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

Sinclair had spent night and day typing away on his laptop, researching Plemenac and liaising with Finch. James continued his latest chain-smoking rally on the balcony. Grabbing his steaming hot coffee, he sipped at the bitter drink. The more he stared at the faltering brick wall of the building across the way, the more enamoured he became with the chipped cement and fading graffiti.

Sinclair popped into the seat by his side as a breeze rustled through the curtains. “I have something,” he said, and James looked at him with interest. “For now, this is probably all I’m going to get on Plemenac before I go back to London.”

“What is it?”

Sinclair flipped open the navy-blue notepad he used to jot his findings. “For a start, Vojo Plemenac isn’t his real name. It’s Dragomir Ristovski. He changed it in the year 2000 after the fall of Slobodan Milošević’s regime. Plemenac fought in the Bosnian and Kosovoan Wars.”

James put his coffee down. “Now that’s interesting. Why would he do something like that?”

“Like so many soldiers who committed atrocities, he was protected by the government of the day. So, he wasn’t charged with anything. Finch was unable to procure anything of value from his time in Kosovo, but his unit was stationed near Srebrenica under Colonel-General Mladić. He served as a sniper for most of his military service.”

James didn’t need to ask for an explanation. Srebrenica was the most famous massacre of the Bosnian War. More than 8,000 men and boys were slaughtered as part of the ethnic cleansing of Bosnian Muslims in the area. Over 30,000 women, children, and elderly were systematically abused and expelled from their homes.

“Well, I suppose that explains the name change,” said James.

“He also has connections with the Bosnian-Serb mafia. Most likely the same connections Kadrić would have used.”

James rolled his eyes. “We could have guessed all this easy enough. What else?”

Sinclair flipped a page. “Nothing much. Other than the fact he’s also a spy. But it’s standard practice for nations to place spies into their diplomatic corps, so nothing new there.”

“That’s it?”

“All we could find. If Finch failed to find anything more, it means the information must have either been hidden in the extreme depths of government files, or it was destroyed. I would not discount that as Serbia has experienced rather a lot of turbulence since the beginning of the dissolution of Yugoslavia.”

James leaned forwards. “So, where does that leave us?”

“Us? I think you forget that this has nothing to do with me. Truthfully, it also has nothing to do with you. This is a huge project, James. Sometimes it’s best to leave well enough alone. I’m imploring you one last time to come to London with me.”

James shot back in his chair. “No. Never. I’m standing on the right side of history here. Plemenac cannot get away with this. I don’t want to be watching the Balkans burning on TV from somewhere in the world when I knew I could have done something about it.”

Sinclair slapped his notebook against his leg. “You really are unconscionable. Think logically. This is so much more than one man. Stop focusing on Plemenac.”

“He could see thousands more killed. You know what he probably did during those wars. Isn’t there such a thing as justice?”

Sinclair scoffed at that. “Justice? Oh, come on, James. Remember the career you chose. This is not about justice. You remove Plemenac and someone else will replace him. When we arrived in Bosnia everything pointed towards Kadrić being the match that would set the flame. Now he’s gone, and nothing has changed.”

“Sinclair –”

“When are you going to learn that not all the world’s problems can be solved with a bullet?”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Gordon Maugham had landed in Bosnia mere hours ago. A fresh coating of shimmering snow sparkled on the balconies of the socialist tower blocks. Yuki Minamo, the dour Japanese assassin, accompanied him in the car they'd rented at the airport. As they idled outside one particular tower block, they checked their watches in synchronisation.

"Remember, Yuki, Gallagher wants her alive."

"And undamaged?" asked Yuki.

Yuki's accent still bore the hallmarks of his Japanese homeland, but he spoke English better than most English people. The six-foot Japanese, born in Hawaii, had chosen to spend much of his career working for the Americans. After becoming bored with bureaucracy, he'd soon offered his services as an assassin on the open market.

Gordon remembered his conversation with Gallagher. He'd recalled Gordon from his home in Cornwall during his scheduled time off. Gallagher rarely recalled him with such short notice, but Gordon understood the urgency.

"He never said anything about undamaged," he replied in a soft East London accent.

"Good."

Gordon and Yuki continued to wait for Nazifa Aleksi. He glanced down at the photograph on his phone. Her military ID was a few years old, but her purple hair would mark her out from the rest in the monochrome setting of a Bosnian winter.

"If there are any witnesses?"

Gordon turned his ugly mug towards Yuki. Some said that he looked like one of the notorious London gangsters, the Kray Twins. Nobody ever did tell him which one.

"There is a police station not far from here," Yuki continued.

"We were given no guidelines. Use no guns."

Yuki responded by pulling his pistol out of its holster and depositing it in the glove compartment. Instead, he checked his combat knife and a pair of handcuffs. A couple of snowflakes danced across the windscreen, only to be whipped upwards into the misty glow of the streetlights.

"Why does he want her alive? It would be easier to kill her than to waste our time moving her."

Gordon shrugged. "The only reason this Aleksi woman is important to begin with is because of James Winchester. Gallagher wants him out of Bosnia. If