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

vision. A shot rang out. In a millisecond, Darko felt himself being propelled forwards onto the grassy hill leading down to the riverbank. It took his mind a few seconds to register the pain. His leg throbbed in agony, the flesh torn, the bone splintered.

He opened his mouth to scream when the second shot came for him. It punctured his back. Darko didn't need a doctor to tell him it was over. His head rolled backwards in defeat to meet the sky. In his final few seconds, he wondered if the fishermen had caught anything yet.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Sarajevo, Sarajevo Canton, Bosnia and Herzegovina

Nazifa still wouldn't answer the phone. His calls rang through to her voicemail. Her silence tortured him throughout the day. Part of him wondered whether to visit her, but then he remembered he didn't know where she lived. Miserable and lost, he spent much of the day moping around the apartment. He knew Sinclair would leave within hours and then he would be on his own. Sometimes he wished his conscience would allow him to turn his mind off from the horrors of the world.

James picked up his phone from the side table in the hope it would have a message from Nazifa. Nothing. Nothing at all. He unlocked his phone and clicked into his address book. When he came to Gallagher's name, he knew he had to come clean. He had to set the record straight. Tapping on his name, he called directly through to his personal line.

"Winchester?" said Gallagher.

"Gallagher, we need to talk."

"In that, we are of one mind. Winchester, what the bloody hell do you think you're playing at? This cannot continue. Kadrić is dead. That should be the end of the matter."

"No, Gallagher, I think you need to listen to me for once. Plemenac murdered Kadrić, you know that. He visited us at the hotel last night. We had quite a discussion. As it turns out, Plemenac admitted that he would take over from where Kadrić left off."

"And why is this relevant to us?"

James flashed with anger. "Because stopping Plemenac is the right thing to do. I told you I would stay here."

"I said I would let you take your anger out on Mlakar, not on Plemenac. I will not authorise the removal of Plemenac."

"Why not?" he cried. "It's the right thing to do. I'm not asking for help. The risk would be entirely on me."

"I have no interest in your moral compass, Winchester. The only thing worse than my agents catching religion is catching a conscience. I will say it again, so you understand it. First, Plemenac is an ambassador with diplomatic immunity. It would end Blackwind. Nobody would touch us, and there is a high chance most of us would be prosecuted internationally. Second, I will not expend our resources on a target when nobody is paying for it. Do you understand?"

James' pulse fired. Gallagher had always been such a cold, calculating boss, but he simply refused to acknowledge the need to perform any good in the world.

"I expect you to return to London by the end of the week. This matter goes no further."

"Then I respectfully refuse."

"Winchester! I will terminate your contract of employment without hesitation if you don't stand down now."

James picked up his cigarette and began to chew on the filter. Both knew what the dismissal of a field agent of his seniority meant. He knew too much about what they'd done and the way their operations worked. That information could come in handy for the authorities, rival private military organisations, and criminal groups. The only answer in those circumstances was liquidation.

"No, you won't," said James. "You know I'm the best you've got."

"That may well be the case, Winchester. However, you are fast becoming a liability." Gallagher’s voice softened. "I implore you to see sense, Winchester. There are many hills to die on, but why die on this hill? Nobody will thank you for it. It is not your hill. Stand down, if not for the sake of the company, but for the sake of Wood and yourself."

James thought it through. To an outsider, his stand did seem ill-conceived and unnecessary, but was still a worthy cause. This was the right thing to do not for a nationality but for humanity. If his actions stopped a conflict, he had done his duty.

"Goodbye, Gallagher."

He hung up before Gallagher could retort and switched off his phone. A thin sheen of sweat had built up across his forehead. This conversation would buy him some time. Gallagher was bluffing, at least for now. James was too valuable to Blackwind and they both knew it.

Sinclair bounded onto the balcony. "James. Come look at this. Hurry up."

"What?" James said without moving.

"You’re fucked."

James left his cigarette burning on the edge of the ashtray and followed Sinclair into the living room. The television was on. The afternoon news had a big red strip across the bottom of the screen with breaking news. He recognised the pictures coming in from central Banja Luka.

"We passed that fortress when we were there. What about it?"

"Look. They should put the pictures up in a minute. Just wait. They always roll through them again after a couple of minutes."

James folded his arms and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Why can't you just tell me? Is there any need for the suspense?"

"Yes, because you won't believe me if I told you."

James stood there in silence as the talking heads spoke in the studio, cut back to the reporter on scene, who registered the appropriate amount of grief, and then, finally, back to the studio. A series of pictures, like a Chinese triptych, appeared on screen. James grabbed his head in despair when Sinclair translated the report.

"Darko was killed earlier today. I don't know who