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

"This is your fault. You brought them to my door."

Kemal opened his mouth to speak, but the words never came.

"James, I'm sorry but I don't want to see you two here again,” said Ratko. “You've brought me nothing but pain. I don't want you to kill all these people. It makes you no better than them."

James stood stoically, stunned by Ratko’s announcement. After all this, the pacifist still stuck to his guns. It gave James a modicum of respect for the young Bosnian, but he would never understand him.

Nazifa jumped in. She spoke in a raised, squeaky tone in her native Bosnian.

"No, Nazifa." Ratko looked up with tears in his eyes. "I want James and Sinclair to hear this as well. You're just the same as he is. You're responsible for this as well."

"What?" Nazifa exclaimed.

"You killed Tomislav Suput in cold blood. You went to Jajce with James. You're equally as culpable. What happened here tonight is just as much your doing as it is his. I don't care who fired the shot. I want you all gone. All of you. Don't come back."

Nazifa gritted her teeth. The full lips quivered on the verge of an explosion of emotion. Her mouth opened, but she said nothing and stormed out of the room, tipping over the bowl of bloodied water onto the floor. The room remained in total silence as the front door slammed shut.

James ran his tongue across his lips. "Kemal, I will still need your help. Whenever you're ready, give us a call. I apologise for the misunderstanding."

Kemal bowed his head. "Thank you, my friend. I call you. We kill that Croatian bastard Jakov, eh?"

"When the time comes."

Sinclair nodded to affirm that.

The two men bade Kemal goodbye, paying no attention to Ratko as they left. They'd burned one bridge, but they'd saved another. Everything had gone according to plan, but they both knew they were being hunted. The situation was deteriorating. Time was running out.

Chapter Thirty-Five

James and Sinclair returned to the Hotel Old Town. The lights burned on their floor as they stood outside. James' insides turned to jelly. Ratko's attackers were likely still within the city limits of Sarajevo. Who was to say they wouldn't have a second ambush planned that same day?

"You didn't leave the lights on, did you?" asked James hopefully.

"No. I turned everything off and locked the door. It has three different locks. Would be difficult to break in."

James removed his pistol from his coat as Sinclair unlocked the front door. He moved into the barren entrance hall. A gust of cold air followed them inside. Like a crab, he ascended the steps one by one, checking the bannisters for any signs of life.

Three flights of steps later he came to their front door. For reasons he never understood, a paper written with the name ‘James Ryan’ was stuck to the window. The door didn't look forced. The locks remained in place. It only set his nerves further on edge. He took a deep breath as he turned back to Sinclair and nodded.

Sinclair gingerly stepped forwards. He cradled the keys like a kitten to prevent any jingling. As carefully as he could, he unlocked each of the three locks. With every turn of the keys, he grimaced.

James’s mouth went dry from fear. He steadied his breathing, aiming his gun at the door, clear of Sinclair’s looming body.

Sinclair finished unlocking the door. He raised his hand in a signal for James to ready himself. Whoever stood on the other side would get the first shot.

Ducking down, James used his palm to push the door open with as much care as he could. It remained silent on its half-oiled hinges.

The hallway looked clear. James advanced into the apartment, spinning to check the bathroom. Clear. He turned back. Someone had switched on the television. The light from the screen blinked he heard no sound. This was their floor. No other guest would have access to their suite.

He stepped gently, praying the floor wouldn't creak. Stopping at the door to the living room, he leaned close to the crack where the hinges met the wall. Through the slit, he observed two men sitting on the sofa glued to the TV. From here, he could detect no weapons.

James jumped from his hiding place. "Who are you?" He swung the gun from man to man.

"Good evening, Mr. Winchester," said a short man with spiky hair and dark glasses. "We were wondering when you would arrive."

"Who are you?" His gaze never left the men's hands.

"Miran Heranda," the man in the dark glasses said. "At least I hope it's you and not Mr. Wood. If so, I apologise."

James lowered the gun. Miran was the man who had enlisted the services of Blackwind to eliminate Kadrić.

"Sinclair," James called. "It's okay."

Sinclair appeared at James' shoulder, peering with distrust into the room.

"Mr. Wood? Is that you? I'm glad to meet you at last. This is my helper Nemanja Zvecevac. He's a good man. You can trust him."

James acknowledged Nemanja with a tip of his head. He had a completely shaved dome and a narrow ginger goatee framed by a two-day stubble. His forehead appeared slightly too heavy, weighing down his eyes, leaving them with a slanted look.

"How did you get in here?"

Miran chuckled. "This is my hotel. I told Mr. Gallagher any of his agents could stay here. It's in the centre and quite safe. I thought it better for you to stay here with someone you can trust. You never know who owns the hotels here. Lots of mafia. Dangerous people, some of them."

James nodded and approached the two men. He sat on the edge of a stool near the sofa, still unsure what to make of all this.

"You surprised us," Sinclair explained. "We