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

"You don't know this land. You are a foreigner. It's been the same since the war. Yugoslavia was a better land. Tito did good things for this country."

James ran his tongue across the underside of his teeth. He couldn't accept this. Whatever happened, he resolved not to leave until he saw this through to the bitter end. Kadrić had made everything clear during those few seconds. Plemenac would pick up from where Kadrić left off, and he would use his diplomatic immunity to his advantage.

"It makes no sense not to confirm Kadrić's death. His name will be in the papers soon. Maybe sooner online," said Miran. "I don't want to create problems by telling an obvious lie. It is stupid."

James' shoulder sagged in defeat.

"Just let it go, James," said Sinclair. "This isn't our place. Our work here is done." He glanced at Miran. "Our client is very happy with our performance. Kadrić is gone."

"It still doesn't feel right."

"Move on, James."

Chapter Forty-Two

James stood alone on a quiet street in the old town. Midnight threatened to strike when Nazifa appeared. Her impish grin warmed his soul. When she hugged him, he could smell the alcohol on her breath. He gulped, not knowing what to say to her. Every instinct told him to get out now, to think about himself. What did the fate of Bosnia matter to him?

"The bars are still open for another hour or two." Nazifa winked. "Let's go. I am so proud of you, James, you did it."

"Well, it's not as simple as that. Let me tell you exactly what happened."

"Okay, I'm a little drunk, so let's not go too far, eh? How about this one?" Nazifa jabbed her finger at the bar just two doors down.

James agreed and they sat at a table outside. The majority of Sarajevo's old town hadn't changed in centuries. The city had worked hard to protect it from greedy developers and relentless capitalists who would sooner bulldoze it to build grand hotels. As it was, the majority of bars had the same traditional layout and decor.

Despite the cold, Nazifa didn't shiver. She clapped her gloveless hands together in the relatively mild winter evening and ordered them drinks in Bosnian. James couldn't help but shiver. His breath shuddered, as if it took his entire body to make his lungs work.

She placed her hand over his. "You are cold. I got us two rakis. You will be warm soon enough."

Sure enough, two rakijas arrived at their table, along with a half-litre of beer each. They came in short, stubby shot glasses this time.

"Drink," she ordered. "It's pine."

"Pine?" James sniffed it nervously. It smelled like petrol.

"How do you say it in England? Cheers?"

"Cheers."

He swallowed his pine rakija without thinking. James grimaced. The pine rajika tasted like petrol too. It scorched his insides with a roaring fire. Almost instantly, the pine chased the cold out of his joints like a tenant brandishing a bad check.

"That dog is dead," she said with undisguised glee. "Kadrić, may you rot in hell." She seized her other glass and swallowed it.

James, feeling obliged, did the same. Once again, the fire burned inside his stomach. He didn't have the courage to tell Nazifa it was one of the worst drinks he'd ever had.

"So, how did he die? You did it, yes?"

He shook his head. "No. But I was there. He was murdered by an ambassador, Vojo Plemenac, in a deal gone wrong. I didn't understand what was said, but before he died Kadrić told me that Plemenac had taken his place."

"Good, good, let them tear each other apart like the animals they are."

"Nazifa, please, it's not as simple as that."

Nazifa shrugged and took a sip of her beer, leaving a watery white moustache on her upper lip.

"Kadrić might be dead, but what good has it done if another more powerful man has just taken his place? Everyone tells me that I should leave it. My contract says it has nothing to do with me, but it makes me feel empty, like I've accomplished nothing."

The smile faded from Nazifa's face. "You are going to leave?"

"My contract is over, Nazifa. By all accounts, I should leave, but I don't want to. I feel like my work here isn't done."

She seized his hand, cradling it in hers. "Stay here, James. For my country. You will do good things. Kill this ambassador. Kill the people who would bring war on us all again. Don't be like the others..."

James gulped. "The others?"

Nazifa looked sad, as if she'd opened up an old wound. "Foreigners. They come to my country. Take what they want and then go. It has been the same for many years. Turks, Austrians, Germans, Serbians, everyone. They do bad to us and take all that is good. Don't be like them."

He looked away from her. James had considered his work and his role in the world more and more often. Sometimes he wondered whether he wanted to be a contract killer at all. The bad people he killed seemed only to lead to greater evils filling the void. Yet it was what he was made for. There wasn't another life beyond it for him. He’d concluded it long ago.

"Will you stay?"

James felt numb as his head fought with his gut over what to do. "Yes. I'll find out what Plemenac is up to. There won't be a war, I promise you."

Nazifa leaned forward and planted her lips on his. He moved with the kiss, stunned, unsure of what had happened. Snaking his arms around her, he brought her close, feeling the curvatures of her body. It brought a warmth to him that no amount of rakija could replicate.

"No." Nazifa pulled away from him. "I can't. I shouldn't. I'm sorry."

"What?"

Nazifa got up from the