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

James arched an eyebrow as he climbed in and the taxi pulled off. “Creative name.”

The intelligence agent ignored the snide comment as he pulled out his phone and began typing away with stubby fingers. Sinclair handled intelligence on their assignments but also planning, which meant James had no say in their accommodations.

Warm air slammed into their faces, mixed with the smell of dust and decay from the filthy heating vents. Bosnian pop blared from the radio. The driver kept one hand on the wheel and puffed out his cheeks in irritation every time they stopped at the traffic lights.

“So, what do you know about Sarajevo?” asked James. “You were here years ago.”

Sinclair waved a hand through his rapidly thinning hairline. Like most sons of the rich, he had travelled widely before joining Blackwind. On daddy’s unlimited budget, he could go where others couldn’t, a luxury James never had. He joined the Coldstream Guards at the age of 16, a decision that came to a bad end.

“I’m sure it’s changed a lot since I came here,” Sinclair said, looking up from his phone. “In all seriousness. It was a different country then. When we check into the hotel, you can have the history lesson.”

“I hope it has heating for a start. I bet Gallagher posted us here out of spite.”

Sinclair rolled his eyes. “Don’t be silly.”

“This goes against the regulations. Our contracts state that all field agents are entitled to a specific period of leave before they are reassigned. A point I made very clear to Gallagher the last time I spoke to him.”

Sinclair looked through the dirty windows of the cab. The drab buildings coming into view signalled the main part of the city. Brutalist architecture reigned supreme, with government and media buildings becoming lost in the low-lying smog.

“I suppose you’re not wrong. The timing of this assignment is unorthodox,, but we could have turned it down.”

James bit his tongue. He knew Gallagher had had it in for him for a long time. Yet he continued to complete every kill the boss assigned to him. The more he succeeded, the more Blackwind’s reputation grew. The more lucrative the contracts, the harder the targets. Gallagher had to keep him if he wanted to stay on top of the game.

“Well, I didn’t, did I?” said James. The veiled snicker conveyed his resentment for the discomforts Sarajevo promised.

“I know. I was there. You argued with him for twenty minutes and then you said you’d do it anyway. I always admire you when you take a stand.”

“Yes, yes, thank you, Sinclair.” He didn’t want to start off the job on the wrong foot, but he couldn’t let his partner’s digs go unnoticed.

But then James let the pettiness with Sinclair go and mulled over the argument with Gallagher. It was true he had bent and agreed to this Bosnian contract, but he had no choice. James knew nothing else. His career choice had prepared him for a life in dealing death.

The driver began weaving his way through downtown Sarajevo. They approached the high, crumbling apartment blocks. For the first time, James saw the scars of the war that made this city famous. Jagged starbursts from shrapnel and bullet holes crawled along the walls. Sarajevo had made little effort to obscure them, instead embracing them as a tourist attraction.

They crossed a polluted river and began winding their way to the historical part of town. High on a hill above the city was a centuries’ old fortress, its limestone ruins partly obscured by the smog. When they came to a halt, they did so in front of a grey building with high windows and peeling frames. Faded band posters and business cards were stuck to the window of its heavy wooden front door.

James climbed out of the sedan without waiting for Sinclair to pay the driver. His instincts forced him to sweep the area for threats. He faced a three-corner junction with the Hotel Old Town bifurcating the modern downtown stretching in one direction, the historical old town heading down the other, and, finally, behind them, the toxic river. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Sinclair slammed the passenger door shut. “Are you going to help or are you waiting for a porter? This isn’t the Hilton.”

“Seems secure enough,” said James.

“Of course, it’s secure. Don’t you think I’d make sure our accommodations are secure? This is not the Royal Shakespeare Company, but security is part of my job, you know.”

James flicked his eyebrows as he helped Sinclair lug their suitcases to the front door. Sinclair had been snarky all the way from their departure point in Berlin, Germany to Bosnia.

Were their experiences in Cambodia taking a toll on the veteran intelligence agent? He’d seen countless men change under the stress of the job, yet he, alone, stayed constant. Had Sinclair, of all people, started to buckle under pressure?

Chapter Three

Barely an hour passed before James and Sinclair ventured back onto the frigid streets of Sarajevo. James felt the temperature dropping in real-time. Already, he felt his toes numbing inside his shoes. He wiggled his fingers which now sported a pink-red sting.

“Just around the corner,” said Sinclair. “A small coffee house a couple of streets away. One thing about the Bosnians is they love their coffee. I’m not sure if that’s down to the influx of Austrians or the Turks.”

James shrugged. “I really don’t know anything about the history of this country.”

“Well, there’s plenty of time for that later, let’s go. We’re meeting a man called Kemal Avdić.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” James grabbed Sinclair by the elbow. “You haven’t told me anything about this contract. Who is my target?”

“Oh,” Sinclair laughed. “Sorry. I didn’t want to say anything on the flight or in the taxi because there’s always someone who understands English. Walk slowly and I can brief you