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

far enough, he hit it again and again, grazing his knuckles and leaving a small trail of blood oozing from his index finger.

James backed away, allowing Kemal to let his grief pour out. Then Kemal went deathly quiet, like he was the one who had died. The tentativeness gone, he moved his hand with purpose and, with some effort, managed to close his son’s eyes.

“He dies. Every Serbian will die,” Kemal’s monotone sent a pang through James. “Every town, every city, and then him. I will give him the war he wants.”

James stood motionless, not daring to argue with a man who had just lost his son.

“I’m sorry, my friend, but you are not here to stop this war. If you try to stop me, I will… I will have no choice.”

James met his gaze wordlessly. Kemal’s face had changed. The laughter had left his eyes. All the goodness seemed to have dripped out of him leaving only the man who had once gone to war.

James inclined his head. “I’m sorry, Kemal.”

“Me too, my friend, me too.”

Chapter Sixty-One

Ratko’s final sacrifice touched both James and Sinclair. Although neither of them had taken to Ratko and his steadfast beliefs, he didn’t deserve to die. He had done everything he could to achieve what James also wanted to achieve. Now they had a problem. Kemal had disappeared and wouldn’t answer his phone.

“You think he’s really going to do it?” asked Sinclair as a pot of coffee brewed on the stove.

“Yes.”

“Seemed like quite a definitive answer.”

“I saw it in his eyes. Kemal has nothing to live for now. It was his only son and his wife divorced him years ago. It’s not the first time I’ve seen that look in a desperate man.”

“Then why are we wasting our time on Plemenac at all?” Sinclair folded his arms. “Kemal looks capable of starting a war all by himself. If he starts to massacre Serbians, it will accomplish exactly what Plemenac wanted.”

James raised his voice. “You think I’m not aware of that? Am I supposed to try to explain to him why he shouldn’t want revenge? It’s what I would have done. If it was my son, I would have set this world on fire until someone could take me down.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two friends.

“Then where does that leave us?”

“It leaves us with a problem. How can I let Kemal do what he said he’s going to do and then claim to have the moral high ground with Plemenac?”

Sinclair shrugged. “You don’t. It’s both of them or none of them.”

James waved a dismissive hand and stormed out of the kitchen. Time was running out. They had only a couple of days before Plemenac would initiate his plan. The odds were overwhelmingly against him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to kill Kemal.

He withdrew his phone and closed the living room door behind him. The thick smell of coffee about to brew disappeared. James cradled the smartphone in his hand and tapped a number without a name attached to it. It rang four times before the caller picked up.

“James Winchester,” said Plemenac. “I never thought you would actually call this number.”

James’ lip curled upwards in disgust. “This has gone on long enough.”

“I agree, it has. Did Adnan deliver my message?”

“He did..”

“Are you asking for a meeting, Mr. Winchester? Although I would be happy to meet you, I wouldn’t trust you not to shoot.”

“You know I can’t kill you, or you wouldn’t have come to my hotel. You’re too well-known and protected by diplomatic immunity. My boss would throw me to the wolves the moment I did anything to you. There would be an international warrant out for my arrest. I’m not that stupid.”

Plemenac laughed over the phone. “You seem to be understanding the situation at last. Very well. The White Fortress, six tonight. Would you mind giving me an advance brief on the subject of our meeting?”

James clenched his fist. “I’m leaving Bosnia.”

Chapter Sixty-Two

Mrkopalj, Gorski Kotar, Croatia

Nazifa tried to keep her eyes away from the noose. She soon lost track of how many hours she had spent here. Her only opportunity to leave the cabin came when she needed the bathroom. Even then, Branimir or Zvonko would accompany her.

Every time she went outside it made her heart sink. She saw no distinguishing features and no points of reference she outside the cabin. The thick wall of trees hemmed them in. Only the dirt track cut through the trees. Too narrow for a car, it led about 300 metres back to the clearing where they’d pulled her from the trunk.

The cold light of a winter’s day offered few reference points for marking time. She slept intermittently on the floor and spent the rest of her time mulling over everything that had led her here. Soon, she forgot how long it had been since her kidnap.

Branimir kicked open the door with a thump. A few snowflakes blew into the cabin to be vaporised by the heat of the stove.

“Nazifa.” Branimir clicked his fingers. “You have a visitor.”

Gordon Maugham entered the cabin behind Branimir. He towered over the Croatian. For the first time, Nazifa got a good look of the man who had sneaked up behind her that night. The Englishman wore a joyless expression and piercing blue eyes. His hollow cheeks somehow made him seem less than human.

“Good afternoon, Miss Aleksi,” he started. “I don’t believe we had much time to speak, but I was rather in a hurry.”

Nazifa clenched her teeth. “Fuck you.”

“Charming.” He looked from Branimir to Zvonko, who was perched on the edge of the bed rubbing his eyes. “Leave us,” he said.

The two Croatians exchanged glances and filed out of the cabin. Another gust