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

him beneath the waterline. He remembered Jessi Montoya. He dwelled on the pain it had caused him for months afterwards. Even today, he still wondered where she had gone after leaving his home in Mexico that morning.

"Here is the top of the waterfall." Nazifa pointed down the curving street. "Can you hear?"

James blinked, flinging his thoughts back into their compartments. Above the winter gatherings, he heard the distinctive sound of Jajce's double waterfalls. He ploughed on, gazing into the side streets and memorising them for later.

"I came here many years ago," Nazifa continued as they reached the pools, lit by small cat's eyes. "Many years ago..." she trailed off.

James barely glanced at the pools, seeing that they ran into a sharp drop below. A little way off from the pools, a long staircase led downwards to, he presumed, a viewing platform of some kind at the bottom of the cascades.

"Nazifa?"

No answer.

"Nazifa?" He looked back to find Nazifa standing as if glued to the cobblestones. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing... just memories." Her eyes became glassy, catching the light like a raindrop clinging to the end of a blade of grass. "It was not a happy time."

"Can I help you?"

"No, no." Nazifa brushed past him. "I know this street. We are not far from the house. It should be just down here."

James lingered for a moment as Nazifa plunged onwards. He wanted her to share what she was thinking with him. But he knew better than to push. It was as if he could see Sinclair's disapproval radioing in from Sarajevo. The mission. The mission was all that mattered.

"Yes." Nazifa pointed at a blue street sign, half in shadow. "This is the street. And the number on the house here. We are six or seven doors away. Let's get him, James. Let's do it now. For Bosnia."

"No, wait. We could be walking into a trap. We don't know how well protected he is. Could we see the house from up there?" He gestured to the steps leading up to Jajce's fortress, which stared down upon the entire town.

"Maybe. I don't know."

James didn't wait for her to make a decision. He strode up the steps without clinging to the handrail. His boots crunched against the fresh snow. With every flight of stairs dug into the hillside that he ascended, the wintery air chilled his cheeks, like tiny needles probing at his skin. He screwed his face up to shake it off.

Goran Pejakovski's home stood opposite the hillside. James ascended about three-quarters of the way up, until the fortress walls blocked it from view. When he looked below, he had a clear line of sight towards the front door.

Nazifa hopped up behind him like a spring hare, her breathing heavy.

"This is as far as we can go." He checked behind him out of habit. "Does anyone go into the fortress at night?"

"Kids... with their girlfriends."

James inclined his head. "What I'd give for a sniper rifle up here. There doesn't seem to be anyone in the house."

"It's not so late. It's just dark very early. He may be drinking."

"Let's hope so. Look, I know it's cold up here and we might have to wait here for hours." He leaned against the freezing railing. "Feel free to go down and wait somewhere. I can call you later if I see anything."

Nazifa frowned, the tip of her nose had turned a deep shade of pink. "No, I stay."

Chapter Thirty-One

The hours rolled on. Little by little, the lights of the bars started to vanish. More of Jajce disappeared under the blue-black shroud of encroaching night. As Nazifa said, couples passed them by with conspiratorial expressions on the run from their parents, using the thick fortress walls to gain the privacy they craved. Some of them walked in silence, others revelling in the euphoria of cheap beer. James remained motionless, his eyes never leaving Goran's home.

Their target lived in an old Ottoman brick building. Its terracotta roof tiles seemed jumbled and uneven, as if they'd been added in a hurry. The longer James waited, the more deserted the building appeared.

Doubts began to creep into James' mind. It was Kemal who had provided him with this information. There were no guarantees the information was genuine or that it wasn't out of date. He started to question his primary contact all over again. After what had happened in Mostar, he still couldn't discount his betrayal, no matter what Nazifa said.

Nazifa shuddered. "It's cold."

James grunted.

"I don't think he is here. Maybe we should find a room to stay in before it gets too late."

Her words warmed him from the inside. Yet as he looked away from the house, he couldn't decipher the meaning behind her words. Her face seemed warm and inviting, yet there were no modulations in her voice that could indicate something more.

"You're not used to spending this long watching a house, are you?" James remarked.

"No." She folded her hands underneath her armpits.

"It's boring and it isn't pleasant, but it's a necessary part of the job. Sometimes it can take an hour. Sometimes it can take days, or even longer. Pejakovski might not even be in Jajce now, for all we know."

"We could ask his neighbours. Everyone talks in Bosnia."

"No, it's too risky. You never know who you're talking to. A neighbour could say someone was asking about him, and that could scare him away. We might never find him again if he thinks someone is hunting him."

"Then let's get a room." A thin smile crossed her face as she inched closer to him. "I am very cold."

"Look." James snapped his gaze back towards the Pejakovski house. The door had opened and a bright light appeared in the window next to it. "It must be him."

The door closed before he could