by James Samuel
"Well done, Yuki," said Gordon after they'd slammed the doors closed.
Nazifa thumped and screamed inside the trunk.
"Thank you, Gordon." He screwed his face up at her shouting. "I don't like her."
"We'll soon solve that. Now, to Croatia. We'll take the quiet route."
Gordon turned on the radio. A turbo-folk song boomed through the car, drowning out Nazifa's cries for help. If all went according to plan, Winchester would soon be on a flight out of Bosnia, heartbroken.
Chapter Fifty
James felt the hole in his heart growing with every passing hour. Every time he called Nazifa, the phone rang and rang until it went to voicemail. No matter how many voice messages he left, she never called him back. She was ignoring him, and James couldn't understand why. That kiss was as much her kiss as it was his. Why couldn't she confront the situation like an adult?
He tossed his phone onto the bed sheets. Running his hands through his jet-black hair and over his face, he stretched his legs. His knees made disconcerting popping sounds as he got out of bed. He'd lost track of how many hours had passed. James had to keep his eyes on the mission. He had to figure out how to get to Vojo Plemenac.
"Sinclair," James called.
"What?" Sinclair replied from the kitchen.
"Do you have anything yet?"
"Yes, I ordered us a pizza five minutes ago."
James rolled his eyes as he entered the kitchen to find Sinclair sitting at the round table, two laptops spread out in front of him. "You know what I mean. Anything else I can work with?"
"Nothing yet. More than likely, you will have to rely on Darko Borisov. He knows more about these people than anyone still alive. Shame Kadrić died really, I imagine he would know a lot of people who could help you."
James noted Sinclair no longer referred to the mission with 'us'.
"I think this could take weeks, maybe even months to resolve. The issue is not finding him. We know where he is. All you have to do is go to the embassy. The difficulty is killing him in a way that makes it look like an accident."
"Sometimes I wonder whether Gallagher’s fears exaggerated." James perched himself on the high-backed kitchen chair. "I could shoot him and deal with the consequences."
"No, you bloody well couldn't," Sinclair warned. "You said you wanted to stay here to make a difference. Well, killing an ambassador will lead to war the next day. Diplomatic immunity is about the only thing that's respected by all nations. Both sides would blame each other, and Serbia would be well within its rights to make demands. Bosnia would refuse those demands, naturally, to avoid humiliation. The response would, then, be war, and Serbia would be within its rights to declare it."
"You really know a lot about this, don't you?"
"I'm in intelligence. I need to know these things."
"Okay, okay, it was just an idea. I'm trying to stop a war, not start one."
"Good. You would be playing into their hands if you went to the embassy and shot Plemenac."
The doorbell rang. It reverberated through the house.
"I thought you said you ordered the pizza five minutes ago?"
"I did." Sinclair threw his chair out. "Maybe someone else cancelled theirs so they sent it here instead?"
James followed Sinclair into the hallway. His skin crawled with little electric shocks. Every instinct told him this wasn't a pizza. Sinclair removed the phone next to the front door. When he glanced at the camera feed, he went pale.
"Well? Who is it?"
Sinclair's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "It's Plemenac."
"What?"
"He's at the front door. Now."
James' mind raced. Could it be a trap? Was Plemenac simply that arrogant? Half torn between grabbing his gun and pressing the button to open the door, he froze.
Sinclair didn't speak into the mouthpiece. He pressed the button. A loud buzz indicated the front door unlocking itself.
"He's by himself. Nobody else came in with him."
James had mere seconds to come up with a plan. If he shot him now, could he hide the body? Nobody would ever know. Someone like Kemal or Ismet probably had the means and contacts to get rid of a body in Bosnia with no traces.
"Let me do the talking," said Sinclair. “Now stay calm.”
He wrenched open the front door. James peered over the intelligence agent's shoulders. This wasn't a dream. Plemenac stood at the threshold of their hotel suite, alone and unguarded. He had a thin smile on his face, the few wrinkles he had hanging with no tension.
"What are you doing here?" said James.
"I believe we have a few issues to discuss. I'm sorry I didn't call in advance. Ah, but I have a gift for you both." Plemenac showed them the bottle of rakija. "One of the finest brands you will find in Serbia or Bosnia. You have done well, and this is my gift to you."
Sinclair moved aside as Plemenac entered their suite.
"Thank you," Sinclair said, taking it without looking at the label. "I apologise but this has all come as a surprise. A lot of things have happened since we last met each other. How did you know where to find us?"
Plemenac smiled and tapped the side of his nose. "I have my means." He rubbed his hands together. "So good to get out of the cold. The winter is only going to get worse from here, I'm afraid. It makes one glad to be an ambassador. May I sit down?"
"Yes, of course." Sinclair gestured to the living room. "First room on your left."
James was so dumbstruck by the scene unfolding before him he couldn't even speak. He just stood rooted to the floor as Plemenac entered the living room and sat on their sofa. He crossed one leg over the other and glanced at the pictures of Bosnia and the bookshelf filled with travel guides and airport paperbacks.
"I suppose you two are wondering why I came here at all," Plemenac started after they'd both settled onto chairs.
"It had crossed our minds," said James.
"Well, as you both know, Sadik Kadrić is dead. Your contract has been fulfilled. It also brings peace, for a time, to Bosnia. He was a dangerous man with great plans. Did you know we were only weeks from Kadrić and his men beginning his march?"
"Oh, cut the crap, Plemenac, I know it was you. You murdered Kadrić."
Plemenac looked surprised. "Excuse me?"
"I was there that night. You stabbed him in the throat with your pen, at the fortress in Belgrade. I saw everything."
