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

Kemal laughed. “Yes, yes, I understand. Ah, good, your coffee is here. Once you drink coffee, we talk business.”

The coffee that arrived at the table was something unlike James had ever encountered before. On a copper tray, three ceramic cups and three copper cups with a long, thin handles sat in front of them. The uninterested Bosnian from the counter took no notice of his confusion.

“You never drink coffee Bosnian style?”

James shook his head and inspected the foamy brown liquid in the copper cups. “It’s hardly Starbucks, is it?”

“It’s a džezva,” said Sinclair. “The liquid is boiled twice to make it foamy. Each džezva makes up three cups of coffee. Use the water and sugar however you like.” Sinclair smirked at him. “It’s not that complicated, even for you.”

The three men set about creating their desired coffees. James took a sip from his ceramic cup and found the coffee acrid and much too strong. He added water and a couple of sugar cubes to dilute its bitterness. Something which passed for coffee went past his lips. He suppressed the urge to grimace.

“So, why are we here?” James questioned, eager to get on with matters.

“What have you told him?” Kemal asked Sinclair.

“Only that Sadik Kadrić is our target. I thought it best if you tell him about the environment we’ll face here.”

Kemal nodded. "So, he knows nothing of Bosnia?"

James leaned forwards and pushed the Bosnian coffee away as he tried to lick away the taste. “Not a thing.”

"Then this will be a surprise for you. Bosnia is unlike anything you have ever seen. For me, it is heaven. For others, it is hell." Kemal touched his substantial chest. "I am proud to be Bosnian, but this country has never recovered from war."

"I can see that. I saw all the holes in the walls," said James.

"And shrapnel. It was worse years ago. You will see this in every town and city of this country. You find mines all over the country. Many of them we have never found. Everything that happens here is about the war. Understand that."

"I would avoid too much of a history lesson," Sinclair interjected. "James is a barbarian when it comes to culture. He just wants to know about anything relevant to Kadrić."

James shot Sinclair a dirty look.

"Everything is about the war, including Kadrić." Kemal folded his arms. "Kadrić and the Serbian invaders are a result of the war. The West made them stay and destroyed our country by not punishing them."

James raised his eyebrows. "They bombed Belgrade during the war."

"Pah, a few bombs in Belgrade. Here, they dug mass graves. In Sarajevo, we had the longest siege in history. They never broke our spirits, but they broke our hearts. And now we have to pretend to forget. We were punished for existing, my friend."

James felt the temperature of the conversation rising, the raw hatred etched into every word Kemal spoke. He dragged the coffee back across the table and sipped at it.

"What should we know about Kadrić?" asked Sinclair after an awkward pause.

"Kadrić is not some warlord. He likes to think he is leading an army, like the old times. But in men and weapons, he is nothing. Kadrić is dangerous because he can fight. He is not a businessman. He is an animal."

James smirked at that. "We'll see about that. Pride always comes before the fall."

Kemal managed to raise a half-smile too and turned to Sinclair. "You say James is barbarian. I see he is not so stupid."

Sinclair let out a little laugh.

"Then what do you need?" Kemal gestured at James. "Take your guns and go. My country will be better for it. One less Serbian dog to shit on our culture."

"Contacts." Sinclair polished off his coffee. "You are really the only man we know. We need to build a network during our stay here. Our work is never as simple as walking into a country and pulling a trigger, or we would never be called in the first place. Caution is the policy we stand by."

"You are smart. Yes, yes, we should go. I know a man, my son, Ratko. He will help you."

"Does he know how to fight?" asked James.

Kemal clicked his tongue. "I wish so. He has the heart and spirit of Bosnia, but a coward. You slap my son and he will do nothing. He uses many fancy words because his English is much better, but he is a coward."

"A pacifist you mean?" said Sinclair.

"Yes, yes, his favourite word.” Kemal paused. “A coward."

James and Sinclair exchanged awkward looks between themselves. They both sensed they'd touched upon a family dispute. A pacifist would be little use to them in their line of work.

"You still want to meet my son?"

"Of course, we would," said Sinclair. "Information can be just as powerful as a bullet."

Kemal slapped his knees and gestured at them to get going. The two Englishmen snapped to their feet, eager to push on. Even if Kemal's son were a pacifist, James would meet just about anyone to avoid drinking any more of that coffee.

Chapter Four

Kemal took them to his car, a dark blue Ford Fiesta. What looked to be a piece of rope held the exhaust to the chassis. Kemal struggled to shunt the seat forwards so James could climb into the back. He twisted himself into the centre of the backseat as Kemal's girth threatened to send the driver's seat flying into his knees.

The Fiesta stunk of cigarettes and the old radio still had an outlet for a cassette player. Kemal pushed in the ancient cigarette lighter and hitched up his trousers. James took in great gulps of air to fight off the feelings of nausea perpetrated by the foul air.

"I haven't seen a car like this in years,"