Page 28 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight
“What if I told you that the ice chest on the table was empty, except for a block of dry ice?”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
“She also had a pair of surgical gloves, a small bottle of bleach, and a bone saw in her backpack. She claims they aren’t hers.”
“A bone saw?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say she was going to cut off your head and store it in that ice chest.”
Jack felt the blood drain out of his face. “Excuse me?”
Oblak checked his notes again. “You’re a financial analyst,ja?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps in your line of work you have made some powerful enemies along the way?”
More than you can possibly know,Jack thought.
“Not that I’m aware of.” Jack’s bladder was about to commit its own crime. “Can I go now? I’d like to get back to my hotel and pack. I’m catching a flight tomorrow.”
“To Sarajevo, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure.”
Oblak stood, as did Jack. They shook hands.
“It’s an interesting city. Be sure to try thecevapi. It’s quite good.”
“I’ll do that.”
Oblak opened the door and waved Jack through. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Ryan. Safe travels.”
“Thanks,” Jack called over his shoulder as he bolted for the men’s room.
TOLMIN, SLOVENIA
Twenty minutes away from Kobarid, Elena Iliescu lay quietly in a hospital bed in the small medical clinic, her mind fogged with painkillers but her soul raging like a caged animal. Jack Ryan’s face kept flashing in her fevered brain. She consoled herself with images of tearing out his eyes with her lacquered nails and pissing in the open mouth of his bleeding corpse.
But for now, she was trapped in a broken body, immobilized and feeble. Her fractured forearm had been X-rayed and stabilized in a sling but not yet cast in fiberglass because corrective surgery on the torn ligaments in her broken wrist was scheduled for the following morning. Her broken jaw had also been wired shut by a local dentist who thought she might need corrective surgery on that in the near future.
But if she was honest with herself, the raging hatred she felt for Ryan was only a mask for her unspeakable fear. In reality, she was already dead.
She’d failed her assignment for the Iron Syndicate, something that had never happened before. She was the Mantis, and no doubt called upon because of her unassailable record of kills over the last ten years. A Code Red assignment had the highest priority, as well as the highest penalty for failure.
Her only hope lay in the private phone call she had with her attorney, whispered through the clenched teeth of her wired jaw. The attorney had told her to be on the lookout for an Iron Syndicate contact. “Arrangements are being made for you, evenas we speak,” the attorney said. Had Elena the capacity, she would’ve cried for gratitude.
A contact could only mean the syndicate still had faith in her to complete her assignment once her injuries had healed. It was a great honor to be trusted in such a manner, she reasoned, but nothing would please her more than to slaughter the American who had injured her so badly and caused her such great shame.
Elena saw movement through the tiny window of her hospital door. The policeman who guarded her door was being relieved by another cop. A moment later, the door opened and a harried nurse with thick ankles and a dour look came in with a pressure cuff and thermometer to check her vitals. The cop stood in the doorway and glanced in her direction, then looked away as the nurse wordlessly cuffed her arm and began pumping the squeeze bulb.
Elena glanced up into the nurse’s pinched face as the cuff gripped her arm. The nurse scratched the side of her nose with the tip of her nicotine-stained finger, an inconspicuous gesture. But Elena understood it perfectly. Nothing could be said, nor need be.
Contact made.
