Page 82 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight
A moment later, a man and woman got up from a group table just outside the door. Jack figured out they were seating family style, at least at dinner, so he slipped over in that direction, asking with pointed gestures if it was available. To judge from the smiles and nods he received, it was. He took a seat.
Just then, the burqa-clad woman and her husband passed by Jack, exiting the restaurant with takeout boxes full of food and a happy toddler babbling in the stroller.
Burqa problem solved, Jack noted.
Hiscevapiarrived hot and was just as tasty as he remembered. It didn’t take him long to devour the meal. But he enjoyed it a little less than he had before, because he found himself keeping one eye on the passing crowds as he ate. Jack imagined an assassin’s bullet plowing into his skull with his mouth full of sausage and onions. Not a pretty picture.
Other than that, Mr. Ryan, how was thecevapi?
For some reason, though, he wasn’t scared. More like annoyed that someone wanted to ruin his vacation. Gerry wanted him to tuck tail and run back home. That was the smart play, he had to admit. The Slovenian cop Oblak knew he was coming here, and, strangely, the Bosnian cop, Kolak, knew it, too. Someone wanted him dead and followed him to Slovenia. Someone else could be here in Sarajevo, right now, for the same damn reason.
Leaving made a lot of sense.
But he couldn’t get the image of Aida out of his mind. If he left tomorrow, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d ever see her again. His last two failed relationships proved that.
But if he got his brains blown out like a Sarajevo Rose on the limestone pavement, that would cramp his dating life as well.
Helluva dilemma.
Well, Clark always said, a dumb guy thinks with his head, and a smart guy thinks with his brain.
True that.
Jack peeled off enough Bosnian marks to pay the tab along with a generous tip and headed back out onto the street,ducking into a crowded souvenir shop with two exits. He purchased a blue-and-gold Dragon ball cap—the Bosnian national soccer team—and switched it out with the one he was wearing, which he stuffed in his waistband and hid beneath his shirt. He headed out of the second exit, keeping the corners of his eyes glued to the window glass across the street to see if he was being followed.
He continued his SDR for another thirty minutes, alternately wearing one hat and then another, always careful to keep his face pointed away from any surveillance cameras that might be around, including the ones on ATMs.
Satisfied that he wasn’t being tailed, and feeling just a little stupid for being paranoid, he dialed Aida’s number, hoping she hadn’t changed her mind.
He’d just have to figure out what to tell Gerry tomorrow when he wasn’t on that plane.
Fuck the Iron Syndicate.
41
NEAR TJENTIŠTE, REPUBLIKA SRPSKA, BOSNIA AND HERZEGOVINA
Brkic listened carefully to Red Wing’s electronically altered voice, but he still couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“It’s extreme, yes. I agree,” Red Wing said. “But necessary, if we want the referendum to fail.”
Brkic still wasn’t sure about Red Wing’s order. It hadn’t been part of their plan. But their plan so far hadn’t entirely worked, either. Extraordinary measures were called for now, if they were to succeed.
Red Wing was right, even if it was for the wrong reason. Red Wing was often right, Brkic reminded himself. He’d known the man for a long time. Shed blood with him.
Red Wing had even saved his life.
That meant something, didn’t it? More than the money and the weapons and the networks he provided. A debt that Brkic could never repay.
And yet, Brkic had other loyalties.
And another plan.
He was glad he’d never told Red Wing about it, or the missiles. Their alliance was one of mutual convenience, an arranged marriage. But this new order reminded Brkic that Red Wing’s loyalties were not his own in the grand scheme of things. How could they be? Red Wing was neither Bosnian nor Chechen.
“Yes, you’re right. It must be done.”
“Excellent. You are still following the protocol?”
