Interdiction (A James Winchester Thriller Book 3) (James Winchester Series) - James Samuel (best memoirs of all time .TXT) 📗

"Only when they're trying to kill me."

Ismet's head bobbed up and down as he nodded. "Well, speak. Quickly. You are here now."

"It's a difficult issue. I don't know what Kemal said to you, but I wouldn't mind speaking to you privately. It's a... business matter. I'd rather keep it to as few people as possible."

The grouping eyed each other, speaking in low, guttural Bosnian accents. James fidgeted under the table, fearing he'd gone too far. He had to maintain his bravado. Bravery was the only thing these people respected. If he bent like a willow reed, he wouldn't get out of here in one piece.

"Okay," Ismet said after consulting with his friends.

Ismet's entourage shuffled out from their seats, taking their drinks with them.

James' pulse accelerated as he watched for any sudden movements from the retreating men. He didn't know what they were saying. He couldn't imagine Kemal risking his life to jump in if Ismet exploded.

When they left, James shifted to the edge of the sofa, so his back faced the window and he faced Kemal and Ismet.

"Well?"

"Sadik Kadrić."

Ismet looked taken aback at the mention of the name. His face hardened and he conversed with Kemal again.

"Do you know him?" James asked.

"Know him?" Ismet's words slid from the depths of his throat like permafrost. "Yes, I know him. An enemy of all Bosnians, of all Muslims. What do you want from him?"

"I'm going to kill him."

Ismet raised a bushy eyebrow. "You? What does a foreigner like you want to kill him for? You are a Westerner? American?"

"English."

"English, American, it's all the same to us. None of you care about Bosnia or what you did to us. When the Serbians come to Sarajevo, you did nothing. Three years it took you to bomb Belgrade. Three years Milošević and Mladić had to butcher our people. You did nothing."

"I'm not here for politics."

Ismet threw his arm in James' direction. "Everything is about politics."

James didn't flinch or look away from Ismet's eyes. "Not in my world it's not. I only want to know the target and the price."

The leader of Horde Sla showed the effort of containing himself. Ismet’s shoulders rose and fell as his fuse shortened by the second. James saw right through Ismet’s facade. All bluff and bluster. The classic tough guy at the bar.

"If you don't want to help, I can go," James offered. "If you do want to help, there could be money in it for you."

Ismet’s face exploded in outrage. "I will not take your money. Kadrić is Serbian. All Serbians are animals. I will kill any Serbian for free. It is my pleasure and my duty as a Bosnian and a Muslim. Everyone knows someone who died in the war. You English will never understand."

"Then what do you want?"

Ismet shook his head. "Nothing. My family died in the war, everyone except my mother. Killed by shells from the hills. I was away, fighting in the north. My mother was in the market when the shell hit our home. There was nothing left."

Kemal clapped a comforting hand on Ismet’s shoulder.

Ismet shook with anger, but he never acknowledged the friendly touch.

Softly, James said, "Tell me how I can get to Kadrić."

Ismet took a deep breath and gazed up at something above James' head. He followed the Bosnian's gaze and saw the strange flag on the wall. It had a shield with a golden crown upon it. A white line slashed diagonally across a field of fleur-de-lises.

"The flag of the old Bosnian kingdom. We held out against the Turks longer than anyone else in the Balkans. We are proud of our history. And now that we are independent again, the West forces us to take their flag. A flag that means nothing to us."

James felt the conversation falling into political territory again. Kemal, Ratko, and Ismet were right; everything was about politics here.

Ismet grasped the handle of his beer glass and gulped some of it down. His Adam's apple poked at the skin on his throat as it bobbed up and down. White foam coated the bottom sliver of his moustache. James resisted asking why a Muslim would drink a glass of beer.

"Are you going to tell me what I need to know?"

"I don't know. Kadrić is not my friend. Everyone knows he is with Serbians in the north, the invaders of our country. Saturday, Borac Banja Luka come to Sarajevo. Horde Sla will be there. You will see his friends there. Ivica Boro is one of their leaders, a Serbian. He is always there."

"I'm not a miracle worker, Ismet," said James. "If he's with a crowd of football supporters then there's no way I can get to any of them. Will this Ivica Boro even lead me to Kadrić?"

Ismet shrugged. "He is a war criminal like him. He should be able to help you. There will be a riot tomorrow."

James pursed his lips. He'd never heard of a pre-planned riot before.

"We smash them," Kemal interjected. "Every year they come to Sarajevo and every year we fight them. The police, they do nothing."

Ismet clenched his fists on the table in front of him. "I can show him to you. We fight him every year. And there are pictures. On Saturday, I show him to you. You come with us. With me, you are safe. A friend of mine is a friend of Horde Sla."

James tilted his head. "Do you trust every foreigner who walks into your bar this easily? I've been in this job a long time and it seems... strange."

Ismet grinned at him. "I don't trust you. I don't trust you at all. But Kemal is with you and I trust him." He leaned towards James. "If you lie to us, you will never