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

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked at last without turning around.

"Maybe," said Branimir. "It's not our problem."

Nazifa's pulse quickened. The ambiguity scared her more than the straight answer. Her fate had yet to be decided. That meant anything could change. Now, more than ever, she wondered whether she should have welcomed James' advances. A night in his bed meant his protection. Maybe if she'd have grinned and let him in, she wouldn't be here now.

Kemal had been right to rebuke her for not sleeping with him immediately.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Sarajevo, Sarajevo Canton, Bosnia and Herzegovina

Artificial blue light bathed Sinclair's room. His phone buzzed for a moment, the screen illuminating the far corner of his bed. Sinclair grunted and scraped the chair over the floorboards. He picked up the phone. A message from Ratko.

He squinted at the green chat bubble. Pressing his finger to it, a disjointed message filled his smartphone screen. It read:

Plemenac is going to start a war. The day the leaders of the European Union come to Sarajevo. The war will start in Srpska. Heavy weapons. False flag. Bosnian-Serbs will die. Media attention. Sympathy and international opinion in support of Srpska. Independence.

Sinclair's heart caught in his throat. Somehow Ratko had managed to discover Plemenac's plan. This was gold. Now they knew for sure Plemenac's angle. If his focus were on the meeting of the European Union in Sarajevo that must mean as an ambassador, he would be called to join various official figures in the days running up to it.

He re-read the message to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. Most people would have found this plan appalling. Sinclair found it appalling for an entirely different reason; it was the type of plan that had a shot at succeeding.

"James!" Sinclair called into the corridor. "Are you awake?"

James, in bare feet and holding a drink, came in from the balcony, letting in frigid air to the living room. Yet it didn't seem to bother James, who took his usual seat and lit a cigarette.

"Read this." Sinclair pressed the phone into his hand. "It's from Ratko."

James put his drink down on the coffee table. "Ratko? I thought he didn't want anything to do with us anymore. Not peaceful enough for him."

Sinclair didn't laugh.

James read the message through. "That's strange. How would he have found out something like that?"

Sinclair shrugged. "Just because he didn't want anything to do with us doesn't mean he isn't at all interested in the subject. Maybe he thought it prudent to pass it on to us."

"Maybe." James picked up his drink.

"Is that it?"

"Is what it?"

"That's the only reaction I'm going to get? Are you drunk?"

"No, but it does nothing to bring me closer to Plemenac. I still don't know how I'm going to get close enough to make his death look like an accident. Part of me wants to get an assault rifle and break down the doors of his office."

"You know –"

"Yes, yes, I know that isn't an option."

Sinclair relaxed slightly. "Look, it could mean that he is meeting with some high-ranking officials. We can watch the embassies and we will soon find out where he is and who he's meeting. That could give you an opening."

"Stealth was really never my strong point, Sinclair," James said to the night beyond the balcony.

Sinclair sensed he wasn’t getting through to James. "It's her, isn't it?"

James didn't respond.

"Let her go, James. You are allowing yourself to become consumed by her. She is just one of many women we've met all over the world. Focus on the task at hand because if what Ratko said is true, Bosnia is done if you fail to liquidate Plemenac in the next few days."

"I know," he sighed. "But I thought her kiss meant something, you know? All that time I spent with her, she kisses me, and then disappears off the face of the earth. It doesn't make any sense. I want to know why."

Sinclair shifted uncomfortably. He knew who Nazifa really was and why she had disappeared, but he didn't have it in him to disclose it to James. That discovery would reveal his collusion with Gallagher, his stealth in keeping tabs on James. Sinclair acted for James' own good, and his own, but he'd worked with James long enough to know he wouldn't understand his motives.

"Focus on Plemenac, James. You stayed here to avert a war when we could have walked away. I'll dig up what I can on events at the embassies and see if I can find you an opening."

James merely grunted in response as Sinclair walked away with the knowledge that could damn them all.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

James and Kemal drove into the valley surrounding Sarajevo. The old Winter Olympics luge ramp from 1984 sat undisturbed. Every inch of its concrete had been painted over in all the colours of the rainbow. Blocks of art melded with each other as graffiti artists competed for attention.

"Why do you think Addy wanted us to come here?" asked James. "It's early. Too early."

"He just called me. I told you, he is trash."

James pulled out his pistol, ejecting the cartridge to check his ammunition before popping it back in with a click. In his experience, unexpected requests for meetings in isolated areas meant an ambush. Despite the money he'd given him, he wouldn't put it past a man like Addy to have taken the money and shopped James and Kemal to Plemenac's men.

"It should be soon. It's very quiet here,” said Kemal.

"Quiet? It's dead. We haven't even seen a house for the last ten minutes."

Kemal grunted in acknowledgement.

“What do you think of that message your son sent me last night?”

“He