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

"Here," Sinclair held out his gun.

James snatched it from his friend's hand. Driving with one hand, he fired out of the window as the side window shattered, followed by the back. Stamping his foot to the floor, the car accelerated, flying down the hill, away from danger and away from Mostar.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sarajevo, Sarajevo Canton, Bosnia and Herzegovina

The streetlight outside the headquarters of the White Rose bathed the outline of Kemal in an orange glow. Beads of sweat popped like opals on his brow. A silhouette behind the door moved, his son Ratko emerged. The colour drained out of his face.

"Father, come in, quick."

Kemal tramped up the steps. Guilt racked him to his bones. The news coming out of Mostar spoke of a massacre. Witnesses reported foreigners were involved. James hadn't answered his phone since arriving in Mostar. It could only mean one thing: something had gone wrong at the meeting and Jakov had reacted.

"My son, what do you know? I came here quickly."

Ratko shut the door behind him. "Nazifa is already here. I want to know what has been going on. This isn't why I started the White Rose. I wanted nothing to do with war. You brought those two here."

Kemal didn't have the strength to roar back at his son. He had no defence for everything that had happened. More than anything, Kemal regretted not going with them. He should have fought his corner and insisted on accompanying them.

"I don't know what happened there. James said nothing. What do you know?"

Ratko hurried past him and gestured at the living room. "We need to talk about this together."

Kemal entered the room to find Nazifa with her hands folded underneath her chin in deep thought. Her freshly dyed hair stood out among the drab, old-fashioned decor. He patted her on the shoulder. She didn't react to it.

"Sit down, Father, please."

Kemal obeyed and sat opposite her.

"Now, we've all been keeping secrets from each other." Ratko took up position between them. "This has led to disaster, for us all. Nazifa, I understand that politics can be slow, but going against me to kill Tomislav Suput has only made things worse. You need to learn to keep your temper."

Nazifa turned her head. Her eyes were shiny, as if tears were about to break free. "We were going nowhere with you."

"Then why join me?" Ratko snapped. "You played right into their hands. Kadrić and every other nationalist in Srpska now believe they have a reason to react. And they have reacted."

Nazifa sulked and turned away from Ratko, mouthing something under her breath.

"And you, Father, do you think Jakov Mlakar went to all that trouble to kill James because of something he said?"

"I don't know." Kemal threw up a dismissive hand. "I didn't go."

"No, well, maybe you should have. But there is no way Mlakar brought that many men for a meeting in a public place in the centre of Mostar. Have you seen the news reports coming through? They won't say much, of course, but you should read the comments on social media from the people who were there. Have you looked?"

"No."

Kemal couldn't bear to look his son in the eyes. He squirmed in his seat, unsure what to say, unsure where to look. James and Sinclair may already lie dead in the old town of Mostar, and that would spell the end of the actions he’d endeavoured to take against the Bosnian-Serbs. They were the keys to his dreams coming true.

"Reports from some of the people who were there. Gunfire in the streets. Men bleeding to death in the rain. Your friend, James, was seen from someone in an upper window stabbing a man in the throat with a knife. Do you understand what this means for all of us?"

Nobody responded.

"It means we've just moved closer to war. The fact they're both foreigners makes it worse because now both sides can claim they were working for the other side. It's a serious escalation and I... I don't know what to do now." Ratko’s voice lost its strength. "What's the point of the White Rose? People are arming themselves, killing without thinking, and here I am trying to talk about peace. I look like an idiot."

"And what about James?" Nazifa cried. "You haven't mentioned that. Is he safe? You don't even care, do you?"

Ratko shuddered. "He's fine. Not that he deserves it."

"Don't say that," she shouted.

"Why not?" Ratko rounded on her. "Why shouldn't I? Since he came to Bosnia, he's only changed the situation for the worst. James got away I think. Someone on Twitter said they saw the two foreigners steal a car and drive away. If that's all you care about, yes, James is probably fine."

Nazifa let out a great puff of air, like a deflating balloon.

"Does anyone have any ideas about what we can do now?" Ratko's voice softened. "What's happened has happened now. We can't lose control of this situation. We need a plan." Ratko dragged a low stool across the floor and sat down, his hands clasped in front of him. "Give me some ideas."

Again, none of the three responded. Kemal wasn't a part of the White Rose. He detested everything about his son's approach to life. At least James had escaped. He'd survived, but he feared what James would say when he returned to Sarajevo.

"We should help James and Sinclair," Nazifa said at last. "They are the only ones who can help us."

Ratko sighed. "Again, with those two. Why do you think they are the answer?"

"They've still done more in a few days than you've done since you started this organisation. Handing out leaflets. Campaigning for politicians. Social media campaigns. What has it led to? Nothing. I'm wasted here."

Ratko looked