Page 122 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight

TEN MILES SOUTHWEST OF THE OLYMPIC SOCCER STADIUM, SARAJEVO, BOSNIA AND HERZEGOVINA

Tarik Brkic stroked his wide, bushy beard out of nervous habit as he approached the camouflaged launch area.

He’d just received a phone call from the brother stationed at the Olympic soccer stadium. The roads this morning were still jammed with cars and buses streaming into Sarajevo. According to the brother, a former Bundeswehr scout, there were already fifty thousand people in the stands. That was nearly double the number they had originally planned for.

But according to the news reports, today’s event could draw as many as seventy thousand Orthodox, which the stadium in the past had accommodated for the visits of thekafirpopes John Paul II and Francis.

Seventy thousand!

He scarcely could take it in. Such a gift from Allah. Was this His plan all along? To ensnare such a host? Was He not AlMumit—the Deathbringer? Was this not in accordance with the will of Al Muntaqim—the Retaliator?

Still, Brkic worried. A hundred battles had taught him that some plans never come to pass because of the changing fortunes of men, weather, or circumstance. If there were already fifty thousand Orthodox in place, why be greedy? Why not launch now?

Brkic entered the launch area where Captain Walib was sitting in the cab of the BM-21, checking and rechecking his electronics.

“Brother, a question,” Brkic asked.

Walib glanced up from his tablet. “Sir?”

“Tell me again of your rockets. How accurate will they be?”

“We have the exact GLONASS coordinates of both the launch vehicle and the target. The targeting computer is functioning as designed, and has acquired the coordinates. But it is the laser-targeting provided by the drone that will easily put our strike within one meter of our intended target. Our kill box—the stadium—is approximately three hundred meters by three hundred meters. We can’t possibly miss.”

“And if we launched right now, with fifty thousand on site already, what casualties do you anticipate?”

Open air, no place to hide. Perfect weather. It was a simple math problem. “Nine to twelve thousand dead, twelve to fifteen thousand wounded, many of whom will die of complications later. Many survivors will suffer permanent injuries—blindness, loss of hearing, loss of limbs, respiratory defects. It would be a decisive blow.”

“And if that number should rise to seventy thousand?”

Walib shrugged. “Twelve to eighteen thousand dead, twentyto twenty-four thousand wounded. And I am being conservative.”

Brkic paced in front of Walib, stroking his beard, calculating. His organization, Al-Qaeda in the Balkans, or AQAB, would broadcast live video of the launch and blast social media with it, along with footage of the carnage afterward, mocking the Orthodox Serb heathen and their impotent Russian puppet masters. The worse the carnage, the more the Russians would be provoked.

And the more provoked, the more likely to intervene.

And with the forces of the Slavic Sword and Shield exercises just across the border, they had the means to do so.

Nine thousand dead would surely be enough to provoke them. But if he waited a few more minutes, it was possible that as many as eighteen thousand would perish.

But then again, planners like Walib always assumed the best-case scenario. What if there were misfires? Or a sudden gust of wind? If his casualty numbers were off by half? Two-thirds?

Yes, better to wait, especially if there were contingencies, Brkic decided. The more slaughter, the more likely the Russians were to intervene, and NATO to respond. The blood of the Orthodox would fuel the hellish fire that would be the next world war, and save the Umma from their suffering in Muslim lands at the hands of thekuffar. This would lead to the uprising of all brothers across Europe, and the final conquest of the world under the banner of Islam.

All he needed was a little patience.

A little faith.

Allahu akbar!

SARAJEVO, BOSNIA AND HERZEGOVINA

Jack packed and scrambled out of the apartment, reminding himself to send his landlords a text when he got to the airport, apologizing for not cleaning up and for the broken pictures and asking them to bill his credit card for damages.

He’d call Kolak after he arrived in the States and let him know about trash pickup. Bosnia and the United States had no extradition treaty, though Jack could reasonably claim self-defense if it came to that.

This time he was smart enough to grab a retinal scan of his intended killer, along with the man’s fingerprints from apps on his iPhone. He also took the man’s wallet with credit cards and ID, as well as his cell phone, so that he could get those to Gavin for further analysis. He also grabbed the man’s car keys. Why pay for a cab if he didn’t have to?

Down on the street he hit the key fob and a green Škoda sedan beeped. Jack opened the trunk to toss in his suitcase and spotted a gun bag. He zipped it open and found a Heckler & Koch MP7 machine pistol with iron sights. A sweet rig, firing a 4.6x30-millimeter round. The MP7 was one of Jack’s favorite weapons to shoot.