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

it hit the rocks and toppled into the valley below. The fortress went quiet, a silent witness to the deed carried out. Ambassador Plemenac was dead, and with it he’d severed his connection to Blackwind forever.

James closed his eyes and took in big, deep breaths. He observed Plemenac’s burning cigarette resting at his feet. Crushing it with his heel, he turned back to where Miran still stood, motionless.

“Mr. Heranda,” said James.

Miran’s face tightened. “You killed him. You’ll die for this, Winchester. He had diplomatic immunity and now you’re fucked.”

James looked the much smaller man up and down. “Go home, Mr. Heranda. There only needs to be one dead man in Sarajevo tonight.”

Miran slammed his cane into the ground as if he were trying to summon water from it. “You stupid foreigner. You don’t understand. The police will have you in prison. Then when you are there suffering, you will be slaughtered.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Heranda.”

Miran lashed out with his cane. James dodged backwards as the cane swung hopelessly above his head. He threw a punch into Miran’s belly. He doubled up and dropped to his knees. James kicked the cane away and backed off.

“I’ll still… tell the police everything. You killed the ambassador.”

James approached the blindman with a smirk on his face. “Really? Prove it.”

Chapter Sixty-Five

 

During the walk back to the hotel, James wondered how long it would take for someone to find Plemenac's body. The drop from the fortress led into the isolated valley below. Most of the street dogs lived in that valley. He felt no regret for what he did, only a sense of elation. That man had deserved death. The world was a better place without him.

James tramped up the steps of the Hotel Old Town. He imagined he wouldn't have heard the last of this from Miran. This was his hotel, after all. He felt his last hours in Bosnia falling. James pulled out his key and his phone. As he unlocked the door, a missed call from Nazifa appeared on the lock screen. His breath caught in his throat.

"James," Sinclair called the moment he opened the door.

"Hold on a minute. I missed a call from Nazifa."

"It's about Nazifa. I received the same call from her." Sinclair stepped out into the hallway. "Come here."

James didn't trust Sinclair's ashen expression. Something had happened. All celebratory thoughts of Plemenac's death washed away.

"She called me and I picked up the phone. They took her to Croatia, and she's been held hostage."

"What?"

"Near the village of Mrkopalj. It’s close to the city of Rijeka."

"I'll get a car." James rebuttoned his coat. "Are you coming or not?"

"James, wait, you haven't heard the full story yet. Please, I need you to sit down. It isn't as simple as that."

James gritted his teeth. He didn't have time for this. Every lost second could mean losing Nazifa forever. He couldn't afford to lose her by dawdling with Sinclair and his usual abundance of caution.

Sinclair opened the balcony doors. His hands trembled with the effort. A swirling wind gusted into the corridor, sending the curtains flying.

"What is it, Sinclair?"

"The whole thing is a trap." Sinclair wouldn't meet his eyes. "At least I think it is. When I spoke to her, she claimed to have escaped, but her tone wasn't right. She sounded like someone with a gun to her head. I think it's designed as a setup for you. They know you'll go."

"Well?" James lit a cigarette. "So what?"

"Will you promise not to shoot me if I tell you the truth? I can't keep lying to you."

James shrugged. "What could you have to lie about?"

"Look, when we came to Bosnia, Gallagher asked me to keep an eye on you, to make sure you didn't do something stupid. He’d never asked me to do such a thing before, but I was also worried after Mexico and Cambodia. You have taken a lot of risks in the past."

James nodded. It didn't bother him as much as he might have expected. Truth be told, he figured Sinclair always kept a tight leash on him. Always the eminent company man.

"Does that bother you?"

"It never stopped me, so no. I naturally assumed you’d always reported on my activities to Gallagher in some fashion. Gallagher isn’t stupid enough to let me go into the field without someone reporting on me."

Sinclair’s mouth fell open. “You… you always believed I was spying on you?”

James shrugged. “You’re my intelligence agent and Gallagher’s. It doesn’t mean I don’t trust you. You know what to share and what not to share.”

"I won Gallagher's trust... forget it, give me a cigarette."

James opened his packet and held it out for Sinclair. He'd rarely seen Sinclair smoke, only on the infrequent occasions where he lost control and drank too much. The cigarette quivered between Sinclair’s fingers as he struggled to light it.

"You've been caught in a trap. This whole assignment turned into one big trap. I managed to win Gallagher's trust, and I became party to certain information, including about Nazifa."

"What do you know about Nazifa?"

"She's not who she says she is."

James' brow furrowed. "Not who she says she is? She doesn't work for Gallagher, does she?"

"No, no." Sinclair took a quick drag. "Nazifa has no idea who Gallagher is, but Gallagher knows who she is. Nazifa has been using you this entire time. She never loved you. It was a ruse to get you to help her."

"Don't talk wet, Sinclair. You're just speculating now."

"Am I? She would never love you if you were the last man on Earth."

James wrapped a hand around Sinclair's throat and drove him up against the wall. The intelligence agent turned a bright tomato red as he gripped James’ hand. Finally, James caught himself and released his