by James Samuel
"Why would I waste my time calling you if I was lying? Kadrić is dead, my contract is finished. I could leave tomorrow and say nothing, but I'm not going to."
"How did you get his phone if you are telling the truth? You lie to me. You think I'm a fool." Darko snapped to his feet and paced around his living room. "Is this a joke?"
"Not at all. I spoke to Kadrić as he died. He told me everything. His last request was for me to take his phone and call you for help."
Darko screwed up his face. He wanted to dismiss the toxic foreigner, but things didn't add up. The foreigner had nothing to gain by reaching out to him, especially with Kadrić's phone.
"You were Kadrić's closest man, weren't you?"
"Of course, I was. He gave me my life. He saved me more times than I can count. We were brothers, something a filthy foreigner like you could never understand." He swiped some errant tears from his eyes. "You come to my country and you bring death. Death for things you could never understand when all we do is fight for our freedom. Yes, I know what people like you want."
"I know the man who murdered Kadrić. He stabbed him in the neck with a pen until he bled to death. Do you want to see Kadrić’s murderer dead?"
Darko cringed at the description of how Kadrić had died, by betrayal, the worst possible way for a warrior patriot like him to die.
"Mr. Borisov?"
"Yes," Darko replied through gritted teeth.
"Then I'm asking you to calm down and to cooperate. We can help each other."
"You? Foreigner, why would you want to avenge his death?"
"I don't," James' uncaring tone rent his bubbling insides. "I have my own reasons. It's in my interests to see his killer dead. If you don't ask any questions, we can meet, and I'll tell you everything."
"You want to be friends?" Darko raised his voice. "Friends with you? You murdered Goran in cold blood."
"I did. It was necessary. But I'm the only man alive who knows who murdered Kadrić that night. You can leave aside your animosity for me and we can work together to avenge his death, or I can leave tomorrow and you'll never know who was behind it. That's my offer to you."
Darko squeezed the phone in his fist like he had James' neck in his grip. He thrashed about silently, tortured by his desire to avenge Goran and Kadrić' both. Darko felt himself trapped in an impossible position. Leaning against the wall, he pressed his hand against the dirty windowpanes looking out onto the polluted River Zgošća.
"Foreigner," He spat every syllable. "I will meet you. You will tell me everything. Then I will avenge Kadrić."
"Very well. But I want to meet in a public place. You don't bring anyone. I'll know if you do and then the meeting is off, understand?"
"Fine."
"Good, suggest a public place, somewhere close to Sarajevo."
"Travnik," said Darko without thinking. "There is a fortress. A tourist attraction. You buy a ticket at the gate and go in. Tourists like to go there. I will not go to Sarajevo now. I do not trust you, Foreigner."
"That will be fine. Stay in touch, Mr. Borisov."
Darko lowered the phone and clicked to end the call. He shook with a mixture of fear and anger. As he lowered the crown of his head against the glass, he tried to remember the lessons Kadrić had taught him throughout his life. The ability to control his anger, to see the big picture, to work with one's enemies to achieve a greater goal.
His heart rate gradually slowed. He owed Kadrić everything. Now he would honour him by seeing his killer dead. Then, the foreigner would be next.
Chapter Forty-Four
Sarajevo, Sarajevo Canton, Bosnia and Herzegovina
Sinclair finished packing most of his equipment. For him, his job had come to an end. James leaned against the door of his room, watching his partner try to untangle a mass of cables like he was cleaning a hairbrush. Sinclair held a look of pure concentration as he worked to unpick the electronic mess before him.
"Sinclair..."
"I'm not staying, James. I told you last night and I'm telling you again today, this is not our fight."
James sighed. "Don't you feel like our work is unfinished, though? Like we haven't made a difference?"
"Making a difference is for philanthropists and politicians, for good or for bad." Sinclair threw the tangled cables onto his bed. "Our work is defined by our contracts. The brief we receive at the beginning of every operation is our work. Once the parameters have been fulfilled, we can leave with our heads held high. Why can't you see it that way?"
