Interdiction (A James Winchester Thriller Book 3) (James Winchester Series), James Samuel [book recommendations TXT] 📗

Joko Lipovina sat at a table reading the newspaper. When he noticed Kadrić, he stood and greeted him with a wide smile. His watery blue eyes were colder than the light of the winter morning. The two men met in the centre of the room and exchanged three kisses on alternating cheeks.

Lipovina held Kadrić by both shoulders like a doting parent. "Sadik, I'm so happy you made it. How was your trip, eh? The border gave you no trouble?"

"No, nothing. I slept most of the way."

"Drink?"

"Yes, of course."

Lipovina laughed and slapped him on the shoulder before motioning to Tarzan. "Drinks, Tarzan. Raki, only the best. Leave the bottle."

Tarzan wordlessly took up his role as bartender and got them a bottle from the bar at the far side of the room. He placed the Troyanska Slivova on the table, some of the finest rakija available in the Balkans. Most of his people in Srpska would only get to taste it at weddings and funerals.

"Well, it's been too long. Sit, my friend."

Lipovina waited for his guest to sit before resuming his seat. Like a waiter, Tarzan delivered two sparkling glasses to the table and poured them a rakija each. They toasted and swallowed in one. Tarzan poured them another glass and left the bottle where it was, departing through a different door.

"Another toast," said Lipovina. "To Srpska."

"To Srpska," Kadrić agreed. The rakija went down smooth, denoting its quality, and gently warmed his insides like a winter jumper.

Lipovina poured out another two glasses, as was customary, and left the drink to settle. No host could ever afford to allow a guest's glass to stay empty or they would face disgrace.

"Well." Lipovina turned in his chair to stretch his legs out down the side of the table. He brushed the red tablecloth lightly with his palm. "I'm sorry that our meeting was not possible until now. I have been away on business."

"It's okay. No problem."

Lipovina's wide, cheery expression disappeared from his mug. The furrows on his forehead flattened and the liver spots upon his bald head returned to their usual places. "I see war in Bosnia."

Kadrić nodded. "If luck is on our side, it is. Tomislav Suput died last night."

Lipovina tapped on his newspaper. "I read it just now. Bad business, eh? A politician being gunned down in the streets of Sarajevo."

Kadrić couldn't help but smile. "They've taken the bait, like I knew they would. Soon things will get interesting."

"Well, good news for you. What do you want, Sadik?"

"Heavy weapons."

Lipovina's eyes widened as the request took him off guard. "Artillery? Vehicles? Explosives?"

"I've made a list if you'd like to see it." Kadrić took the folded piece of paper out of his pocket like a shopping list. He slid it across the table towards the nail of Lipovina's forefinger.

Silence settled between the pair as Lipovina donned his reading glasses and squinted at the Cyrillic characters before him. Kadrić's chest tightened. He'd made some bold requests, but not too bold, never too bold with a man like Lipovina.

"This will cost a lot of money. Could be more than one million dollars, you know that?"

"We have the money. And money for more, if necessary. All we need is for you to get them through."

"China or Russia?" asked Lipovina.

"It makes no difference to us where they come from, as long as they work as intended."

"Good. I will send you the price."

The tension fell out of Kadrić's shoulders. He'd expected to have to negotiate. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected Lipovina to act so pliable.

"Shake my hand, my friend." Lipovina's cheery smile returned as he grasped his hand. "Another drink. We make a good business together, you and me. You are a big man now, not just an unemployed soldier, eh?"

They drank again. The heat rose in Kadrić's face behind the rakija. Yes, he'd once been nothing more than an unemployed soldier. Briefly wanted for war crimes, a lack of evidence had soon seen the charges, and the hunt, against him dropped. Darko had done well in erasing what he could.

"I do have something else I wanted to ask."

Lipovina raised his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. "Yes?"

"With enough weapons, we can outgun the Bosnians and the Croatians. But we need men. They outnumber us everywhere. I was wondering, Joko, if you could lend me some of your men. We have the money, and we pay good."

At that, the mafia chief broke into rancorous laughter. He banged the table with his palm and wiped some tears away from his eyes.

Kadrić flushed with embarrassment.

"You tell good jokes, Sadik. The mafia, entering a war? I'm a businessman. War is good for us because we are businessmen. Fighting a war would be foolish. But I like you. You have balls." He paused for a moment. "You weren't serious, were you?"

Kadrić gulped and forced down his retort. He shook his head. "No, of course... it was just a joke. Thank you for doing business with us."

Lipovina grunted. "You're right, though. You don't have the men. The Croatians will side with the Bosnians and you will lose. Everyone knows that. That's why they haven't taken you or Srpska seriously for years, but I can help you with that. Do you know Vojo Plemenac?"

He leaned forwards. "No, how can he help us?"

"The ambassador between Serbia and Bosnia. He's a spy for the government in Belgrade. We make good business together before. You two share the same wish, an independent Srpska, or a Srpska as part of Serbia, whatever your people wish. You are both strong men. I think you could work together."

"That... that would be good. I would like to meet him. Should I stay in Belgrade?"

"No, no, I will send him to you in Srpska. Vojo is