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

the gun in the back of his belt. He only nodded and urged him to go into the stadium. Kemal soon joined them at the top of the stands.

James looked out at the stadium; the seats arranged like a modern gladiatorial ring. The players were already warming up on the field. Away from the verdant grass, James noted the thick grey clouds heading their way, an ominous sign if ever there was one.

"Look." Kemal pointed towards a grouping of a few hundred fans at the opposite end of the stadium. "There they are. Dogs. Traitors. Occupiers."

His ally spat the words, his cheery demeanour dropping away to display the darker side of Kemal. James spent a long-time glancing at the opposition, but they were too far away for him to make out anyone from this distance.

Kemal parted from Ismet and took them up to the very last row. The red plastic seats were adhered to steep concrete steps. None of the ultras would sit during the game, they never did anywhere in Europe.

FK Sarajevo flags fluttered in the breeze. Banners in Bosnian were draped across the front rows. Already, ultras from both sides chanted in their own languages. The deep, guttural voices rose as one, spitting venom across the pitch. James had no idea what they were saying, but he noted some of the fans unfurling swastikas. James stiffened. He’d expected some rowdiness. Not this, fans bristling for open warfare.

"I look for Ivica for you." Kemal took out a small pair of binoculars. "So, you can watch him."

"Hopefully he's here."

"He will be." Kemal leaned against the protective wall at the highest point in the stands. "Ismet tells me he never misses a game, and Ismet knows. There is no game here in Sarajevo or in the whole of Europe Ismet misses. He knows everybody."

James nodded, feeling the gun in his belt, the only comfort he had in the insanity preparing to break over this district of Sarajevo.

The players had disappeared from the field after their warmups. Only minutes until the game would begin. As the clouds gathered and darkened, the atmosphere in the stadium also darkened with them. The closer to kick-off, the closer the fans came to erupting into a war played out in the confines of a modern stadium.

"When will the trouble happen?" James' breathing grew short and sharp.

"Depends on the score. If we win, not until after the game. If we lose... it could happen at any time."

"As long as I know. Are the rest of the arrangements in place?"

"Yes, yes, my friend, the car will wait. Shoot any Serbians you can. They deserve nothing better."

The arrival of the players cut off James’ retort. One line in maroon and the other in black with red trim entered the pitch to a deafening cheer. The chants rocketed in their intensity. Red flares were set off only a few rows away, casting a devilish glow and swirling smoke through the stands. The garlic stench of phosphorous seeped into his nostrils.

The players shook hands with each other. Their rabid fans ignored the display of sportsmanship. Like a crowd at the Colosseum, they wanted blood.

Chapter Fourteen

Sinclair wiped his brow as he stood in a stone cottage at the edge of a small stream. The frigid stones were covered in thick, black soot. Creeping vines had infiltrated the cracked, grimy windows. He adjusted his headset in the shadows and made the call.

“Wood?” Gallagher’s voice came through loud and clear on the satellite phone.

“Yes.”

“Are the bugs in place?”

“They are. Ivica Boro should be here soon enough. I estimate it’s half-time at the football game. Even in Bosnia, things tend to be reasonably punctual when it comes to football.”

“Make sure you remove the bugs when you can. They are not cheap.”

“Sir, I’m sure you’re aware that I’m an intelligence agent. I rarely accompany James when he’s in the field. I wasn’t trained to fight. I can shoot a weapon but not to an acceptable standard.”

“Yes, Wood, I am aware. Do your best. When a meeting is scheduled between parties, I want to know everything. I will also provide you with access to Finch, whenever you require him. He is already on alert for any requests which originate in Bosnia.”

Sinclair gulped and clasped his hands behind his back. Jacob Finch was one of the greatest hackers in the country, maybe even the world. The notoriously reclusive Finch almost never broke ranks from his own home. A master cybercriminal, he operated not for money but for the pure pleasure of it all. To be given access to Finch was a rare honour, reserved only for the most important of the organisation’s operations.

“Furthermore, if you succeed in this little task, I may consider promoting you. I understand you are not as enthusiastic about field work as you once were.”

“What makes you think that, sir?” said Sinclair. How could Gallagher have read his mind, he wondered.

“My own sources. I consider it essential to be aware of what my employees think of their work. Correct me if I have made an error, but I believe you were weary of the constant travel and you would prefer a less risky assignment.” Gallagher cleared his throat. “I believe I could provide you with a permanent position at one of our offices.”

Sinclair swiped a hand across his perspiring forehead. “Which office? I seem to remember hearing someone recently being relocated to Saudi Arabia.”

“You would have the choice. Wherever you would like to work, a position would be found for you, as long as you do this one small thing for me.”

“And James?”

“Winchester is in no danger from me. He is, as you say, a man who has achieved some quite stunning results in the past. I merely think I need to keep a tighter leash on him. All