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

The words chilled James to the bone.

"But if you are telling the truth, you have an army."

James nodded and accepted Ismet's extended hand of friendship. Whatever came of this, he now had the hordes of evil at his back. That had to count for something.

Chapter Six

Banja Luka, Bosanska Krajina, Bosnia and Herzegovina

The smoke from the burning fires of the landfill sites on the outside of Banja Luka cast a dark mask over the countryside. The verdant green hills of the Republika Srpska countryside were dampened by the cool, light winter rains and drifting industrial liquid discharge. Rain filled the holes in the paved road heading east towards Serbia like festering wounds.

Sadik Kadrić stared out from under the outdoor canopy of a lonely roadside restaurant with a cigarette in one hand. He rubbed the thickening stubble on his chin as he contemplated what lay ahead for the Bosnian-Serb entity and their battle for independence from the oppressive regime of Sarajevo.

Succulent juices dripped from a whole pig as the restaurant's chef slowly rotated the spit over glowing coals. The noise of drunk Bosnian-Serbs rushed out of the door as Darko emerged, slicking back his hair with a tortoiseshell comb. He wore a black shirt and black pants, with a gold watch on his wrist.

"Sadik," said Darko in Serbian. "I was wondering if I could talk to you privately."

Kadrić turned to his brother-in-arms, the most loyal one of them all. A fervent nationalist and someone with real war experience. Darko had been young at the time of the war, barely more than a boy. Kadrić had taken him under his wing and taught him the ways of war, and the things that happened away from the eyes of international observers. Darko never flinched, no matter what atrocity Kadrić had urged him to commit.

"I know you too well, my friend," said Kadrić. "I came out here because I knew you would follow. What's on your mind?"

"Our campaign. To free Srpska from the Bosnian dogs. I've had some ideas."

"Come." Kadrić clapped him on the shoulder and offered him a cigarette. "You know I value your opinion. You see a lot of things I don't."

Darko beamed and accepted the cigarette. He lit it and leaned against the wooden fencing separating the covered patio from the cleansing rains.

"The story is fading out of the newspapers,” said Darko. “People are outraged, but they're moving on like the war never happened. I want us to step up our actions. More killings. More exposure. The Bosnians feel too safe; they're not as scared as they should be."

Kadrić sensed Darko wanted to mention that. He'd seemed edgy, desperate to speak to him about it since they’d met at the party for the engagement of some lieutenant's sister. He hadn’t cared enough to remember the details.

"That's human nature, Darko. You remember Sarajevo as well as I do. By the end of the first year, they got used to us bombing and shooting them. You can't expect them to call for war every time there’s an attack."

"Then where does that leave us? We need to do something more. I thought the killing of another soldier, in their capital, would get us what we wanted. We're no closer to a declaration of war than before. And Belgrade stayed silent."

"Calm down, Darko, you're too impatient. Belgrade was always going to say nothing. You can't expect another country, even Serbia, to take sides, at least not publicly. People don't trust Serbia after the war. They have to be careful. England, France, and Germany are not so far away. We can't afford an intervention."

"But what –"

"Darko, Darko, we don't want Serbia to join any war against Bosnia. We are not the villains, and we can't let the world see us that way. We wouldn't stand a chance if the West decided to get involved. Sarajevo must make the declaration of war."

Darko's face hardened. He sucked on his cigarette for a couple of seconds and blew the smoke out into the rain.

"I'm going to Belgrade this Saturday, so I won't be going to Sarajevo for the football match. I'll be meeting with Joko Lipovina."

Darko gave off a look of disgust at the mention of Lipovina. "He's a mercenary. He would sell his own mother into slavery if it would make him money. What do we want with people like that?"

"Weapons. He has access to the weapons we need. Heavy weapons, military-grade. Something we don't have enough off in Srpska. If Sarajevo declared war tomorrow, we would lose within a month. Bosnia’s army is stronger than ours. But a deal with Lipovina... things change."

Darko shook his head in despair.

Kadrić resisted lashing out at Darko. His impatience and rigid nationalistic beliefs prevented him from working with anyone who wasn't committed to their cause. Lipovina ran the largest mafia group in Serbia. His reach stretched across the Balkans, including into the Serbian government itself. They needed him to elevate their cause.

"Relax, my friend."

"You say relax," Darko snapped. "How many years have we been waiting for our freedom? So, we kill a few police officers, counsellors, soldiers, and it does nothing. This is small time."

"Careful." Kadrić didn't hide his irritation. "Remember your place, Darko. I'm the leader of this militia. I don't need a rabid dog's advice. Are you rabid, Darko?"

Darko screwed his face up. His cigarette shook as he vibrated with anger.

Kadrić's eyes widened in anticipation, waiting for Darko to challenge him.

"No," Darko breathed. "No, I'm not. I'm sorry."

"Good." Kadrić's tone softened. "After my meeting with Lipovina – which I expect to go well – you'll know more. On Monday, when I come back to Srpska, we'll begin the next stage of our plans. It'll be bigger than anything we've done since the