political act, pure and simple, meant to derail the Unity Referendum. And Ivanovic”—the Serb president of Bosnia—“knows this. And yet he chooses to attend. What is he thinking?”
Topal set his cup and saucer down on the small table in front of him. “What choice does President Ivanovic have? The bishop is his bishop, and his Orthodox citizens vote. If he steps away from the Renewal, it looks likehe’sthe one playing politics. Besides, none of us thought this was a problem two weeks ago. I don’t blame President Ivanovic. I think other forces are at play.”
“As do I. And we both know who.”
The Serbian Orthodox Renewal service was just weeks away. When it was originally announced by Sarajevo’s bishop for the local metropolitanate as an outdoor baptismal service and liturgy at Sarajevo’s Olympic soccer stadium, it was assumed that no more than several hundred, or perhaps a few thousand at most, would participate. Like most Europeans, the average Bosnian—Serb or otherwise—was usually more passionate about his local soccer team than the practice of his religion.
But with the announcement by the patriarch of the Serbian Orthodox Church—a Serbian national from the nation ofSerbia, not the Republika Srpska within Bosnia—interest began to grow. But it was the announcement by the patriarch of Moscow, the head of the Russian Orthodox Church, that he would also be attending that kindled a fire of apparent faith renewal. The latest estimate was that thirty thousand Orthodox Serbs from around the region now planned to fill the stadium, many from across the Serbian border.
“There’s no question in my mind that this is stoking Serb nationalism,” the president said. “And if Serbs galvanize, so will the Catholic Croats, not to mention my own people.”
Topal shook his head. “A democracy cannot survive identity politics. Bosnians must think of themselves as Bosnian, first and always. All religions are respected in your country, and everybody has equal rights, and there has been peace. But all of that is at risk if ethnic identity trumps democratic ideals.”
The president leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers. “If Bosnia breaks apart, there will be trouble again, like in the old days.” His round face darkened, overwhelmed with painful memories of the genocidal war.
“My country stands with you, Mr. President, and with all Bosnians, especially our Muslim brothers and sisters. I believe we have demonstrated our commitment to you and your democracy.” Topal was politic enough not to mention the hundreds of millions of Turkish liras his government had poured into Bosnia over the past decade, much of it under Topal’s guidance.
“Turkey is our best friend, and we are grateful for your continued commitment. Both of our governments understand the existential crisis that a failed Bosnian democracy represents. The nationalisms here will only spread, and regional instability will be the inevitable result. If Croats and Bosniaks feelthreatened, other nations—even NATO—might intervene against the Serbs to prevent another genocide.”
