by James Samuel
“No, no he wasn’t.”
“Precisely, Mr. Winchester. For the same reason you would never find Kadrić walking the streets of Sarajevo. Kemal would have been killed if he entered Serbian territory.” Plemenac moved his cigarette to the side of his mouth, puffing away hands-free. He swept a hand across Sarajevo below. “What do you think Kemal is doing at this moment?”
“I know what you’re trying to say, but you’re wrong.” James took a step towards Plemenac. “You’re playing games with me. He’s a nationalist, yes, but he’s not like Kadrić.”
Plemenac flicked his eyebrows. “No? Think about it. Why would I have felt the need to kill Ratko? He is no threat to me. He was never more than a minor problem. This was part of the plan the whole time. To provoke Kemal means to provoke every Bosnian in Sarajevo. They will be preparing for war. Kemal was never your friend. You were a tool to him, as you were to me.”
James lashed out, thrusting his hands into Plemenac’s chest. The ambassador lost his balance and fell backwards. His expression of surprise came so suddenly he forgot to scream as he tripped over a boulder and tumbled into the night.
James’ eyes bulged as he watched the space where Plemenac had been. He heard every sickening slam of his body as 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 hold on Sinclair.
Sinclair croaked and coughed. He snatched the burning cigarette from the ground.
"Wait, wait, I didn't mean to say it like that. What I mean is she wouldn't love any man. She's gay, James, she's a lesbian."
"What?" James exclaimed.
"A lesbian. We conducted a background check on her. We found out she has a girlfriend here in Sarajevo. Jasmina Velic. A Bosnian woman. She's been using you this whole time. Go and find her yourself if you don't believe me."
James let Sinclair's words hang in the air. He wasn't sure what to believe anymore. Everyone in this damn country seemed to have an agenda. Truth appeared to be a foreign concept here. Plemenac, Gallagher, Miran, Kemal, Sinclair, and now Nazifa. Strangely enough, after what Plemenac had told him about Kemal, he believed Sinclair. It didn't make the truth any less cutting. He'd been duped again and again.
He thumped his elbow into one of the glass panels of the door behind
him. The thick padding of his coat sent the whole pane out of the door in one piece. It smashed on the hallway floor.
"For fuck's sake, Sinclair." James turned away from him. "And when were you going to tell me this?"
"I was hoping I never had to."
James ran a hand down his face. "What else? I suppose you're going to tell me that bonus Gallagher promised you was for more than just your loyalty?"
Sinclair looked embarrassed but nodded. "Are you sure you want to know?"
"I'm this close, Sinclair. This close."
"Okay, okay, calm down. Nazifa was taken by Gallagher into Croatia. The whole point was to lure you there."
James scoffed. "Oh yes? What makes him think that I wouldn't kill every one of them?"
"Maugham is there."
He licked his lips. Gordon Maugham was Gallagher's favourite personal assassin. He'd aged and some of his skills had declined, but he was something of a legend within Blackwind. Gordon had been there since the beginning. His deeds had become part myth and part truth. Nobody quite knew where to draw the line anymore. James knew on his day he could fight off anyone, but Gordon presented a problem.
"Gordon Maugham,” James said the name slowly.
"Yes. Gallagher told me. When you go to rescue Nazifa, he would be waiting."
James looked back at Sinclair. "Why are you telling me all this?"
"You know, I don't want you to die."
"I see. Well, what option do I have now?"
"You don't have to go. Forget about it. You could make peace with Gallagher and move onto our next assignment. Let it go. Let her go. Nothing has happened yet."
James straightened up. There was no debate about this. He would go to where they had stashed Nazifa. Vengeance played upon his mind. He had already crossed the Rubicon tonight; the die was cast. Gallagher and Blackwind were finished for him.
"You're not going, are you?"
James thrust a finger at him. "You have no right to make suggestions to me. By rights, you should be flying off that balcony now for not telling me about this earlier."
Sinclair opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it again.
"Sinclair, this is going to be our final assignment together. I will have a price on my head within days. Plemenac died tonight."
Sinclair went paper white. "What, but he has diplomatic immunity? You cannot do that."
He clenched his fists. "If I hear the words 'diplomatic immunity' one more time I'm going to be extremely undiplomatic. Now, Plemenac died tonight at the White Fortress. He tripped and fell off the cliff. That's all you need to know. I'm going to Croatia, now."
"But why? With everything you know, why would you take the risk for her?"
"For her?" James gave Sinclair a downcast look. "This is not for her; this is for me. If I don't deal with this now, Gordon Maugham will be the man chasing me across the world until one of us is dead. Gallagher will never let me go. Now don't say a word, get me a car."
