Page 76 of Tom Clancy Line of Sight

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The waitress set the platter ofcevapiin front of Jack. The aroma of the sizzling beef sausages and grill-charred bread triggered his inner, slavering wolf. Aida ordered a half platter of the same.

Not sure how to attack his plate with the available utensils, Jack waited for Aida to demo the long-awaited delicacy. She tore off a piece of flatbread, forked one of the finger-sized sausages onto it, and piled a little mound of finely minced sweet onion on top.

Jack followed suit. He thought he might cry for his culinary joy. The grilled minced-beef sausages were mildly spiced, the wood-fired bread was smoky and savory, and the raw onions provided a sweet, crunchy heat. The dish was simple but perfectly combined in its flavors and textures. In his travels around the world, Jack had found that “peasant” food was usually his favorite. Poor people could never afford the expensive ingredients of “haute cuisine” and so had to find a way to coax the maximum amount of flavor out of their simpler fare. Thiscevapiwas the food equivalent of an exquisite Ansel Adams black-and-white photo.

“What do you think?” Aida asked between delicate bites.

Jack was working a mouthful of food like a hyena devouring an antelope carcass. He took a swig of Austrian bottled water to wash it down. The restaurant didn’t serve alcohol.

“Unbelievable. I’ve heard about this stuff. Had no idea how good it could be.”

“It’s the bestcevapiin the city, and believe me, there’s a lot of goodcevapiin Sarajevo. I’m glad you enjoy it.”

The place was packed, inside and out. When they arrived Jack didn’t think they’d get to eat. But Aida approached one of the servers, and before she said a word, the server dashed into the back. She emerged with a busboy carrying a small table and two chairs, setting them up outside near the side entrance, where several other customers eagerly consumed their lunches.

Jack was halfway through his feeding frenzy when he saw Gerry’s phone number appear on his silenced iPhone. A moment later a “Voice Message” alert appeared. Apparently, Gerry had read his text that he wasn’t going to be getting on that plane for D.C. today.

Ten minutes later, Jack popped the last fragments of bread, onion, and beef into his mouth and polished off his water.

“Ready for the rest of the tour?” Aida asked.

“Can’t wait.”

The server approached the table along with a middle-aged man, who looked like the owner, greeting Aida with a deferential smile in their native language.

“Everything was good?” he finally asked Jack in his halting English.

“I can’t imagine anything better. Incredible.”

Aida opened her purse to pay, but the owner waved her off with a magnanimous shrug and words Jack didn’t know but completely understood. Aida thanked him, and the two of them headed back to pick up the van at the Happy Times! tour office.

—

Aida navigated the crowded street traffic in the Volkswagen T5 tour van like a New York ambulance driver, skillfully weaving and accelerating as conditions required. Jack watched the little arrow on the dashboard GPS screen changing lanes in real time, too. They passed Sarajevo’s first of only two McDonald’s and, later, the presidential building. The buildings on this side of the city were definitely more modern and taller.

“I noticed quite a few Turkish flags in the crowd this morning at the youth center,” Jack said.

“Hundreds of thousands of Turks live in the Balkans, and twelve million people of Balkan origin live in Turkey. Turks are popular here.”

“It’s all a little confusing.”

“Of course it is,” she said with a smile. “It’s history.”

She pointed at a huge, multistory Holiday Inn. “That was built for the 1984 Olympics. You can see pictures of it online when it was burning during the war.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen them. Terrible.”

A little farther along, Aida asked, “Have you heard of Sniper Alley?”

“No.”

“We’re in it. Google it sometime.” She pointed at the surrounding mountains. “Serbian soldiers were up in those hillsand in the skyscrapers, shooting at civilians as they ran through town, dodging bullets to find food and water during the siege. Of course, the whole city was a Sniper Alley. This is just where the journalists got shot at.”

They left the city center, passing apartment buildings, offices, and light manufacturing facilities.

“Ever heard of Srebrenica, Jack?”