Line of Sight - Mike Maden

by Tom Clancy

  Emir smiled and nodded. “I need to fuel the van.” He turned to Jack, the smile still plastered on his face, but his dark eyes betrayed him.

  “Enjoy your tour, Mr. Ryan.”

  Jack returned the menacing stare with a grin.

  “Oh, I will. Trust me.”

  Emir pushed through the glass door with its tinkling bell without responding.

  “Ready to take a little walk?” Aida asked.

  Jack smiled. “Sounds good.”

  * * *

  —

  The GRU officer with the hazel eyes heard the coded ding on her laptop, signaling an encrypted e-mail from her superiors at Khodynka. The subject line read:

  RE: Identification Subject #102459-BiH

  She opened the file, along with the attached video clip of Kolak and the mystery man her facial-recognition software couldn’t ID two days prior.

  Her eyes skipped the preliminaries and found what she needed most:

  Subject Identity: JACK RYAN, JR.

  GRU Status: PERSON OF INTEREST

  She was reading the details when her partner appeared over her shoulder, his cheap cologne more pungent than usual.

  “Anything interesting?”

  She turned to him with a smile. Her instincts had paid off.

  “Very.”

  He noticed her eyes had turned pale green.

  “Tell me more.”

  36

  Jack and Aida crossed the busy street and entered back into the Old Town.

  “Where is your bodyguard?”

  “Ibrahim is not really a bodyguard. He’s just tough-looking. He’s actually quite gentle, unless you provoke him.”

  “I’ll do my best not to.”

  “I only brought him with me last night because I didn’t know who you were. My work is controversial, so I took a precaution.”

  “How is the tour business controversial?”

  “I run a refugee aid organization. It’s not exactly popular.”

  “I assumed you owned the tour company.” At least, that’s what Gavin’s notes indicated.

  “I do own it. Emir runs the daily operations, but it’s mine. He’s also my number-one tour guide, but I have many others.”

  “Owning your own business is difficult, I imagine.”

  “It is, but I’m not afraid of hard work. Besides, it gives me financial independence.” She shot him a sly glance. “No need to rely on a man to put a roof over my head.”

  “When did you start the company?”

  “I didn’t. The company was my father’s. I was studying to become a medical doctor when he died, so I inherited it.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. He was a good man.”

  “Tell me about your refugee center.”

  “We just opened it last year. In a poor country like Bosnia, people resent refugees taking up scarce resources, even Muslim refugees.”

  “Why? Bosnia is Muslim majority.”

  “Yes, but it’s also majority unemployed, or nearly so. Another legacy of the war. Here we are.”

  They stood in front of the corner fountain at the Gazi Husrev-beg Mosque, which Jack had seen twice before. As usual, people were drinking from the flowing spigot. Along with throngs of tourists shuffling by, there were more traditionally dressed Muslim men and women. One of the women was completely covered, exposing only her wide, dark eyes, which stole a glance at Aida.

  “I didn’t realize there were so many people of fundamentalist faith here,” Jack whispered, not wanting to offend.

  “Those are mostly visitors from Muslim countries. We are becoming quite a tourist destination for them.”

  Jack glanced up at the skyline. The secular buildings in this part of town were two or three stories at most. But from where he stood he saw three towering minarets: the one here at the fountain, and two others, denoting the locations of other mosques in the area. From what he’d seen so far, Sarajevo appeared to be a secular Western city. But there were so many historically significant Muslim sites in such a close area, Jack could see why people of strong Islamic faith would be drawn here.

  “So, fundamentalism isn’t a big deal in your country?” Jack asked.

  “It’s definitely growing, but most Muslims are like me. Islam is more of an expression of our culture and our identity, not a daily religious practice.”

  “Same with a lot of Catholics in America,” Jack said, referring to himself.

  Aida nodded at the streaming fountain water. “The tradition is that if you drink from the fountain, you will someday come back to Sarajevo. And the water is delicious.”

  Jack took the cue and waited behind a bearded middle-aged man in a skullcap before lapping up a few quick sips of the surprisingly cold and refreshing water.

  Aida was clearly pleased by the gesture. “Would you like to go inside?”

  “I already stopped in.”

  “Then let’s keep going.”

  They strolled west along the wide, paved walkway of Ferhadija that Jack had traversed a couple times before, but Aida pointed out the best shops, and places of historical interest, which he had missed entirely.

  What really intrigued him, though, was the number of smiles and waves and friendly nods that came Aida’s way as they walked. It seemed like everybody knew her, including the ones with the obviously forced gestures. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have sworn she was the mayor of Sarajevo, or at least this part of it.

  Aida pointed out the directional arrows in the pavement stones as they stepped over them, indicating that they were leaving the Turkish side of the city and stepping into the Hapsburg side, the part of Sarajevo built during the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The old-world charm of the Ottoman side of the city suddenly gave way to more modern façades of glass and concrete, many of them large foreign banks and chain stores. It felt like they’d passed from one world to another in just a few steps.