James thought about it. He didn't know why he felt the way he did now. In Cambodia, he hadn't brought an end to oppression and dictatorship. He'd supported one tyrant over another. The suffering of the Cambodian people hadn't changed in the slightest because of his actions. In Mexico, he hadn't put a stop to the drug war ravaging the country. One cartel leader replaced another and the killing continued. His actions felt like a stone dropping into a vast lake.
"You know what your problem is?" Sinclair said as he approached James. "The girl."
"Oh, come on." James tossed his head.
"How much time have you spent with her? Are you going to tell me every meeting was pertinent to the cause of seeing Kadrić dead?"
"It wasn't."
"Exactly. Look, James, I don't care about who you want to copulate with. You are much younger than me and it is your right to use your free time as you wish, but you are being manipulated. Nazifa is not as sweet and innocent as you think."
"I never said she was."
"She wants what Kemal does, Bosnian supremacy. Men like Kadrić want Bosnian-Serb supremacy. Read any comprehensive history of the Balkan region and you will see that this has been going on for centuries. Whether you like her or not, she is one side of the same spinning coin."
"You're wrong," he said weakly.
"Am I?"
Sinclair stalked away and plonked himself down on his bed. He began picking apart the cables with his stubby fingers again.
James chewed on his tongue for a few moments. He couldn't deny his attraction to Nazifa. The memory of the kiss the night before wouldn't leave his mind. His eyes felt heavy from the lack of sleep. A night spent grabbing his phone, tempted to call her, but he'd always thrown it back on the table again. She would call him sooner or later. She'd said so.
"I'm still going to stay," he said at last.
Sinclair stopped picking at the cables with a sigh. "I know. You're stubborn. Always have been. I don't want to leave you here on your own."
"Then why not stay? It won't be for long, I promise."
"No," Sinclair snapped. "I'm not going to enable you. I won't do it."
"How about this?" he said in desperation. "I still need your help. I can't do this without information, and you're the only man I know who can get that reliably. Give me three days. Just three days and then you can fly to wherever you want with my blessing."
Sinclair let the cables rest on his lap. He ran his hand through his thinning hair, turmoil written across his face. "I really don't know –"
"Come on, Sinclair, just trust me. I'm only asking you for three days and nothing more. After that, I'm on my own."
Sinclair pursed his lips. "Three days?"
"Just three days. Nothing more."
"I won't go into the field with you, no matter what. This hotel is going to be my only home for the next three days."
"You have my word. I won't ask you to come with me under any circumstances."
"I'll tell Gallagher that I'll use part of my rest period to stay here, then. He won't be happy about it."
"He gave me his word that I can stay here until Mlakar is dead. We don't have to tell him about Plemenac or what we're doing."
Sinclair groaned. "Alright, fine. I'll do it. But I want you to think about what I said. This is not our fight. There are no good guys here. Bosnian nationalists are no different from Serbians. Lock them in a cage and they'll tear each other apart just the same."
James' released a wi
de smile. "I won't forget this."
Chapter Forty-Five
Travnik, Central Bosnia Canton, Bosnia and Herzegovina
In Travnik’s illustrious past, it had once serviced for more than 150 years as the seat of the Ottoman viziers for Bosnia. The ancient minarets of the city's white mosques punctured the low-hanging clouds like a pin cushion. Their forest green caps blended in with the hills outside the city. A heavenly song in Arabic broke through the speakers affixed to each minaret, the muezzin calling the city's faithful to afternoon prayers. A mosque on the corner of the square already drew Muslims answering the sacred call.
James drove his rental car through the congested town's central streets. The Audi’s large size bullied the older Bosnian vehicles aside. Nondescript shops and restaurants crammed together throughout the narrow streets of Travnik’s central area. The paths barely accommodated more than two people walking side by side.
