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

“It’s too dangerous. We know next to nothing about Pejakovski. There’s no way of knowing what you might be walking into.”

He dismissed Sinclair with a wave of his hand. “I’ve faced worse odds and I’m willing to do it again. My choice and we need time to move quickly or we miss the opportunity. I’ll prepare the best I can.”

Flashes of Cambodia came back to him. At Angkor Wat, on the summit of a temple in the sweltering forests, he’d fought off a private army. He’d fought his way down the mountain and completed his mission. There had been no chance of retreat, no chance of surrender, yet he’d succeeded. And he’d enjoyed it.

“But don’t you agree that we should minimise the chances of putting you in that situation,” Sinclair exclaimed. “Think long-term. You’re not invincible. A bullet can kill you as it can kill anyone else.”

“I agree.” James remained calm. “And now I think we have reached the point where we have no other choice. We have no further leads and no further opportunities. I went to that football game with Ismet and Kemal and that was the reward. The name of Goran Pejakovski, a man close to Kadrić. I will make the decision.”

Sinclair sighed and turned his back on James. He crossed the Stari Most at a quick walk, with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

James followed on behind at a suitable distance. There was no doubt in his mind that he was right. Sinclair didn’t understand what it was like to operate in the field. Overly cautious and careful, Sinclair’s approach would lose them the only path they had to tracking down Kadrić. Time was running out.

The two men retraced their earlier steps through the old town of Mostar. On the return route, James picked out a couple of buildings that reminded him of the Austro-Hungarian style he’d seen from Sarajevo. But he couldn’t enjoy the scene. Plans to eliminate Pejakovski and, then, Kadrić formed in his mind.

The rain intensified. People huddled inside restaurants, cafes, and under the hanging roofs. Sinclair and James plunged onwards. James remained a few steps behind Sinclair, content to leave him to his thoughts. A car screeched along the river below. James turned. Three men got out.

"Move!" James screamed at Sinclair.

James sprinted towards Sinclair and threw him around the corner. The violent booms of guns exploding sliced through the growing deluge. Screams cut the air. People fled for their lives. James flattened himself against the wall and pulled out his gun in one swift movement. He fired back blindly.

"Get your gun out," he ordered.

Sinclair removed his rarely used weapon, the same Glock 19 pistol James wielded.

James peeked around the corner. The men advanced up the narrow medieval street. He fired once and a man dropped, his gun clattering away into the gutter. The other two took cover behind shopfronts and fired back.

"On our right," said Sinclair.

Another pair of men flanked them. Sinclair fired in their direction. The two headed for cover in another alleyway.

"We've got to move. Get to the main road," cried James.

James broke cover and ran back into the central street, firing as he did. Sinclair guarded his right, picking off wild shots. They flew into a separate side street.

James felt the net closing around them. Jakov had planned this. He must have issued the order immediately after leaving the restaurant. Passing a couple cowering behind a stall filled with Mostar keyrings, James urged Sinclair on.

James manned the rear. One of Jakov's men made a break for them, flying like an animal out of another alley. He fired a single shot, the hot metal leaving a trail of fire through his neck. The blood of Mlakar’s man quickly started to run down the street towards the river a few blocks away.

"Go up," James commanded.

"Fucking hell, James, this is ridiculous. They're everywhere."

He ran ahead of Sinclair to check the next turning. More of Jakov's men already had it covered. He fired again at the two. They dove for cover, returning fire. The ruse worked. Grabbing Sinclair by the shoulder, he forced him down another street, adjacent to the river, and the bus station. In his mind's eye, he had their direction firmly planted in his mind.

Sinclair's face glowed with fatigue. Sweat and raindrops dripped down his forehead. His breathing came ragged and forced, a strange squeaking coming from the depths of his chest.

"We've got to keep moving, Sinclair. We don't have the time."

Sinclair raised a hand in exasperation. "I... I can't breathe."

James gritted his teeth. "Fuck it. Get in here."

He seized Sinclair by the scruff of the neck and forced him into a shop filled with gold and silver items. The shopkeeper rose from the floor behind the counter.

Sinclair stumbled against a display as James thrust him into the shop.

He levelled his gun at the shopkeeper. The bearded Bosnian raised his hands in surrender as he quaked in his shoes.

James turned to Sinclair. "Hide in the back. It might give us a chance. There's only a few hundred meters to the bus station."

"Alright, fine. What about him?" He threw a thumb at the pale looking shopkeeper.

"You've got a gun; you figure it out."

"Wait, where are you going?"

James turned away from Sinclair. "I'm going to fix our problem." He stalked away from Sinclair and made his way back into the deluge. A bullet whizzed past his ear, forcing him to hit the floor. James rolled over, desperate to see where it came from. Another barrage of fire hit the floor. James squinted and fired at anything that looked like men. He heard a cry and the slapping of shoes as they ran for cover.

James ejected the spent cartridge and clicked another one in, never letting his aim drop. Thunder rumbled in the distance. He heard the Croatian