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

it takes is one international incident in the newspapers and we are finished, as I am sure you are aware.”

Sinclair relaxed a little. He felt terrible about breaching the trust he’d built up with James over the years, but if it didn’t put him in danger, he had to think about his own future. He looked up at his own reflection in the grimy window. Even the faintness of the image told the story. A fat, single, and rapidly aging man stared back at him. Did he really want to become a grizzled, lonely creature living off his memories?

Guilt, fear, relief, what did he feel? Sinclair wasn’t sure of his feelings. All he knew was he had to do this. For once, he had to do something for himself.

“I understand.”

“Excellent. If you agree, then the deal is on.”

“I accept, sir.”

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

The home crowd howled as one, like a wounded prisoner trapped in a corner. A player in black wheeled away after smashing in yet another goal. The match had started out well, with FK Sarajevo taking the lead, but Banja Luka had responded with three goals in a row. A few bottles had already flown from the stands onto the running track ringing the pitch.

“How long have we got?” asked James. “I can’t see the scoreboard.”

Kemal checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes.” He threw a dismissive hand at the players. “They shame Sarajevo.”

James flicked his eyebrows but said nothing. The air seemed to whirl depending on the mood of the crowd. He could feel it turning, anger becoming outright hostility. He looked over at the line of police officers with riot shields on both sides of the rounded stand. They looked nervous. They knew what was coming. They knew they couldn’t hope to hold back the tide of Horde Sla.

A few minutes passed. The dismissive hisses grew in pitch, punctuated by cries of outrage from furious fans. A Banja Luka player fired a vicious shot through the desperate ranks of FK Sarajevo. The keeper lunged at it, catching the ball by a fingertip and sending it over the bar. Corner kick to Banja Luka.

The Banja Luka player jogged as slowly as he could towards the corner flag, where the ball waited. His apprehension was apparent even from James’ position high up in the stands. Horde Sla wanted his hide, at least a dozen screaming men leaning over the protective fencing and making all manner of gestures.

“James, look. He’s there. Look.”

James glanced at the player taking the corner and sighed. Kemal had become so fixated on the game he’d spent most of it screaming obscenities in his native language and then translating them for him. Finally, Kemal had done his job.

“Look, quick, look, my friend.” Kemal groped for his arm.

When James saw he had his binoculars out and pointing at the opposition fans he froze. He accepted the binoculars from Kemal and adjusted the focus to get a clearer picture of the Banja Luka fans taunting Sarajevo. They waved the chetnik salute, famous for its association with the Bosnian-Serbs and the various massacres of the war.

“Where is he?” James asked, scanning the crowd on the opposite side of the field.

“You see the Nazi sign?”

James adjusted his gaze and found the crude swastika drawn on what looked like a bedsheet. “Yes.”

“A few rows back. He has no hair. Black coat. A grey shirt. Blue jeans.”

James pinpointed the man based on Kemal’s description. “Is he fat or thin?”

“Thin. Very thin. Like…”

“Good. I see him. I’ll keep my eye on him. You go and tell Ismet.”

“Yes, yes, I go.”

Kemal lumbered down from the top of the stadium and began pushing his way through his Horde Sla brethren. James soon lost sight of his new friend. Kemal disappeared amid the sea of maroon. James kept his eyes trained on Ivica, like a hunter tracking its prey. That man was their only way forward, he thought as he felt his gun again. If he escaped, they would be back to square one.

The Banja Luka player at the corner flag hesitated as garbage rained down upon his head. A bottle of beer smashed on the field only feet away from him, showering his boots with white froth. He threw his hands in the air as he appealed to the referee. Red flares soon followed. They blazed at a few thousand degrees and hit the edges of the pitch. Like the eyes of the devil himself, they burned, and smoke billowed across the pitch.

James watched as the first Horde Sla members dropped onto the running track and advanced on the pitch. The players from both teams sprinted away. Horde Sla advanced, screaming like wild animals, dominating the pitch. Yet the riot police maintained their positions, as if nothing had happened.

Ismet materialised from the crowd in front of James. "Now. Now is the time."

"But what about the police?" James called back.

"Police are good. We have time." Ismet made a rubbing gesture with his fingers. "Money. We have a little time."

James nodded. It dawned on him the stack of notes wasn't just so he could get his gun through the gates. Ismet had paid his friend in the police to hold off for a while.

"Come, stay with me. Kemal will get his car."

Horde Sla had now flooded the pitch, occupying nearly every square of turf in their half. Their taunts had worked, and Borac Banja Luka's ultras came to meet the challenge. The riot police were watching but still hadn't moved.

James lifted the binoculars to his face as he stumbled down the steps. He still had his eye on Ivica.

"Hurry, James." Ismet gestured at him. "You come."

James stuffed the binoculars inside his coat and sprinted through the crowd. Ismet climbed over the railing separating the stands from the pitch. His friends