Page 94 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight
Jack pulled one out. “Know it well. Good choice.”
“Thank you.” Aida grabbed the blanket and a basket. “Follow me.”
—
They set up beside the river in the leafy shade of a paper mulberry tree. She’d put together a spread of sandwiches, a Bosnian version of Greek salad, and fruit. And of course, the beer.
They ate mostly in silence, with a few stolen glances between bites and heaping servings of Jack’s praise for thedelicious food. The cold beer tasted great in the gathering heat, and the whispering river looked cool and inviting.
Aida finished her meal and her beer, and stood. “I’m going in.”
She sauntered down to the water’s edge, knowing that Jack’s eyes were tracking her every movement. She stared at the light dappling on the river’s surface for a moment before lifting off her blouse and dropping it by her feet. She kicked off her shoes and slipped off her yoga pants.
Jack’s eyes drank in the curves of her body, a silhouette against the sunlight dancing on the water. A lacy bra and panties weren’t much of a bathing suit, but that was fine by him.
Aida reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. Slipped the straps off her shoulders and turned around, then let the bra fall away.
“Will you be joining me, Jack?”
Uh, yeah.
—
They played and swam in the river, both naked as the day God made them. But Aida’s play turned to something else altogether when Jack carried her back to the blanket and laid her down.
And Emir watched it all through his binoculars from high on the road, his eyes blurred with bitter tears.
47
ROME
The Hendley Associates Gulfstream jet was parked near a hangar on the far side of the General Aviation Terminal at Ciampino airport, smaller but more convenient than Leonardo da Vinci. By special arrangement, Ciampino operated 24/7 for Hendley aircraft, a critical advantage for short-notice missions like theirs. It was also closer to the city where Dom, Adara, and Midas were chasing down leads on Elena Iliescu and the Iron Syndicate, which presumably employed her.
Trieste had been a bust, and the closest thing to a thread of possible connection between her and the mysterious organization had led them here. Gavin Biery tracked down a cell-phone number that had received a call from Iliescu’s phone the night before she drove to Trieste. The man’s name was Renzo Castelletti, born in Florence, but lately shuttling quite frequently among Rome, Trieste, and Vienna.
At first they assumed the man was Iliescu’s accomplice inthe attack on Jack, running intel or interference. But a more thorough analysis of Castelletti’s phone records indicated something else. He was either a traveling gynecologist doing international house calls or, as Gavin reported breathlessly, “an honest-to-goodness authentic Italian gigolo,” judging by the disproportionate number of women he spoke to and visited with on a regular basis.
Castelletti’s cell phone was currently pinging off a cell tower near Rome’s Westin Excelsior hotel. Gavin hadn’t been given permission by Gerry to break into any private cell phones of people who weren’t demonstrably guilty of any crime, but he was allowed to build an algorithm that allowed him to vacuum up cell-tower data and match it to simultaneous cell-phone usage. When two parties were both pinging on cell towers at the same time, Gavin’s second algorithm sorted for length of phone call. When two calls lasted for the same exact length of time, he presumed they were speaking with each other. Gavin’s magic math tricks, as Dom referred to them, led the team to the Westin Excelsior, where they would be arriving soon.
—
After refueling and inspecting the plane earlier, Lisanne sent the two pilots to a local hotel with a Hendley Associates account. She opted to stay behind for a few more hours, taking advantage of the onboard computer and satellite link. She needed to catch up on her paperwork and check for the necessary documentation and other arrangements for the three cities where Gavin thought they would be heading after Vienna, their destination tomorrow.
Lost in her work, she was completely unaware of the airport customs officer standing at the foot of the stairs.
“Mi scusi,”he called up.
Lisanne glanced up from her work, a little rattled by the voice. But when she saw the young, handsome Italian in his crisp new uniform and armed only with a clipboard, she relaxed.
“Yes?”
“I need to inspect your plane.” The officer stood in the cabin doorway now, flashing a disarming smile.
If she had been in a cozy little piano bar, Lisanne would have been flattered. Tempted, even. But she was on duty.
“We were cleared this morning.”
“Sì, sì.But my boss, he says take another look. I’m sorry.” He grinned and shrugged while flashing his hands. A gesture of infinite regret but also official inevitability.
