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

will see. Borac Banja Luka come from Srpska to Sarajevo for a league match. They will kill them. You will never see anything like Horde Sla."

"Are you a... Horde Sla?"

"Of course! I am Horde Sla. It is war. Serbians." Kemal took his eyes off the road to stare directly at James. "I beat them Saturday. We destroy them."

James felt uneasy at the murderous glint in Kemal's eyes. He'd never cared much for football after he became a teenager. With all the violence and destruction in the world, it never made sense to him that football supporters were willing to kill each other over who supported who. He preferred devoting his time on his days off to reading any book he could get his hands on. It gave him peace of mind after the tension and bloodshed of his job. A chance to vanish into a different world.

Kemal glanced back at the road. "One of the biggest games. Biggest game is the Eternal Derby. The Sarajevo derby." He started to cackle. "Hell come to Sarajevo, we say."

"That sounds like a wonderful cultural experience." James' voice dripped with sarcasm. "But I didn't come here for a cultural experience. How is this going to lead me to Kadrić?"

"Ismet knows everybody. All these Serbians. He knows who they are. Maybe he help you, a good friend of mine, Ismet. Many years we fight together."

His confidence perked up again. He took another drag of the tar-ridden cigarette and even he, a heavy smoker in his own right, could barely resist the urge to cough a piece of his lungs out. Kemal continued to regale James with tales of the various battles Horde Sla had fought against other football clubs. James grunted and nodded in acknowledgement, keeping his true feelings about the blood sport to himself.

Their journey took them away from the old town of Sarajevo, the neighbourhoods of establishments like the Hotel Old Town and into the downtown area. Here, the war damage grew more visible. No building had been spared the bullet holes and shrapnel. The large fortress of the American embassy loomed up alongside them. The stars-and-stripes hung above the door, hidden behind open grassy inclines and protected by a black iron fence topped with wire sharper than a barber's razor.

"We are almost here," Kemal announced as the embassy disappeared around the corner.

Socialist concrete apartment blocks cast their long shadows over them. James gazed up at Tito's spires and could only imagine what horrors the people in those homes had seen with the collapse of Yugoslavia.

Kemal pulled the car to a halt outside a bar on a street corner. Flags and banners bearing the name Horde Sla hung from inside the windowpanes. Outside, a burnished gold and red sign representing the most common beer in the city, Sarajevsko, hung over the door.

"These are my friends but let me go first. You are safe here with me," said Kemal as he removed his keys from the ignition. "I show you Ismet, okay?"

James nodded and got out of the car. His breath immediately crystallised in the frigid air. Rubbing his hands together for warmth, he followed the doublewide figure of Kemal through the doors of the bar.

The scene that greeted James reminded him of some of the dive bars back home in England. Meaty forearms plastered with tattoos connected to hands covered in garish gold rings wrapped around glasses holding a full litre of beer. Almost everyone had haircuts that would have made his old army drill sergeant proud. The rancorous atmosphere didn't drop away, but James' instincts picked up those with their eyes on him: the outsider.

Kemal clamped a paw on his shoulder and steered him through the crowded masses. Long tables flanked the sides of the room, with standing room only at the bar itself. Black-and-white pictures of Horde Sla members of the past and coloured photos of men in uniform during the war took pride of place on the walls. James tore his gaze away from them, his senses heightened by the hostile environment.

Every so often, Kemal would call out in his native language to someone he knew. His grip on James' shoulder tightened as they moved towards the back of the bar. They came to a halt at a table filled with a shooting gallery of cartoonish thugs. Kemal took point and grasped the hand of a slim man with a full black beard and a head of hair groomed by a pair of scissors and a fruit bowl. His deep green eyes bored into James.

"Don't bring foreigners here," he said.

Kemal pleaded with the man in Bosnian, even clasping his hands together. James only returned the man's stare.

"We must go," said Kemal to James.

James returned the man's glare. "You Ismet?"

"No, no, we must go." Kemal tried to get between the seated Horde Sla man and James. "It's too dangerous. I make a mistake. We go."

James opened up his coat and flashed the Glock 19 semi-automatic inside. The light metal caught the blanched winter light streaming through the windows and winked at Ismet.

Ismet's eyes darted to the weapon and widened at the sight. He paused for a moment. Eventually, he raised his hand, beckoning him to come closer. His friends eyed him like he'd gone mad.

"Thank you, Ismet. I don't have any problem with you or your friends. I only want to talk," said James.

Ismet’s nostrils flared. "Then sit. Kemal, you sit."

Kemal licked his lips as he lightly pushed James onto a stool across the table from Ismet. The group shuffled along the curved sofa to allow Kemal to plant his enormous behind on its edge.

"Don't worry, I'm not a Serbian."

The corners of Ismet's mouth twitched into a little smile for a nanosecond. "You would be dead if you were Serbian. This is Horde Sla land. We are Bosnians. Real Bosnians. I am a