Nazifa fidgeted in the passenger seat as he parked the car. He didn't have any other options for backup on this mission. Sinclair refused to come, and Kemal wouldn't be able to contain himself facing the man who had put his only son in the hospital. James and Nazifa had barely spoken during the car trip 90 miles to the west of Sarajevo.
"What do you know about Borisov?" asked James at last.
"Nothing. A Serbian like the rest of them."
"I'm asking you to trust me, Nazifa. Remain calm when we meet him. We need him if we're going to deal with Plemenac, understand?"
"You ask me to work with my enemies." She turned a furious gaze on him. "I will not shoot him, but I don't like it."
"That's good enough. Think of the big picture. Plemenac is more of a threat to Bosnia than Kadrić's lackey. Borisov is a thug and nothing more, remember that."
"And if this is a trap?"
"It's not," he said confidently.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I'm the only man alive who saw what happened. The one thing he wants to do more than kill me is kill the man responsible for his mentor's death." He turned in his seat. "Understand, Nazifa, Darko will try to kill me at some point, but it won't be today. When he does, I'll be ready."
Nazifa bobbed her head to acknowledge his words, but she didn't move to get out of the car. Her cherry scented perfume hung in the air, tantalising him.
"Nazifa... before we go any further, I want to make something clear. What happened last night... for now, forget about it. Focus on the task at hand. I can move past it."
She looked away from him. "James... I like you. I like you a lot, but I would be a foolish woman to think I could build a life with you. There are also other reasons I can never be with you. Maybe we can… I don’t know."
James put his hand on the door handle. Her words pained him more than he would ever let on. Far from providing clarity, she had only further muddied the waters. She had been drunk. It would have been wrong to take advantage of her. He wondered if she already had a boyfriend. They'd never spoken about their romantic entanglements before.
He hesitated for a second before clicking the door open and climbing out into the day. James did his best to turn his mind away from Nazifa. He couldn't afford to lose focus. Darko remained a threat to them both. He knew only too well what people could do when they weren't thinking rationally. They left the car in the centre of Travnik and began their trek.
The limestone fortress of Travnik looked ghostly and white from the bottom of the town. Its round tower on one side and minaret from its mosque sent a protective shadow across half the town. He couldn't help but think Sinclair would have regaled him with the history of the place. As it was, Nazifa stayed well ahead of him.
James moved in silence as they picked their way through the narrow streets of the centre until they came to the beginning of the track that would lead them into the misty hills above the city. A tourist welcome sign marked the beginning of the stone track, overgrown with bushes and low-hanging branches.
The route twisted up into the hills. The steepness of the path caught up with James from time to time. He tripped on a step at one point and stumbled. Errant branches reached out to snag at him, hiding the next cracked step from sight until the last moment. He concentrated on his steady breathing, trying not to think about Nazifa.
"We're here," she said eventually in a muted tone.
James ascended the final set of steps to confront the outside walls of Travnik. An opening where a mighty gate once stood now only had a ticket booth. Nazifa threw ten Bosnian marks down on the counter and handed James his ticket. He crumpled it up and deposited it in his pocket.
The fortress itself had two levels. The foundation of the main tower took up most of the first level, with steps and gentle slopes leading up to another section of walls. Whatever had once filled the defensive post was long gone, leaving only manicured grass and undisturbed frost digging into the centuries' old brickwork.
"Do you see him?" asked James.
"No. Nobody. Let's go to the top. This could be a trap."
James nodded and they moved upwards, taking long striding steps across the slick grass. It was eerily quiet. Not a tourist in sight. The uppermost walls offered a tremendous view over Travnik. From here, the homes below looked like scattered toys from a children's toybox. The mists obscured the tops of the coniferous forests covering the hills, the landscape becoming more obscured by the minute.
"There's nobody else here," Nazifa remarked. "This is dangerous."
James gazed down at the rest of the fortress. A strange pang in his gut made him wonder. Had Darko managed to outfox him?
