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

etchings of flowers. "Nevertheless, we shouldn't be going out of our way to upset him. You know the penalties of losing this job. Both of us know too much. It would only end one way."

"We came close in Cambodia," James mused.

"Yes... we did."

"All part of the fun, though." He blew the smoke into the air. "Everything will be fine. Unless you decide to tell Gallagher, he will never know, and that's what matters. Besides, you never know what it could lead us to. The game isn't until Saturday."

"Well, I implore you not to bring the fallout back here."

"I want your help with it, Sinclair."

"Oh no. No." He shook his head. "This has nothing to do with me."

"Okay, then I'm demanding your help."

Sinclair locked eyes with James, who returned it with equal fury.

"Please."

"Fine. I'll look him up." Sinclair thrust a finger in his direction. "But just this once. If you want to go off gallivanting with the new woman in your life, you can do it without my help. From this point on, if it has nothing to do with Kadrić I don't want to hear anything about it."

James grinned. "Thanks, Sinclair, I always know I can rely on you."

The intelligence agent lifted a dismissive hand, as if batting away a fly.

Chapter Ten

 

James left the Hotel Old Town with a spring in his step. Now that he'd pacified Sinclair, he could relax. The snows had mercifully stopped, and he could trudge through the clear night without fear of a snow drift swallowing him up. The reflections of the lights gave the streets a slick, oily look. As he made his way towards the old town, he happened upon the two white towers of the Sacred Heart Cathedral dominating the square.

He stopped to admire the old church. To his left, Austro Hungarian style buildings leading to the Miljacka River, with their tall window frames and decorative flourishes of flowers and eyeless human faces. To his right, low Ottoman buildings with their domes, bazaars, and narrow passageways. With high, imposing Austrian grandeur on one side and the dark wood of the Turkish past on the other, the Sacred Heart straddled the boundary between worlds.

James turned towards the Ottoman Baščaršija district and dove into the bustling Turkish area of Sarajevo. Covered bazaars and coffee houses took up every available space. Gawping tourists and locals browsing the restaurants forced everyone to move shoulder-to-shoulder. Thick smoke with a distinctive meaty essence crawled across the clay tile roofs.

He waited at the first junction, as Nazifa had instructed. James took a deep breath as he scanned the crowds, grateful he didn't have to feel his way through the maze of narrow streets.

Nazifa emerged out of the crowd. "Hello, James. How are you?" she said.

A jolt of excitement pulsed through his veins as she came closer, in a thick brown coat she held tight against the cold.

"Good evening, Nazifa. How nice to see you.”

“Are you enjoying the city?”

James eyed his surroundings. “Something like that. Is the weather always this bad?”

“You come at the wrong time of year.”

James shrugged. “So, where are we going?”

“I thought we could speak about Suput. I’m excited to get moving.”

He nodded. “Then I have some good news for you. Sinclair, my intelligence agent, has decided to cooperate with us. We should have enough information to make a move in a matter of days."

Her eyes burned with inspiration. "You know, James, I had a better idea. I have all the information we need to act. Tomislav Suput is not a smart man." She came close to him and lowered her voice, her perfume rising above the charcoal burners of the restaurants. “This man is a fool. I followed him, and he does the same thing every day. He has a pattern. Never changing. I know where he is every minute. He has no security."

"So, what are you saying?" he asked.

"Let's go after him now. Forget planning. Just do it." Her voice became a whisper. "I have my gun."

James gulped. He liked the cut of her jib, but he had concerns over the timing. She didn't, she couldn't, understand the risk he was taking by offering his help in the first place. Sinclair would throw a fit if he acted now without a plan.

"I... I don't know if we should be hasty, Nazifa."

"Just do it. Do it, James. What does your Dickens say about waiting?"

"He who hesitates is lost. David Copperfield, I believe."

"Yes, yes. We should go. We can't lose this."

He wanted to say no. He knew he should have said no and gone out for dinner and a quiet drink, but she had a look about her. Something enchanting in her face that stopped his tongue from forming the words he knew he should.

"Okay. Now," he said.

James and Nazifa moved wordlessly back to the main road, where Nazifa had parked her faded red Vauxhall Corsa. The calm before the plunge. Those last-minute feelings of self-doubt before all hell broke loose. He wondered if she felt it too.

“You drive.”

“But I don’t know the city.”

“It’s okay. The streets are simple away from the Old Town. I will help you.”

James pursed his lips and got into the driver’s seat. He could handle himself in any situation, but he had enough to think about without trying to pick his way through an unknown city.

James drove away from the bustle of the Old Town district under the direction of Nazifa. The Corsa gained no points for style, but it appeared reliable. The engine made a sound akin to a food mixer as it nipped through the streets. The gloomy concrete buildings left behind by socialism opened to the parliament building of Bosnia and Herzegovina.

"So, we're here," said James. "Where would he work?"

"In the lower