Page 111 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight
Time to see Kolak.
54
Višca ushered Jack into Kolak’s cramped, third-floor office at OSA-OBA headquarters and departed wordlessly. The gray industrial carpet was lightly stained, and the wood-paneled walls were mostly bare, save for the service commendation awards and shooting trophies.
At least this time it wasn’t another basement interrogation room, but it wasn’t much of an improvement. It looked like an abandoned set fromThe Rockford Files.
“Thank you for coming, Jack,” Kolak said, standing up behind his desk and extending his hand. Jack took it firmly.
“Happy to be here.”
“You are a gracious liar. Please, have a seat. Coffee? Water?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Jack took a seat. “And for the record, I don’t have to be here. But I chose to come.”
“Duly noted, and greatly appreciated. Of course, if you hadn’t come in voluntarily, Višca was eager to encourage you.”
“Yeah? How did that work out for him last time?”
Kolak laughed. “I like you, Jack.”
“I doubt that’s why I’m here.”
“Just a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. But a call would’ve worked just as well. I’m kinda busy at the moment.”
“Of course you are.”
The springs in Kolak’s chair squeaked as he leaned back, folding his hands on his belly. “It’s just that I like to be able to read a man’s face when I talk to him.” He tapped his cheekbone with his index finger. “The eye is the best lie detector.”
“Fire away. And don’t blink.”
Kolak chuckled. “Funny.”
He sat up with another orchestration of creaking springs and leaned on his desk. His round, rheumy eyes narrowed. “Three dead Russian nationals were found in an abandoned house last night, each shot once in the forehead.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“My office was contacted. I reached out to a colleague at the Russian embassy. At first, he denied any knowledge about them. But an hour later, the deputy chief of mission called me, and—how do you say it? ‘Tore me a new one.’”
“And this concerns me... how?”
“By the deputy’s reaction, it was clear to me that these Russians weren’t simply unfortunate tourists. But I already knew that.”
Kolak folded his hands on the desk, his eyes searching Jack’s face. “The strange thing is, they were wearing Bosnian police uniforms.”
Jack felt the floor fall out from under his feet, but he kept his poker face. Could those have been the same jokers who stopped them on the road from Dubrovnik?
“No comment, Jack?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Judging by their disguises, the deputy’s reaction, and their summary executions, I’m quite certain these were Russian security operatives. SVR, FSB, perhaps even GRU. I’m leaning toward the latter. The deputy is a ‘retired’ GRU intelligence officer. A nasty fellow.”
“Makes sense to me.”
Kolak nodded. “So, you didn’t know they were Russian?”
