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

Ratko groaned, barely managing to lift his head from the ground. "People like you are why this country is already dead."

A thin smile came to Plemenac's face. That wasn't the first time he'd heard that line from a defeated enemy.

"Why don't you just kill me instead of torturing me like this? You let me go and I'll tell everyone. I'll tell James. I'll tell Sinclair. They'll stop you. Your plan is never going to work, I'll make sure of it."

He guffawed. "I'm sure you will, but you will never get the chance. I only told you because...  well, killing must have some level of fun about it. Like sex, there is foreplay involved."

Ratko used the coffee table to get to his knees. He dashed for Plemenac, wrapping his arms around his legs, trying to take him off his feet.

"Oh, please."

Plemenac threw out a knee, smashing it into Ratko's jaw. The leader of the White Rose fell back into his previous spot again, blood flowing from his nose and lips. He observed the carving knife in one hand and the gun in the other, weighing up the different options available.

"I think that's enough foreplay for now, Ratko. Let's get started."

Chapter Fifty-Five

Mrkopalj, Gorski Kotar, Croatia

The fetid air made Nazifa nauseous. After being taken, the two foreigners had dragged her out of the car and bound her ankles and wrists together. She touched her fingers to the bruise spreading across her cheek. Smiling with satisfaction, she had refused to go quietly.

Many hours had passed since they'd abducted her. They’d released her bounds. She’d fought for her life, fought for her freedom. A hard blow had dazed her, and they hadn’t opened the trunk since.

Every couple of hours the rumbling car pulled off the road. Each time it came to a stop, she screamed for help. Nobody had come. It could only mean she'd been taken far from civilisation, far from anywhere where someone might hear her.

It gave her a lot of time to think about what had led her here. She liked James, but she didn't love him. That kiss had been a drunken mistake. One which made her stomach sink at the thought of it. Her girlfriend, Jasmina, would have ditched her on the spot if she ever found out. Was toying with a man to use him as a tool for the nationalist cause justifiable? She didn't know, but she would do it anyway. That man was worth an army all by himself.

Her head jerked up as the car hit a bump. The sound of wheels on tarmac disappeared, replaced by the rough sound of rubber on gravel and dirt. They must have turned away from the main roads and into the rural areas. She gulped. Was this the end for her? Her breath caught in her throat just thinking about it.

The next time the car stopped, she heard two doors open and muffled footsteps made their way around the side of the car.

The trunk flew open, and she looked up not at her captors but at two unfamiliar beings. They weren't foreign looking at all. Her captors must have delivered her to someone else during the night.

"Nazifa Aleki?" a heavy-set man said in her own language.

"You know who I am. Who are you?"

"I'm going to untie your ankles now. We're leaving the car."

"You untie me and I'm going to hurt you."

The man shrugged and untied the ersatz bonds around her ankles. She bit her lip. The fabric had cut into the skin, leaving angry red marks. Nazifa didn't immediately move. She squinted against the blinding morning light. The men gave her space to get out of the trunk by herself. She didn't know what to make of the situation.

Little by little, Nazifa worked up the courage to swing her legs forward and into the open air. She felt parched and her stomach rumbled from the night of driving without food. Nazifa tried to pull apart her wrists again, but they'd secured them with a pair of handcuffs.

Like a new-born colt on ice, she wobbled for a few moments on the solid ground. The two strangers observed her, their expressions betraying nothing.

"Who are you?" Nazifa asked again.

"This is Zvonko and I'm Branimir."

Nazifa took a moment to size up her captors. Branimir had a helmet of greasy hair and a scraggly goatee standing out against bronzed skin. She already knew from their names and accents they were Croatian. This one must have come from near Pula, the closest part of Croatia to Italy. Zvonko had an oddly shaped head with a dusting of what passed for hair and narrowed eyes. His hands and part of his neck bore red, scaly patches of skin.

"Croatians?"

"You are in Croatia," said Branimir. "Here you will stay with us until the time comes."

Nazifa forced down an angry retort and gazed around her. They appeared to be in a clearing surrounded by coniferous trees. Icicles hung like daggers from the edges of the branches. She shivered, wondering why they had brought her here and not just killed her in the first place.

None of it made sense. She presumed the Serbians had hired the foreigners to take her as revenge for helping James, but Croatians were their natural allies. And why had they gone to the trouble of dragging her across the border to Croatia?

"Are you ready?" asked Branimir. "It's time to go."

"Go where?"

Zvonko stepped forwards and gripped her by the shoulder. "Go." He shoved her forwards along the dirt path.

Nazifa decided she didn't like Zvonko. Nevertheless, she put one foot in front of the other. She moved neither too quickly nor too slow. It was the only act of defiance she could think of right now. In her mind, if