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

they could use narrow Ottoman streets as cover, if necessary. Tour groups toting enormous cameras and locals trying to stay out of the way jostled for position along the banks of the river. Little stalls crammed into wooden overhangs sold the usual array of cheap bracelets and trinkets.

He observed the steep reconstructed Stari Most. The bridge appeared to climb at an impossible angle to a point in the middle, before descending again. Good cover, perhaps? Lots of people on the pedestrian walk to deter an attacker. He noted it down in his mind as a potential escape route if their meeting went south.

"The Stari Most just means Old Bridge," said Sinclair on the approach. The local divers make a living jumping off this thing."

"What about the ones who don't?"

Sinclair trudged up the bridge, the rows of limestone set on top of the bridge as makeshift steps. They trod uneasily along the slick limestone, its usual white elegance stained grey by the murky day.

"Always a few who die every year. An Australian once jumped off the wrong side of the bridge at night. His head washed up on the riverbank a few weeks later."

James peered over the side. The dark waters frothed as they slammed into the sharp rocks stabbing out of the riverbed. He didn't fancy his chances and was dwelling on the results of diving from the bridge when his phone started to ring.

"Hello?"

"James, my friend. It's Kemal. You in Mostar?"

"Yes, we're here. We'll be meeting Jakov soon."

"Okay, good. Very good, yes. Be careful. Jakov is a good man, but he doesn’t know you. Play nice. You have your guns?"

James' forehead creased. "I do. Why are you telling me this now?"

"Don't worry, my friend. I just want you to be careful. Jakov is a nice man, but a dangerous man. A businessman."

"Okay," he replied slowly. "Should I be worried?"

"No, no, just be careful. Please. I go now. Call me when you are finished."

James bade Kemal goodbye. He shuddered at the strangeness of Kemal’s call. It seemed suspicious. Had they walked into a trap? Did Kemal betray them to an animal only to have a final change of heart?

"What's wrong?" Sinclair joined him on highest point of the bridge. "Who was that?"

"Kemal. He just asked me whether I was armed and to be careful. Today he said this Jakov is a dangerous man, but when we met him last he said we could trust him."

Sinclair looked worried. "We should go. We can find another way around this. It's too much of a risk. It sounds like Kemal is checking on our progress, fishing for information."

"No." James shook his head. "No, we're here now. I can handle whatever he throws at us. There are so many witnesses around that nobody with a brain would try anything in plain view. This restaurant is in a public place. We're safe... relatively speaking."

Sinclair's enormous heft rose and fell as he gulped in the frigid air. "Okay, okay, but you know I'm no good in the field. I can fire a gun, but I don't want it to come to that."

"Don't worry, I can handle it."

“James –”

“I said I can handle it.”

For all of James' bravado, the bells had started to ring out in warning. He kept his hands crammed in his pockets to stop himself from fidgeting in front of Sinclair. His heart thudded against the cold, metal of the gun in his inside pocket.

James and Sinclair’s tour around Mostar soon came to a premature end as the time for their meeting crept up on them. The two men crossed the Stari Most to the other bank of the river. The restaurant where they would meet Mlakar had full panoramic views of the river, the bridge, and most of the old town.

A waiter dressed in black with a disinterested smile directed them to a table on the second floor where they walked past walls covered in copper cooking implements, black-and-white photographs of Mostar, and crocheted fabrics in traditional Balkan patterns. From here, James could see down onto the ground floor. More importantly, he could watch anyone who came inside from above.

James had no desire to eat. He just wanted the meeting to start so he could assess the situation. To avoid attracting attention, Sinclair forced him to place an order. A fresh pot of Bosanski Lonac arrived soon afterwards, a Bosnian pot stew filled with potatoes, chunks of meat, and red peppers. Sinclair spooned it into two colourful bowls, but neither of them wanted to engage in their usual banter.

"What's the time?" James said after he chewed a chunk of meat.

"He should have arrived by now."

James took a deep breath. He'd never removed his coat, and the gun still hung heavy against his breast. His heart continued to thud with every passing minute as if it sensed the threat in the air.

Sinclair nudged him and jabbed his head towards the windows. "That must be him. Stay quiet. Act like you're meeting the Queen and I'll lead."

James looked over his shoulder downstairs. A man with grey windswept curls entered the restaurant, followed by a small entourage of thuggish bodyguards. He wore a light grey suit and a salmon pink tie. The way he carried himself told James there was no doubt this man was Jakov Mlakar. The waiters appeared to look upon him with some deference as one directed him upstairs.

When he came up the stairs, James and Sinclair stood politely. Jakov acknowledged them with a nod.

"Mr. Mlakar, a pleasure to meet you. My name is Sinclair Wood, and this is my associate, James Winchester."

"Of course, of course, Mr. Wood. I see you like our food, eh?" Jakov gestured at the remains of their meal.

"Very much so."

Jakov gave them a thin smile. "Mr. Winchester." He gripped his hand.