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

catch a glimpse of who had entered. A thin mist had descended upon Jajce, reducing everyone below into black, muddy shapes. The light continued to burn in Pejakovski's house.

"Let's go." Nazifa jerked away from him.

James dragged her back by the arm. "Wait. We need to go at this the right way. He'll be armed, we know that."

"He'll be alone, though."

"He will, but I don't want any of us getting shot. Firstly, do these houses have back doors. Do they go anywhere?"

"Most don't. In Jajce, it's very narrow. No room for gardens. It's not like your England."

"Right. We need to get him out into the open. Something clever. We can't take the risk."

Nazifa looked exasperated by James' caution.

"I've got an idea. Do you think you can get some petrol out of the car?"

She tilted her head in confusion. "What?"

"A Molotov cocktail. If we can start a small fire and put it through the window, he'll have no choice but to come out."

"Ah." Her face broke into a smile and she giggled. "Yes, yes, I know how."

"Good girl. I'll keep a watch on the house from the street. Get a bottle, fill it with petrol, and find something that burns."

"Yes, yes." She was already moving away from him. "I'll come back."

James watched her bound down the steps towards the town again. He tracked her all the way, sweeping his head back at times to keep a watch on the house. The light still burned. This was a high-risk strategy. It would create a commotion, but he knew he couldn't forgive himself if Nazifa got hurt. Throwing a brick through the window didn't guarantee Pejakovski would emerge. Not if he was smart. If he was smart, he would stay where he was, expecting an ambush in the street.

Once Nazifa disappeared from view, he, too, left his position and descended from the fortress. He checked his phone. One o’clock. The town was quiet. Anyone who looked out of their windows now would find it strange to see a figure lingering on the street. He secreted himself behind a wooden restaurant and squatted down on an empty metal beer keg.

About twenty minutes passed before Nazifa returned from the car. She'd managed to procure a beer bottle from a local shop, which was now filled most of the way up with petrol. An old cloth used to clean car windows stuck out of the top.

“What did you use for a siphon?” James asked admiringly but confused at how she solved the difficult part of the challenge.

Nazifa said, “A piece of a hose I took from a garden.”

"Perfect, well done. This should light up nicely."

She grinned. "You're welcome. So, what's the plan?"

James rubbed the bottom of his chin. While she was gone, he’d considered every opportunity, every avenue of potential escape for Pejakovski, as well as the risks of discovery. Nazifa had unintentionally played a trump card by leaving their car outside of the walls. If they were detected, their getaway wouldn't have them getting caught up in the narrow streets.

"Find a brick. Throw it through the window. I'll throw the Molotov right after. Then we need to block off his escape routes --"

"Why? Just shoot him when the door opens."

"Patience, Nazifa. We want him alive, at least to start with. We need to draw him away from this street. There's no cover here. Someone will see the fire. Pejakovski must be drawn away from the house, even if just a little way. There are only two ways he can go. Down the hill behind the fortress or towards the cascades. I want to draw him towards the cascades."

Nazifa threw her head back. "You are too careful with Serbian dogs. Someone will see. They always see."

"We only need him for a few moments. I'll handle that. You must not shoot him until I give the order."

"But James –"

"Promise me," he said, louder than he would have liked.

Nazifa's expression hardened. "Okay."

James swept the street for a wandering drunk or a jerk of a bedroom curtain. The world was quiet here. He allowed himself to breathe, accepting the Molotov from a begrudging Nazifa. Part of him worried he'd made a mistake in bringing her. Would she be able to control her nationalistic rage long enough for him to get something useful out of Pejakovski? He needed him, or he’d find himself back to square one.

Every time his feet scuffed against the cobblestones, he grimaced at the noise, fearing detection. They approached Pejakovski's house. Still, the light burned. As he came closer, he noted a near transparent pair of white curtains. He did his best not to look through the window as he got into position at the side of the front door.

James turned to Nazifa. "No guns, for as long as possible."

She nodded in recognition.

He took out his lighter and held it underneath a corner of the cloth. It took, a small flame beginning to eat its way through the fabric. "Okay, now."

Nazifa reached her arm back, a lump of stone clutched in her fingers. She hurled it with venom through the centre of the window. The glass shattered instantly, the shards falling like the freezing waterfalls mere metres away. James launched the burning Molotov through the window. The curtains shifted like an open mouth. The flames spread instantly. It took only seconds before a loud Bosnian-Serb cry filled the air.

James and Nazifa removed their weapons from their pockets. The door swung open and a half-dressed man in slacks, a pair of slippers, and a half-buttoned shirt darted into the night. They raised their weapons as if to fire.

Pejakovski flinched for a moment only to turn on his heel and flee. Smoke already billowed into the street. James and Nazifa pursued their target. He sprinted like a lion chasing a gazelle, bombing