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

"I want a report on Bosnia. Have you made any progress on Kadrić?" He stiffened at Gallagher's posh tones, remarkably calm and official in contrast to his frayed nerves.

"We are still in the early stages," replied Sinclair, forcing himself to sound equally calm and official. "We have made contact with multiple groups in the Sarajevo area, and we will see where it leads us."

"Good. Then perhaps you would like to explain to me why Tomislav Suput was assassinated in the middle of traffic?"

Sinclair took a sharp intake of breath. "Excuse me, sir?"

"Member of the House of Representatives Tomislav Suput. Known Bosnian-Serb nationalist. He was eliminated on his way home from work on one of the major roads leading through Sarajevo."

Sinclair tightened his grip on the phone to stop his hand from shaking. "Nobody has reported that on the news. I was not aware that this Suput had been killed."

"Were you investigating him?"

"No, we were not. The White Rose organisation was, on the other hand. It's a local group dedicated to achieving a resolution to ethnic tensions through peaceful means. I doubt its leader, Ratko Avdić, had anything to do with it, since he's a pacifist."

"I see. Where is Winchester?"

"Out, sir."

"At four in the morning?" Gallagher sounded incredulous. "What would he possibly be doing in the field at this time?"

"I don't know, sir."

"I see." Gallagher paused. "I dearly hope you had nothing to do with this. If so, it was a highly ill-advised move to be so blatant. The murder of a politician for no good reason would make things extremely difficult for this operation."

"I understand, sir."

“I want to believe you, I really do. However, I know that Winchester is rather loose with his decision-making. I could trust you more if I were able to monitor his activities to a greater degree.”

Sinclair ran his tongue over his teeth and drummed his fingers on the table. “Are you asking me to spy on him?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t do it. Never. You must understand that in the field we can only operate to such a high degree of efficiency because we trust each other implicitly. I won’t betray that trust. Take it from me, James gets the results we want, and that’s what matters.”

Gallagher paused for a long time, ratcheting up the tension. “That is an order, Wood. A direct order. Are you aware of the consequences of insubordination?”

Sinclair’s fingers drummed faster and harder against the wood. “Yes, sir.”

“Then will you do it?”

“I will.”

“Good. I want regular reports regarding his activities in the field. You are not to tell him anything about this conversation. I am becoming increasingly concerned about his conduct and his willingness to disobey orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

"Very well, good night."

Sinclair ended the call. The blood pumped in his ears. Gallagher must know James had murdered Suput. Sinclair had no evidence to disprove it. Experience told him Suput must have died at James’ hands. He went to the fridge and removed the chilled half-bottle of vodka. Pouring a glass immediately, he knocked it back. The stakes had just risen.

Chapter Twelve

Belgrade, City of Belgrade, Serbia

Kadrić stepped out of a taxi below the tall white ridge of the Belgrade Fortress. The great citadel dominated the skyline of Belgrade from the lofty Kalemegdan Park. He stared up at it flanked by two of his personal bodyguards.

A dull grey morning greeted him, the sky like a sheet of freshly laid concrete. The wind whipped across the choppy rivers of the Danube and the Sava confluence. His two bodyguards swept the area for threats to the Bosnian-Serb leader. Davor and Krsto, identical twins, with bodies like a pair of club bouncers and shaved heads like fresh army recruits. They spoke little, which is why Kadrić had chosen them.

"Is Lipovina here?" he asked of nobody in particular.

"Eleven o' clock," said one of the twins.

"Good. Be on your guard but remember he's a friend. We need him."

His bodyguards grunted in response.

Kadrić started moving along the riverbank. The famous floating clubs of Belgrade drifted in the waters, as little squalls lapped at their immense foundations. Most of them were owned by various mafia types from across the Balkans and Russia.

Revolution stuck out as one of the largest. Resembling a floating island more than a club, colourful lights snaked across the imposing nightclub and large green signage stood affixed to the sloping lead roof.

From the outside, Revolution looked closed. A couple of men hunched over their brooms swept the outdoor areas of the debris from the night before. Kadrić lingered at the beginning of the bridge for a few moments, hoping to catch their attention..

"Good morning," Kadrić raised a hand in greeting. "I'm here for a meeting with your boss."

The two men just stared at him for a moment. One of them lifted his head, his ferret-like eyes judging the threat to their boss inside Revolution. “Your name,” he said.

"Sadik Kadrić."

"Come," said the other man. "He's expecting you."

The bridge swayed slightly as Kadrić and his two bodyguards stepped across to the club.

A tall man built like a house on legs appeared at the main entrance. Kadrić knew him only by his nickname, Tarzan.

"Good morning, Tarzan." They exchanged firm handshakes. "How is Joko?"

"Good. Very good." Tarzan didn't smile. "They stay outside."

Kadrić nodded back at Davor and Krsto. Lipovina didn't take chances, even with those professed to be his closest friends. Not that anyone could truly be close friends with a mafia chief.

"Follow me, Sadik."

Tarzan led the way through Revolution. The lights were turned down, except for the dim green 'Exit' lights, which prevented them from being enveloped in total darkness. Kadrić soon found himself standing in the main VIP area, with restaurant-style tables set in front of the panoramic window giving patrons a