  “The one thing I haven’t seen in this city are babies or little kids in strollers. Well, except for the tourists.”

  “An interesting observation, Jack. You’re exactly right. Like the rest of Europe, our demographic profile is collapsing. There’s an old saying: ‘Where there is no hope, there are no children.’”

  “Why isn’t there any hope?”

  “Here we are,” Aida said.

  They’d stopped in front of a Swiss chain clothing store.

  “What am I looking at?”

  Aida pointed at the plaque on the wall listing the names of twenty-six people. “All killed by a Serbian artillery shell. Look.” Aida pointed at their feet. The pavement was marred by holes, almost like a flower. A large one in the center and smaller, irregular ones radiating forward from it. All of the holes were filled with a faded red resin.

  “That’s called a Sarajevo Rose. It marks the spot where the shell exploded, killing people. There are dozens of them all over the city as a kind of memorial.”

  Jack felt bad. He’d stepped on at least two of these since he’d been here, including this one, not even really noticing. But he saw that the Sarajevans walked over it without noticing, either.

  “A shell from the siege?”

  “Yes, when the city was cut off for over fourteen hundred days, the longest siege in modern European history. We were starving, thirsty, suffering. And then there were the snipers, and of course, the shelling.”

  Jack imagined living in a modern American city surrounded and shelled for years. These people must have been overwhelmed with feelings of anger and helplessness.

  “The war is why there’s no hope?”

  “The Serbs did more than just kill and wound our bodies.”

  “There must be a lot of resentment toward the Europeans as well for letting it go on for so long.”

  “Yes. We are quite
cynical these days about Europe. A bitter past, an uncertain future.”

  “Those memories of the war are still with you, aren’t they?”

  Aida nodded. “Yes, of course, though I was quite young.” She darkened with a bad memory.

  Jack waited for her to share more, but she didn’t.

  “We are all epicureans now, here in Bosnia,” she suddenly said with a smile, willing away the darkness. “As you can see by the people passing by, we’re all smoking and drinking and eating way too much because today we live and tomorrow we may die in another mortar attack.”

  “The war ended twenty-three years ago,” Jack said. “Haven’t most people been able to move beyond it?”

  “The fighting stopped, yes. But not the war. Not its root causes. Nothing has healed the lingering mistrust and animosity. It’s hard to find peace when there is no justice for the nearly forty thousand dead Bosniaks.”

  “What do you mean, ‘no justice’?”

  “Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to know our history. But it boils down to this: Almost nobody was prosecuted for war crimes against us, and nobody at NATO or the UN was held accountable for letting the genocidal war go on for years. And when we were finally winning the war against our enemies? Despite the NATO arms embargo against us? Then NATO threatened to bomb us, so a ‘peace’ was forced down our throats to protect our enemies.”

  “I can understand why Bosniaks are still angry and still dealing with it.”

  Jack wanted to add, But you can’t undo the past.

  Aida searched Jack’s eyes. “Perhaps you do understand. But you should also know that some of us still have hope, at least a little.” She smiled. “And where there is hope, there is nothing that cannot be accomplished.”

  She checked her watch, then flashed him another smile. “Let me show you why.”

  MOSCOW

  The middle-aged GRU intelligence analyst stared out of the open third-story window of his modest apartment toward Dubki Park, smoking oily Iranian tobacco, grateful the tram wasn’t rattling down the middle of the street this cool evening or, worse, bothersome children weren’t playing outside.

  He was waiting for confirmation that an electronic Bitcoin deposit had been made in his account. The Iron Syndicate’s digital “wanted poster” on the Dark Web site he frequented had offered an extremely generous reward for any information that could be provided. Bitcoin was the Dark Web’s preferred currency, because of its anonymity, but the analyst insisted on it because he put no faith in the fiat currencies of the world’s central banks.

  He was surprised when his reward was doubled after he provided both the man’s stolen image and its geographic metadata to the Iron Syndicate account.

  That told him the wanted man was, indeed, wanted badly, and the syndicate was known to pay both well and on time. Still, both his job and his life were hanging in the balance if his treason were to be discovered by his superiors at GRU headquarters. On the other hand, his gambling debts and a drug-addicted girlfriend were significant drains on his meager government salary.

  To his great delight, the analyst had been the duty officer when the identification request from Sarajevo came in, and he was the one who personally confirmed the identity of Jack Ryan, Jr., with a seventy-eight percent positivity score.

  If Ryan was wanted by both the Iron Syndicate and the GRU, he was fucked either way. Might as well make a few Bitcoin off the man’s corpse while he could, he reasoned, inhaling the last deep draw of bitter smoke from the nub.

  His computer chimed: “Transfer Complete.” He grinned, and flicked the spent butt into the street below.

  Time to call his woman and celebrate.

  37

  SARAJEVO, BOSNIA AND HERZEGOVINA

  Aida led the way by foot in a fast, ten-minute walk to a cul-de-sac at the end of a nearby side street. A large crowd had already gathered in front of the newly built three-story building with a banner in the Bosnian national colors of blue, white, and yellow proclaiming “Bosnia Youth Technology and Sports Center.” Half of the crowd waved little Bosnian flags, but easily a third waved red Turkish national flags.

