Page 125 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight

Or if the SNF even existed.

He drove along in silence for a while, listening to the story repeat every few minutes. Nothing new to report, except for denials by Serb politicians and activists, claiming it was afalse-flag attack by either Croats or Muslims, meant to detract from the Orthodox Renewal service later that day.

Were they telling the truth? Or covering their tracks?

Who knew in this crazy place?

Jack followed the little blue arrow on the dashboard GPS. Part of his PERSEC training early on with The Campus was to always memorize new locations, as he’d done when Aida drove him to her place yesterday. He thought he could have found it on his own, but the GPS was too handy to ignore on the winding mountain road.

He prayed to God that she was there, and that she was safe.

59

Twenty-five minutes later, Jack made the turn off the asphalt and followed the hard-packed dirt road toward Aida’s compound behind the trees. He saw the top of the two-story chalet peeking above the pines and his pulse raced. Last night with her had seared itself deep in his soul.

When Jack’s Škoda cleared the trees and entered the compound, he saw two vehicles, a black Renault coupe and Aida’s Happy Times! Volkswagen T5 tour van.

Two bearded Bosniaks were loading heavy canvas duffels into the van. They glanced up when they saw Jack, their eyes flashing with concern. They exchanged a look, dropped their duffels in the dirt, and reached behind them—

Jack knew that move all too well.

He slammed the brakes, shoved the shifter into reverse, and crushed the throttle. The Škoda leaped backward at the first crack of pistol rounds.

Bullets spanged against the front grille and spiderwebbed the windshield as Jack navigated through the rear window,steering with one hand. Suddenly the rear window exploded into tiny glass nuggets, some of them hitting Jack in the face. Instinctively, his driving arm jerked and the Škoda swerved hard off the road and slammed into a tree.

BAM!

Front and side airbags exploded open as Jack was jerked hard and forward by the crash, slamming his face into one. He was slathered in talcum powder from the bag storage, and blinded by the big balloons of air. As he reached for his seat belt release, the passenger bag burst with a pop, punctured by a nine-millimeter round.

Jack grabbed the MP7 and rolled out of the driver’s-side door, using it as a shield against the slugs thudding into the steel panel.

Jack dove and rolled for the nearest tree, racked the charging handle, then stood and took aim through the iron sights at the first man racing toward him. He unleashed a short burst, opening the man’s chest like a reciprocating saw. The joule force of the speeding projectiles smashed against the Bosniak’s upper torso like steel fists, clotheslining him. His feet kicked out from under him as his back slammed to the ground.

In the two eyeblinks it took to dispatch him, the other Bosniak had cleared the far side of the Škoda and taken aim at Jack. He got off three rounds from his pistol, splintering the bark near Jack’s face, before Jack unleashed leaded fury, tearing open the man’s throat and walking rounds up into his mouth in a spray of teeth and blood until the magazine emptied. The man was dead by the time he tumbled into the dirt.

Jack checked for more tangos, but none were visible. He popped open the trunk and fished around for another mag, buthe couldn’t find one. He tossed the useless rifle back into the trunk and slammed it shut.

His heart was racing, but not because he was afraid.

He had to find Aida.

Now.

—

Jack dashed past the ruined Škoda, keeping as close to the trees as possible for cover. He stopped at the clearing and knelt down, scanning the compound from nine o’clock to three o’clock, looking for more shooters, but there were none. There was no movement in the chalet windows, either, and the front door was open, just as the dead shooters had left it.

The Volkswagen van hadn’t moved and no one was in it. Same with the Renault coupe. The two heavy green canvas duffels lay in the dirt where the Bosniaks had dropped them.

He knelt down to open one when he heard a woman scream.

—

Jack!”

The terrified scream came from inside, and it was Aida’s voice. Jack bolted for the porch, slamming his back against the wall.

“Aida!”