Page 91 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight
“Stop being so old-fashioned. We’ll be in separate hotel rooms. It’s only a kindness. I’m taking him on the same boring tour stops we’ve both done a thousand times.”
“It doesn’t look right.”
“What do I care what it looks like? I do as I please.”
“How do you know he’s not a spy?”
Aida laughed. “A spy? Why? Because he’s an American? Yes, I see it now. He’s a CIA assassin!” She laughed again.
“Do not mock me, woman.”
Aida recoiled inwardly at Emir’s tone of voice. She’d never heard it from him before. Normally, she wouldn’t take that from anybody, but his ego was wounded, and she cared for him, though not in the way he had hoped for since they were children. She never felt guilty about that. In fact, she used it to her advantage. She decided to forgive him the insult this one time.
She pointed at the QuickBooks screen on her computer. “Do you see that? That’s what Jack does all day. He’s a financial analyst—a numbers cruncher. He’s no spy. Believe me, I’d know.”
“It’s too risky, even if he isn’t a spy.”
“This life we live is full of risk. This is a small one, at most. And Jack may help raise money for the refugee center.” She smiled at the irony.
“Then I will go with you. You need protection.”
“That isn’t necessary. You have responsibilities here. We’ll be fine.”
“I insist.”
Aida stood. “You’re being a fool. It’s you who should be ashamed.”
Emir’s hands trembled slightly, but he didn’t speak. A moment passed, and he willed his body to relax.
She yanked open a drawer and pulled out a bottle of The Macallan single-malt whiskey along with two glasses.
“Have a drink with me, like we used to do, back in the old days.” She coaxed him with a teasing smile. “Before you got religion.”
“Be careful with that man,” was all he said before he turned and headed for the door.
“Emir—”
The door slammed shut behind him.
Not good,Aida thought.But he’ll get over it.
46
Jack and Aida left early the next morning in the Happy Times! Volkswagen tour van. The traffic in Sarajevo was heavy but cleared up as soon as they passed the city limits heading west.
Jack wore a pair of jeans and a Polo shirt. Aida was equally casual in form-fitting Lululemon yoga pants, FK Sarajevo soccer jersey, and Ray-Ban aviators. Jack watched strands of her thick hair dancing in the air of the open driver’s window.
Stunning.
They drove southeast about thirty miles through forested mountains to their first destination. According to the dashboard GPS display, they were coming into a little town named Konjic.
“Do all of your vehicles use GPS?” Jack asked.
“None of our drivers need it for directions, but it’s a great way for Emir to keep track of vehicle locations, distances traveled, gas mileage, and that sort of thing.”
Aida parallel-parked on the main drag, directly in front of a magnificent stone bridge spanning the wide Neretva River. She yanked on the parking brake and smiled. “Let’s check it out.”
She led him to the center of the bridge and a commemorative plaque above the central pylon, written in Turkish and Bosnian. Jack deciphered enough to figure out that the bridge was built during the reign of the Ottoman Sultan Mehmet IV in 1682. Aida filled in the rest of the details.