  The Turkish ambassador, Kemal Topal, stood at the top of the entrance steps, flanked by school-aged children and several local politicians. He was just finishing up his speech.

  Jack turned to Aida, whispering. “He sounds like he’s running for office.”

  “The ambassador is a remarkable man.”

  “You know him?”

  Aida just smiled.

  * * *

  —

  Topal laid his hands on the heads of two small children propped beside him.

  “The future of Bosnia stands on either side of me. The twenty-first century belongs to them, and the twenty-first century is a technological century. These children will dream technology dreams, and thanks to this center, they will help bring about advances in medicine, robotics, and artificial intelligence, which will change how we live, and how we live together.”

  Applause broke out among the crowd, and the kids on the steps, too.

  “But boys and girls need strong bodies as well as strong minds. Life isn’t all books—excuse me, tablets—and math equations. That is why we are also providing state-of-the-art exercise equipment, as well as martial-arts training, dance, and cardiovascular conditioning, what we used to call ‘football.’”

  His grandfatherly smile launched another wave of clapping.

  “My government is deeply honored to sponsor the construction and equipping of this magnificent new facility.” He turned to the adults around him. “And we offer our sincerest congratulations to the mayor, the minister of education, and all of the others who have worked tirelessly to make the dream of the Bosnia Youth Technology and Sports Center a reality for all children in Sarajevo—Serbs, Croats, and Bosniaks. Thank you!”

  The Turks in the crowd roared their approval, applauding wildly, and were soon joined by the rest.

  Topal scanned the audience, noting who was in attendance. His eyes fell on Jack and Aida standing in the back. He whispered in the ear of one of his bodyguards, who nodded and waded into the crowd.

  * * *

  —

  Aida turned to Jack. “What did you think about the youth center opening?”

  “That was the hope you were talking about.”

  “You have no idea how significant this is. Do you know there are schools in Bosnia where the kids are all separated? One floor is Croat, one floor is Serb, and the third floor is Bosniak, all learning the exact same subjects but taught separately. They even play in separate yards. What kind of message do you think that sends to those kids?”

  The Turk bodyguard approached them. “Excuse me, but the ambassador would like to speak with the two of you.”

  Aida and Jack exchanged a look. Jack shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  The bodyguard led them back through the chattering crowd devouring the free snacks and beverages provided by the Turkish embassy, and through the doors of the center and into the foyer.

  Ambassador Topal dismissed the bodyguard with a friendly nod.

  “Aida, I’m so glad to see you here,” he said, beaming, extending his hand.

  Aida shook it. “Congratulations, Your Excellency. This is a wonderful project. I’m so glad it was completed. Ambassador Topal, this is my friend Jack Ryan.”

  Topal shook Jack’s hand. “Mr. Ryan, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Thank you, sir. It’s a pleasure for me as well.”

  “An American accent. Is it East Coast? Washington, D.C., perhaps?”

  “Close.” Too close, Jack thought. “I live and work in Alexandria, Virginia.”

  “Just across the Potomac.” Topal smiled. “I apologize for sounding like the class know-it-all. I was stationed at the Turkish embassy in Washington many years ago. It is a great and h
istoric city. It was a good posting, despite the summer heat. Tell me, Mr. Ryan, what kind of work do you do?”

  “I’m a financial analyst for the firm Hendley Associates.”

  “Hendley? I once knew a senator by the name of Gerry Hendley.”

  “One and the same. He retired from public life and started the firm.” Technically, Gerry lost his bid for reelection after his emotional collapse following the death of his wife and three children in a car wreck, but Jack didn’t feel the need to fill in that tragic detail.

  “Senator Hendley is a fine man. If you work for him, you must be one as well. Please tell him I said hello.”

  “I certainly will, sir. May I ask how you and Ms. Curić know each other?”

  “Ambassador Topal arranged for the funding of the Peace and Friendship refugee center. Without him, my work there wouldn’t be possible.”

  “Nonsense, Aida. You were already doing the work. We were proud to partner with you.”

  “Thanks to the ambassador and people like him, Bosnia will have a great future.”

  Topal turned to Jack. “Aida is a fine administrator, but an even greater soul.” He paused. “So, tell me, Jack, what brought you to Sarajevo?”

  He stole a glance at Aida before answering. “Sort of what you said about D.C. Sarajevo is a great and historic city, and I always wanted to visit it.”

  “And I see you found the perfect tour guide.”

  “She has great reviews on TripAdvisor, for sure.”

  “I use her company for all of my new staff, to orient them to the city, the history, and the culture. There is simply no one better.”

  “You are too kind, Your Excellency,” Aida said.

  One of Topal’s aides signaled for his attention. Topal turned to Jack and Aida.

  “I’m sure you two have better things to do. I just wanted to say hello.”

  They shook hands again, but before leaving, Topal said to Jack, “You must stop by my office before you leave.”