"This is a trap, James."
"You're right. We shouldn't take the risk. Can you hide yourself? If anything happens, you know what to do."
Nazifa nodded. "Okay. I have my gun."
He watched her go down to the fortress's ground level again. Today, she acted like a woman he’d never met before. He hadn’t detected a smile all day, only a damning, regretful scowl. Is that the effect his kisses had on people now? He continued monitoring her with undisguised bitterness as she disappeared behind the round tower.
Why had she changed her mind about being close to him?
Chapter Forty-Six
Sarajevo, Sarajevo Canton, Bosnia and Herzegovina
Sinclair didn't like this. He didn't like it at all. The moment James departed for Travnik he cursed himself for allowing his friend to talk him into staying back. Sinclair had nothing to gain by chasing men like Plemenac. It wouldn't do the country any good. No, he was convinced Nazifa had James squashed under her thumb.
"Sir?" Sinclair spoke into the phone.
"Wood, I received confirmation from Mr. Heranda that Sadik Kadrić is dead. The contract is complete. Congratulations. I would like to commend you on your speed and diligence. Your bonus has been approved and I can assure you that this will be your final operation in the field, if that’s still what you want."
Sinclair released a thin smile. "Thank you, sir." He got up from his computer and began to pace the corridor. The lacquered floor squeaked underneath his shoes as he passed the same panoramic picture of Sarajevo on the wall. "Did Mr. Heranda tell you how Kadrić died?"
"He did. I must admit we got lucky with that one. I'm sure it was the easiest target of your career."
"James is bothered by it. Plemenac usurped Kadrić's position and, presumably, is now the leader of the nationalists. He's concerned that the situation hasn't changed, and the chances of war are the same as before, if not higher, due to Plemenac's greater freedom through his diplomatic immunity."
"Are you concerned about it?"
He stopped and brushed the corner of the picture frame with his fingernail. "To tell you the truth, sir, no, I'm not. I've tried to explain to James that this has nothing to do with us. That we were contracted to eliminate Kadrić and nothing more, but he won't listen. He's determined to stay."
"I did give him permission to eliminate Mlakar if he so chooses, but I did not give him authorisation to take th
e matter with the nationalists further. When will you be leaving?"
"Three days from now. Then I'll return to London."
"Good man. You're a practical individual, which is why I've offered you the pick of intelligence positions. I would argue that you have been overlooked for too long, and I can only apologise for that."
Sinclair beamed. He'd always bristled at being overlooked, always ignored despite his long years of service. He'd already been a veteran by the time James joined the organisation. Yet still he remained in place, taking the same risks and receiving the same pay.
"Thank you, sir," said Sinclair. "I'm worried about James, though. He's going to get himself killed."
Gallagher's voice remained steady and even. "Why do you believe Winchester is so enamoured with defending Bosnian liberty? Judging by his file, he has never been a political man."
"The girl. Nazifa Aleksi."
"I see. Go on."
"He meets her constantly. She is a fanatical Bosnian nationalist in the same way as Kadrić was for the Bosnian-Serb side."
"Is she beautiful?"
Sinclair clicked his tongue as he thought about it. "In some people's eyes, sir. I cannot say she would be my type. Bright purple hair has never done anything for me."
Gallagher let out one of this rare chuckles, steely and robotic. "Would you say he has been manipulated successfully?"
"I would, sir. He is unable to think straight when it comes to her. If she were removed, I would judge that James would leave with me. She's not leading him anywhere good. Of course, that's just my personal opinion."
"Understood." The clicking of a keyboard sounded in the background. "Wood, I have taken the liberty of having our intelligence department perform some research into Miss Aleksi. I must admit, I was surprised by their findings. She was discharged from the military due to a violent incident, which, while not of particular interest, is an indicator of character."
"Sir?"
"If you consider it for the greater good to have her removed, I will continue."
