Page 60 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight
Kolak sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin, his face lost in thought.
Finally, he said, “As incredible as your story sounds, I am still inclined to believe you, Mr. Ryan.”
“Then I’m free to go?”
“Why not?”
Kolak stood. So did Jack. Kolak handed him a business card.
“If you run out of resources in your search for Ms. Curic, feel free to contact me. Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”
Jack was confused. Why would Kolak want to help him find Aida? He slipped the card into his pocket.
“I appreciate that. If you’d just let me get my stuff, I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Follow me.” Kolak opened the door. “Just one favor, if I may. When you find her, would you mind letting me know?”
“You’re telling me that you won’t be tracking my every step?”
Kolak shook his head. “I don’t see any reason to. Besides, my department is, how do you say, short-handed? My resources are better deployed elsewhere.”
“So why do you want to know when I find her?”
“Just curious. It’s a fascinating story.”
Kolak flashed a smile full of crooked teeth.
—
Jack and Kolak shook hands in front of the OSA-OBA main building, a drab, unremarkable structure on a modest, narrow street just up a long, steep block north of Maršala Tita.
A half block east, a remote camera positioned behind the one-way glass of a third-story apartment window recorded the handshake.
The camera software triggered an alarm on a laptop a half kilometer away.
A woman, an officer in Russia’s Main Intelligence Directorate (GRU), glanced up from texting on her phone, noting the image capture. Her hazel eyes were light brown today. Depending on her mood, they could also shift from gold to pale green.
“Who is it?” A Russian man’s voice from the kitchen. He was preparing a pot of tea.
“It’s our boy, Dragan Kolak.”
The facial-recognition software automatically logged name, place, and time. But per their protocol, she manually logged the same data into another database on a separate computer.
Their sources pegged Kolak as a central figure in the Bosnian security services. They just weren’t sure whose side he was playing for. Part of their job was to find out. Moreimportant, they wanted to know if he knew where the stolen thermobaric missiles were, or at least who had them.
Finished, she returned to the image capture. Kolak headed back into the building, but the man he shook hands with was walking toward the camera. She dragged the red camera target reticle to the scowling, bearded face. The target reticle flashed three times, indicating it was searching for the man’s identity. A moment later, it turned back to solid red.
A rare miss.
She froze the live video feed long enough to capture the man’s facial image as a still photo, then saved it to the Search Alert file.
Her partner leaned over her shoulder, setting a steaming cup of tea down by her elbow just as Jack turned the corner, heading back toward the main drag. The camera tracked him until he disappeared.
“Who’s that?” He pushed his wire-rimmed spectacles closer to his eyes for clarity. The aroma of cigarettes and cinnamon in her hair made his mouth water.
“A friend of Kolak’s, perhaps.”
“Name?”
