Page 68 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight
“You and my mother may have met many years ago when you were a child. She’s an ophthalmologist, I mean—”
“An eye surgeon. Yes, of course. Go on.”
“She performed an eye surgery twenty-six years ago on a little girl named Aida Curic who was injured in the Bosnian War, and saved her eye. She knew I was coming to the regionand asked me to see if I could find Aida and give her a letter she wrote to her.”
“How do you know I was the little girl?”
“I don’t. That’s why I was asking all over town and looking for every Aida Curic I could find. But you’d know. I’m sure you’d remember something like that.”
Aida’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s say that I do remember. What does she want from me?”
“Nothing, I promise. She never forgot you and just wanted you to know that. I haven’t read the letter, but that’s what she told me. Can I get it for you?”
Jack watched the wheels turn behind her eyes. She offered a slight smile. Finally, “Yes, of course.”
“Won’t you come in?” Jack glanced over her shoulder. “Your friend, too.”
“All right.”
She whispered something to Mr. Clean in Bosanski. He nodded and stepped back into the hallway, facing the stairwell, folding his hands in front of him as Aida shut the door.
Aida didn’t budge from the little foyer. She saw the look on Jack’s face.
“My friend is concerned. It’s a difficult time these days for Bosniaks like me. You understand the politics of my country? The history?”
“A little. More than most Americans, I suppose.” Thanks to Rojko Struna’s mini-lecture on the drive from the Ljubljana airport, Jack reminded himself.
“Can I get you anything?”
Aida shook her head. “No, thank you. It’s late.”
“Then let me get that letter.”
Jack dashed to the bedroom and pulled his mother’s letter from a suitcase pocket. He hurried back, suddenly aware of his socks as he slid a little on the polished tile floor. He glanced down at his feet and wiggled his toes.
Aida stifled a giggle.
Jack handed her the blank envelope. His mother was clever enough not to use official White House stationery. She wasn’t trying to impress Aida, just communicate with her.
Aida slipped an unadorned fingernail beneath the sealed flap and opened it. She pulled the folded letter out but didn’t open it. She glanced up at Jack, and then back down to the letter. Jack saw in her eyes the tug-of-war between suspicion and curiosity.
Curiosity finally won out.
She opened the letter carefully, as if it were an ancient manuscript. Her eyes swept back and forth as she read, her frown softening into a little smile. As she reached the end, she touched one hand to her mouth, her eyes misting.
“You said you haven’t read this?”
“No.”
“It’s quite beautiful.” She brushed a fingertip against the corner of one of her almond-shaped eyes. “May I keep this?”
Jack smiled. “Of course. It’s yours.”
“Thank you. And please thank your mother for me. It was very kind, and very thoughtful of her.”
“If you’d like to tell her yourself, you can reach her here.” Jack handed Aida a plain business card with his mother’s P.O. Box address. She took it.
No wedding ring, Jack noticed.
