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

Sinclair reddened. “No need to be rude.”

James walked a couple of steps ahead of Sinclair. The phone call on the train had rattled him. Sinclair would have never asked for a pay rise without telling him about it. He was up to something, and James didn’t like it one bit.

James weaved in and out of the happy couples parading along the gravel-lined paths of the Park. He looked back to find Sinclair pausing near the gatehouse to admire the renovated drawbridge and solid wooden doors.

He, too, paused, unsure of leaving Sinclair out of his line of sight. Now he felt hunted. James almost expected betrayal. He didn’t know if he could trust anyone anymore, not even Sinclair.

Shortly, Sinclair caught up with him, the rush exacerbating his limp. “What? I wanted to look at the fortress. It’s been years since I came to Belgrade.”

James grunted in response and continued on. He gazed up at the sky; grey and angry, symbolising his current mood.

He continued, noting the features of the park: the undulations in the gentle hills, the positions of the trees, the long, winding paths. Where would both parties choose to remain discrete yet safely within the public gaze?

“James.” Sinclair nudged his elbow. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay.” Sinclair rolled his eyes. “If Miran was right, we need to look for open spaces. Close to the edge over there. Do you see where all those people are standing?”

James followed Sinclair’s finger. A group of people in drab winter coats milled around a patch of grass with a view over the city. It offered the ideal photo opportunity. Key to the clandestine meeting, Kadrić and Plemenac would have more than 100 metres of open ground in every direction.

“Do you ever wonder why they chose to meet here instead of a restaurant or a café?” asked James.

“I thought it quite strange. It makes no sense to choose a place like this. The only reason I can think of would be to avoid anyone photographing him and Plemenac in public. It would be a scandal for an ambassador to be seen meeting with the leader of a Bosnian-Serb nationalist organisation.”

“That seems logical. In the middle of the night no one will recognise them. I hope we can trust Miran.”

Sinclair raised an eyebrow. “You’re being paranoid again, James. Why would Miran want us dead? To begin with, he requested our presence. Blackwind has no role in this conflict, not until now, and that’s his doing.”

James didn’t respond. What Sinclair said made sense, but it was in his nature to see enemies everywhere. Too many people had turned out to be not who they appeared to be. When it was his life on the line, he chose excessive paranoia.

“That looks like the closest place.” James pointed at the crumbling inner fortress wall. “It’s the best I’ve got.”

“Will you be able to see them from there?”

“I think so. But I won’t be able to hear them.” James scratched his head. “Even at night, I won’t be able to get any closer without potentially scaring them away. Chasing Kadrić through here is too risky. I could hit the wrong person.”

“Then there it will have to be… wait.” Sinclair scrutinized the wall.

James followed him. “What is it?”

“You see where they keep the old foundations behind the glass there?”

“Yes.”

“Look up. There are lights pointing outwards. They must be to illuminate the open spaces. If you hide behind them, they’ll never look over there because the light will dazzle them.”

The corners of James’ mouth twitched upwards. “Good man. I’ll be able to see them, but they won’t be able to see me. I think we have our plan.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Plemenac arrived at the fortress just after one in the morning. Saturday night meant teenagers drinking cans of cheap beer in the shadows of the grounds. He stared straight ahead, with a posture that dared anyone to challenge him. Nobody did. As his eyes adjusted to the poorly lit grounds of the fortress park, he took a deep breath to steady himself. Tonight, was the defining night of the growing powder keg in the Balkans. If things didn't go according to plan, the scars would take generations to heal.

He approached the meeting point at the lookout over Belgrade. To his ire, he found a group of giggling Serbian teens leaning against the balcony overlooking the cliffs. That was a problem. He lingered at a distance, standing alone in the middle of the lawn. Plemenac took out his phone, pretending to check it and bouncing the pads of his fingers off the screen.

When he looked up again. Kadrić had just arrived, moving towards him, his head down, hands in his pockets.

"Ambassador Plemenac," Kadrić began. "I'm so glad you called me here for this meeting. I'm excited about our next move."

Plemenac gave him a thin smile. "Unforeseen circumstances. Come, move away."

Kadrić led Plemenac along the flank of the cliff, touching the top of the freezing cold safety rail. There could be no mistakes. Anyone in this fortress could be a spy. A bent ear could undermine the ambassador’s position. His diplomatic immunity was critical to the operation.

"Ambassador, foreigners are moving against us in Bosnia. They ‘ve put a price on my head, but I don't know who they are. They have already assassinated our brothers. I also have my suspicions about the shootings in Mostar."

Plemenac nodded. "Yes. Their names are James Winchester and Sinclair Wood. Foreign mercenaries hired to kill you."

Kadrić's mouth dropped open. "How... how did you know?"

"I've already met with them. They requested it. Isn't that the strangest thing? They were trying to gauge which side I'm on, but I left them with nothing."

"And you didn't tell me?" Kadrić said through gritted teeth.

"No, I didn't think it pertinent at the