Plemenac's easy expression faded for a moment, and then he burst into laughter. His laughter came thick and hollow without a hint of warmth. It echoed through the hotel room like an unwelcome gust of wind.
"Then you are welcome," said Plemenac. "Very welcome. So, you were there to make your move at the same time? I suppose I saved you the trouble."
Nobody else laughed.
"Very well. What is it you want from me? I see you are still in Bosnia."
"Why kill Kadrić?" asked Sinclair.
"Oh, quite simple. He is a little man. A very little man." He held up two fingers. "A big fish in a small pond, as you English like to say. He was nowhere near as important to the cause of Bosnian-Serbs as he liked to believe. Kadrić served his purpose. Unfortunately, he was a liability."
"Why do you say that?" said James.
"It's quite simple. The man is a war criminal. How could Bosnian-Serbs make a case for their independence from the Federation under the leadership of a man who committed war crimes?"
"So, you killed him. What does that mean for you now?"
James bit down on his tongue. He wanted to shout out that they knew Plemenac wasn't his real name, and that he was no better than the man he'd killed.
"Ah, Mr. Wood. I will direct the nationalist movement now. Any resistance to that will be removed. As an ambassador, it gives me a unique position. I have far greater contacts and under my leadership, Srpska will be free of Bosnia. Whether that means independence or a union with Serbia, that is up to the people to decide."
"How magnanimous of you," said James.
"Will you stop me?"
"I might."
Plemenac glared at him. "You could shoot me now if it pleased you. As you can see, I am alone. There are two of you and only one of me." He opened his suit jacket. "You can also see I am unarmed. What could I do against the both of you?"
James held his tongue between his teeth. "I don't think so. You wouldn’t have come alone if you were worried about getting shot."
"Smart man. You know what it would mean if you murdered me. Your employer would be ruined. You would not be able to hide for long. The murder of a foreign diplomat with diplomatic immunity would destroy the whole region. Tell me, Mr. Winchester, what is it you want to achieve here? Why does the fate of these two small nations enflame your passions so?"
"It doesn't. But I know the difference between right and wrong. I couldn't live with myself if I'd have helped contribute another brutal war here."
"So, it is a moral issue?"
"Something like that."
"Well, you know the reasons and you know what I hope to achieve for my people." Plemenac got to his feet and rebuttoned his suit jacket. "I advise you to move on with your life, Mr. Winchester."
"We'll see. Don't think that diplomatic immunity will save you forever. It won't stop a bullet."
Plemenac scoffed. "Take my advice, Mr. Winchester, go back to your home. Bosnia is a very complicated place."
Chapter Fifty-One
Banja Luka, Bosanska Krajina, Bosnia and Herzegovina
Darko didn't like this. He didn't like this at all. Working with the foreigner who slaughtered his friend and watched as his mentor bled out in the centre of Belgrade. He fought between his animal urges to take revenge and the logic of working with James to reap vengeance on the man who ultimately murdered Kadrić. Approaching the small fortress in central Banja Luka, it made him sick to his stomach to imagine Kadrić dying in a set of ruins a couple hundred kilometres from here.
"Davor, Krsti, how are you both?" Darko turned towards the two twins who’d been Kadrić’s henchman and embraced them.
"We should have been there," said Krsti. "But he told us not to. I don't know why."
"He was a brave man. A warrior," said Davor.
All three men nodded in recognition of the brother they'd lost.
They began to walk, holding their peace, allowing themselves a moment to dwell on their memories of Kadrić. Dusk in Banja Luka looked much the same as the rest of the day in winter. The fortress sat above the river, lined with plastic bags and other rubbish. A couple of bold fishermen in flat caps and thick bodywarmers continued to search for a catch in the frigid waters.
"What do we do now?" asked Davor as he leaned against the fortress wall, watching the men playing the water.
"We are going to kill Vojo Plemenac. He will die painfully. More painfully than Sadik ever did. We will make it slow. Only when the last drop of blood has been extracted from him will we allow him to go." He clenched his fist as he said it.
"What does that mean for us? For everyone else?" asked Krsti.
Darko couldn't answer that. By rights, with Kadrić dead, he would lead the movement against Bosnia. Kadrić had made it clear to anyone who would listen that Darko was his designated heir, but he knew things weren't always as simple as that. Many of the men he had fought beside cared little for Kadrić as a man. They had all but said they would follow Plemenac if he could give them the freedom they desired. Where did that leave Darko and Kadrić’s men?
"Plemenac must die," Darko said at last. "Everything else can wait."
"You have our lives." Davor slapped him on the back. "We do whatever you ask, Darko."
"One thing I do know about Plemenac is the key to his plan. He has an inside man with the Bosnians. I spoke to one of our brothers. He used to work with Plemenac during the war. Plemenac is the man responsible for everything that has happened now."
"What?" Krsti exclaimed.
"He is a very rich man in Sarajevo. swore on the lives of children that everything is true, but he never knew his name. He told me the foreigners were asked to kill Kadrić on Plemenac's orders. The Bosnians will be dismantled from within."
The twins' mouths hung open. He'd had when he found out the news from one of his old war comrades.
"But who?" said Davor. "Who?"
Darko shook his head. "I don't know. Only that he is very rich and very blind."
Krsti opened his mouth to speak but suddenly his head exploded. Blood sprayed Darko in the face, blinding him. He heard another shot and another cry. Birds squawked and broke their branches as they fought to escape the commotion.
Darko moved. His eyes stinging with Krsti’s blood. He ran for cover, his fingers desperately trying to clear his 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.
