Free The Wolf of Sarajevo by Matthew Palmer

constitution and trying to make this place into a viable unified country. Mali has a different agenda.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œHimself.”
    They finished the coffees. Jasna brought them each a small glass of brandy, her family’s personal home brew, she whispered conspiratorially, so the other diners would not overhear. For old times’ sake, she explained. Jasna’s
rakija
was made from quince and smoother than the typical plum-based moonshine.
    â€œSo what does Mali have on Dimitrović?” Eric asked.
    â€œWe’re not sure yet,” she admitted. “Something big. Something important. We had one source in Dimitrović’s camp who reported that there was a disc or a tape. Dimitrović was evidently bitching about it one night and our source was there. But he didn’t know what was on it.”
    â€œCan you use him to try to get more on this? Something more specific.”
    â€œWe can’t ask him anything anymore.”
    â€œSleeping with the fishes?”
    â€œThe worms.”
    â€œThat works too. So where do I fit into this?”
    â€œI want you to help me find out what Marko Barcelona has over Zoran Dimitrović. What’s his leverage and how can we counter it.”
    â€œI’m just a regular diplomat, Sarah. This is really more your organization’s sort of thing, isn’t it? Don’t you have some Jason Bourne type you can wheel out for something like this? Someone with substantially more muscle mass.” Eric was fortunate to get his height from his father’s side and stood a hair under six feet tall. But his build was from his mother, lanky and whip thin. He was in good shape and strong, but although he was a regular at the embassy gym and ran every weekend with Sarajevo’s Hash House Harriers, Eric was never going to be anything but skinny. The rectangular hipster glasses he wore did nothing to make him look tougher.
    â€œI’m not looking for someone with massive biceps,” Sarah replied. “I need someone with a bulging Rolodex. No one in the U.S. government has anything like your range of contacts in Republika Srpska. You know everyone who matters in Banja Luka and Zvornik and all of the one-cow towns in between. I need your help. Bosnia needs your help.”
    â€œOkay. I understand that. But why the cloak-and-dagger? Why not do this through channels? Set up a task force. Have me seconded to it. Why are we having this conversation at Jasna’s rather than the ambassador’s office?”
    â€œEric, you’ve grown cynical over the years.”
    â€œJust a little more cautious maybe.”
    â€œDon’t get me wrong. A little cynicism is a good thing. It’ll help keep you sane . . . and alive. But only in small doses. Too much can be poisonous.”
    â€œLike love or oxygen?”
    â€œGod, you are a child of the eighties. That’s very sweet.”
    â€œAnd you are a clever girl.”
    â€œAin’t I though.”
    â€œBut back to my question.”
    Sarah’s smile vanished like a mirage. She bit her lower lip and looked quickly around the restaurant, looking for anyone who seemed out of place. The gesture seemed somehow mannered, a moment staged for Eric’s benefit rather than a piece of genuine tradecraft.
    â€œWe have a leak,” she confided. “Someone on the inside. Maybe CIA. But maybe State or one of the other agencies. There’s not enough data to be sure. We don’t know if it’s someone working directly for Dimitrović or if Belgrade or Moscow is passing him stuff, but we have to believe that anything we do through channels will get to Banja Luka. That’s what we think happened to our source in Dimitrović’s office. We only get one shot at this, so we need to be extremely careful. We’re doing this with a small team.”
    â€œHow do you know the mole’s not part of that team?”
    â€œWe can’t