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

going to stay calm. We don’t know enough about Plemenac to judge whether he can help us or, if not, whether he poses a threat to us.”

“I’m always calm,” James replied.

“Yes, well, let’s keep it that way.”

Sinclair caught a taxi from a driver standing outside a kiosk with a paper cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He flashed a grin, displaying a gold filling inside his lips.

“Kafana on Jevrejska?” Sinclair said slowly.

“Yes, yes,” the taxi driver replied.

Sinclair frowned but they got into the taxi anyway.

“Is there something wrong?” said James as they began their journey. “You seem like you’ve lost your appetite for culture.”

“It’s nothing. I’m tired. That’s all.”

The driver took them the short way into the heart of Banja Luka. The dismal surroundings of the train station broke like a fever dream as they met a modern central boulevard. Their driver spoke no English but would point and gesture at the sights of the city, from the train station to war memorials. James caught a glance of a tourist shop selling t-shirts bearing the faces of Tito and Gavrilo Princip.

It took no more than ten minutes for the driver to deposit them outside Kafana. It looked new, with its gleaming old gold and maroon sign. Sinclair forced some marks into the man’s hand. The driver left them with a thumbs up before speeding away.

“Is this what you were expecting?” asked James.

“Not at all.” Sinclair wiped his runny nose. “Anyway, if we hurry up, we can get the evening train back to Sarajevo. I would rather we get on with this. Remember what I said to you.”

“I know. Stay calm. No violence,” James parroted back to him. “You’ve told me at least three times already.”

Sinclair released a half-smile. “I know, and that’s what worries me. I’m still not sure if it’s enough.”

The duo made their way into Kafana. Most tables were occupied with locals in thick woollen jumpers. Cakes thick with cream and pastries covered in chocolate sat behind the plastic food guards at the counter. The bright lighting made the coloured icing gleam. James’ mouth watered at the prospect.

“Here he is,” said Sinclair, indicating a lone man at a nearby table in a suit stirring a cup of coffee.

James followed Sinclair’s gaze; the man stared straight back at them.

“Good afternoon.” Plemenac stood. “Vojo Plemenac, but you can call me Mr. Ambassador.”

James resisted rolling his eyes.

“I’m Sinclair.” He shook Plemenac’s hand. “And this is James.”

“But you can call me Mr. Winchester.” James as he grasped the ambassador’s cold hand.

Time seemed to stop as the tension ratcheted up. James kept his gaze level at Plemenac.

“Well, could I get you something?” Plemenac recovered. “Coffee perhaps?”

“A coffee for me. Black,” said Sinclair. “And… James?”

“Get me something sugary. Anything but coffee.”

Plemenac smiled politely and made his way to the counter.

“What the fuck was that?” Sinclair growled in a low voice. “In less than thirty seconds –”

“Relax, Sinclair. If he wants to be a self-important prick, I can too. Everything will be fine. You can do most of the talking.”

Sinclair took a deep breath and adjusted his shirt collar.

“They will bring your coffee in a moment. For you, Mr. Winchester, I bring you a Cockta.” Plemenac deposited the bottle and a glass with ice in front of him. “It’s Slovenian cola. It’s very similar. During the communist times, we couldn’t find the American version.”

“Thank you, Mr. Plemenac.” James proceeded to pour himself the cola rip-off wondering if the choice of beverage was a subtle jibe.

“So, Mr. Ambassador.” Sinclair’s tone lightened. “Do you have any idea why we wanted to meet you today?”

“Oh, nothing more than what you asked. It seemed rather important, the way you described it. War in the Balkans, after so much was lost. Unthinkable. Incomprehensible. But that’s my personal opinion, of course.” Plemenac sipped at his coffee. “I’m just a conduit for my government in Belgrade.”

“Then we were thinking… do you think this café is private enough?”

“Don’t worry.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Nobody here will speak English. Banja Luka doesn’t have much exposure to tourists and foreigners.”

Sinclair nodded. “We believe that war has never been closer. And we know the source of that war.”

Plemenac raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I see.” The cup tinkled as it made contact with the saucer. “I find it surprising that two Englishmen would be so interested.”

“Stop with the crap,” James intervened. “The both of you. Mr. Plemenac, you know perfectly well who we are and the situation.”

Plemenac’s eyes flashed. “Mr. Winchester, I find you very interesting. You don’t want to play the game, like your friend.”

“I don’t like games.”

“Life is a game, but if you prefer us to speak frankly then we can speak frankly. Yes, the region has never been closer to civil war than it is now. But if it seems both sides want it, then that’s their business. As I told you, I’m just a conduit for the Serbian government.”

Sinclair cleared his throat, shooting a venomous look at James. “We were interested in Serbia’s position on the matter.”

“I thought we were speaking frankly?” Plemenac’s smile widened at Sinclair’s obvious discomfort. “You tell me why you’re so interested and maybe I can share some information with you.”

Sinclair’s shoulders dropped in defeat. “We work for a private organisation interested in the death of someone quite prominent.”

“I hope it isn’t me.”

James let out a little chuckle. “Of course not.”

“Then I’m very happy to hear that. I’m going to assume you want to assassinate Sadik Kadrić?”

James and Sinclair maintained their poker faces. Inside, James’ instincts fired on all cylinders. The alarm sounded like a fire drill. Plemenac knew more about the situation than he wanted to let on. But what was his