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

to fear from me, and I know I have nothing to fear from you. I'm alone and unarmed. You could shoot me now if you wanted to."

Kadrić smiled. He respected any man who had the balls to be that confident in himself.

"Lipovina sent me a message requesting a meeting with you."

"And I thank you for coming all the way to Banja Luka for it. I was prepared to meet you in Belgrade last weekend."

"I have other business here. I will be returning to Belgrade via Sarajevo in a few days. Now, what can I do for you?"

"Did Lipovina tell you anything?"

"Some things," Plemenac replied. "How can I help you?"

Kadrić shuffled uncomfortably on the bright orange seat and continued to train his eyes at the documentary. The lack of warmth from the ambassador unnerved him.

"Mr. Plemenac –"

"Ambassador Plemenac or Mr. Ambassador will be fine."

"Ambassador Plemenac," Kadrić fumbled. "I wanted to speak to you about the future of Republika Srpska."

"I thought you might. Lipovina told me that you recently made a significant purchase of heavy weapons. Weapons normally reserved for military use. I have to say I'm quite impressed that you've grown to such a level. Are you preparing to begin an armed uprising?"

"If necessary. My goal is the freedom of Republika Srpska from Sarajevo. Whether that means independence or a union with Serbia is up to the people."

"How coy. You know that I'm a Serbian before anything else. I want all Serbian peoples to be under the same flag. The Fatherland has seen difficult times since the end of Yugoslavia. The loss of influence across the Balkans and the loss of the southern territories. But I'm a realist. If you're here because you want Belgrade to declare war, you're dreaming."

"I can dream, can't I?" Kadrić said, irked.

"You can, but pragmatism wins wars, not dreams." Plemenac met his gaze for the first time. He sported a precision cut head of short, black hair, with only a little grey on the sides. A couple of deviant hairs had started to grow around his neck. Most of all, his eyes were like that of a ferret's, always watching. "Why do you think I became an ambassador not a soldier? Pragmatism, not dreams."

"Then, at the very least, I want support from Serbia. It doesn't have to be public. Weapons we have. Manpower is what we need. Even a declaration of protection from Belgrade would be enough."

Plemenac shrugged. "Maybe it's possible, but a public move of protection would be incredibly controversial. This is politics. Serbia has greater concerns than Srpska. The European Union is threatening to envelop us and cut us off from Russia. The likelihood of us regaining the southern territories grows smaller by the day as more nations recognise them as the independent nation of Kosovo." He shook his head. "There's little benefit for Belgrade in creating instability in the region."

Kadrić couldn't hide his disappointment as he leaned forwards in defeat. He clasped his palms together like he was about to say a prayer. He watched his dreams of Srpska and Serbia crushing the Bosnians and Croats together ebb away.

"So, there's nothing you can do for me?"

"Not necessarily. I am, of course, nothing more than an ambassador, but I do have influence. Lipovina made it clear that manpower is your greatest need, but you'll need to fight for your own independence alone. It may be possible to provide you with the manpower you need.”

"Really? How many?"

"Impossible to say at this early stage, but there are ordinary Serbians who would relish the opportunity to fight Bosnia, including some elements of the Serbian army. If they remove their ranks and any other identifying markers, I'm sure Belgrade would temporarily turn a blind eye to their activities."

Kadrić's stomach leapt with hope. His dream of freedom for Srpska was still alive. Lipovina hadn't led him down a dead end. If his nationalist army could gain access to Serbian soldiers and all their modern training, they would rain down hell upon the Bosnians and Croats before they could seize their rifles.

"This will be a covert war, you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Ambassador, thank you for your support. I would like to invite you to visit my family one day. My wife will cook you dinner. She will make you the best meat in all of Srpska."

Unmoved, Plemenac rose to his feet and straightened out his crisp white shirt. "Continue fighting your war, Sadik. If your cause shows sufficient chance of success, I will be able to talk to the right people for you."

With that, the ambassador turned spy disappeared through the doorway into another room.

Kadrić lingered, stunned by Plemenac's receptiveness. His hands shook with excitement, his jaw juddering. After all these years of struggle and failure, Kadrić had his breakthrough at last. The long years of oppression were about to come to an end.

Chapter Twenty-One

James and Sinclair climbed out of the rickety train from Sarajevo and ventured across the platform of the Banja Luka train station. Arriving passengers heaved and grunted as they forced their cardboard boxes and black garbage bags full of their belongings through the narrow doors. Most people wore hoods, the little flurries of snow keeping people on their toes.

“They say first impressions are everything,” said James.

Sinclair ignored him as they hurried through the train station and out onto the street. A thick stench of smog gave the impression Banja Luka burned tyres on every street corner. The soupy air brought up wet, throaty coughs from the huddled masses lingering around the blocky communist buildings.

“So, what do you think?” asked James.

“I think we should meet Mr. Plemenac and get back to Sarajevo as soon as possible.”

James nodded in agreement. “Where are we meeting him?”

“Kafana on Jevrejska. It’s a café.” Sinclair strained his voice to make the pronunciation. “I hope you’re