Chapter Sixty-Six
James watched Sinclair like a hawk. This, his only real friend in the world. He wanted to trust him, but he couldn't take the risk. Sinclair had been with him since the first day he joined Blackwind. He counted Sinclair among his very closest allies. Yet he was under no illusions. People in this world betrayed their best friends for the tiniest of rewards. How could he know that Sinclair wouldn't alert Gallagher and Gordon he was coming?
James said little to Sinclair as they gathered the arsenal needed to take on Gordon and storm the cabin in the woods. Large black cloth bags of death soon rested inside the trunk of the Audi. His thoughts occasionally wandered over to Nazifa. What Plemenac said about Kemal and the Bosnian nationalists made sense. Kemal was a major figure in the nationalist scene. Nazifa had worked with his family long before she'd met James.
There was no doubt Kemal knowingly kept her orientation a secret, while at the same time encouraging him to pursue her. Why had he asked him about his evening with Nazifa at the football game? How did he know he had spent the evening in her presence in the first place?
"Wait in the car," James ordered as Sinclair shut the trunk. "I need to make a call."
"James, do I really have to go?"
He glared at Sinclair, who quickly got the message and slid into the passenger seat. Dialling Kemal's number, the phone started to ring.
"James?" said Kemal without his usual joviality.
"They took Nazifa."
"Nazifa? Where?" Kemal's voice sounded panicked. "Who?"
"Croatia. I know the place because she called me. How quickly can you meet me? I'm going to get her now." James released a little half-smile. "The Serbians took her."
"Serbians," Kemal growled down the phone. "I meet you now. I drive to the bus station. You have guns?"
"I've got guns."
"Good, see you in a few minutes."
James put down the phone and got into the car. Sinclair sat bolt upright, staring straight ahead.
"Who were you calling?" he asked.
"Kemal. He will be joining us for this."
Sinclair nodded and leaned his head against the seat. James hadn't yet told him what Plemenac had revealed about Kemal before he died. James turned the key in the ignition and the engine sprang to life. He soon banished that new car smell by lighting a cigarette. Everyone else had used him. Now it was his turn to do the using.
Kemal met James at the bus station, as promised. They drove their respective vehicles out of Sarajevo towards Croatia. James had noticed the change in Kemal since Ratko's death. He bore a permanent scowl, as if Plemenac's cutter had slashed him across the face instead. The dark side of Kemal had come out into the open and he made no effort to hide it.
After night fell, James told Sinclair everything Plemenac had said to him about Kemal and Miran. When he said it aloud to someone else, it made even more sense. The deceased ambassador hadn't told a lie. These people were both as bad as each other. With Plemenac gone, it was down to Kemal to unwittingly carry out his wishes. This country would burn in a matter of days if James didn't resolve it tonight. He had to carry out this vengeance, not just for himself, but for the sake of Bosnia. Even if he only postponed the inevitable, he could at least take some pride in that.
Sleet fell throughout their nightward journey towards Croatia. Sinclair clutched at fits of sleep, only to jerk awake when a vehicle coming in the opposite direction dazzled them. James, on the other hand, never wavered. He went over everything that had happened and everything he endeavoured to make happen in his mind, sometimes muttering parts of it under his breath.
"Make the call," said James as they stopped at a rest stop just before the Croatian border. "Do it now."
"What call?" Sinclair yawned.
"To Gallagher. I want to know what we're about to face."
"He won't tell me."
"I think he will if you play it right. You owe me, Sinclair. Put it on speaker. I want to hear everything."
Sinclair sighed and grabbed his phone from the dashboard. His pale countenance appeared almost as white as the melting snow.
"Sir, are you there?
"Wood?" Gallagher's harsh tones filled the car. "Yes, I can hear you loud and clear."
Sinclair's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "James left Sarajevo a few hours ago to get Nazifa. I wanted to make you aware of that."
"Noted, Wood. I will send a message to Maugham. He is in the cabin now."
"Sir, are you sure Maugham is going to be enough for this? We have big problems if he succeeds."
James tightened his grip on the steering wheel as if it were Gallagher's neck.
"Of course. Maugham has some support from some local Croatians. Two or three is more than enough for his purposes. Winchester may be talented, but he is not invincible. I have full confidence that Maugham will get the job done."
Sinclair's voice wavered. "What would you like me to do, sir?"
"Prepare to return to London." Gallagher paused. "I understand this is difficult for
you, but I am glad that you have seen the light. You have seen the necessity of what is about to happen. Blackwind cannot survive with Winchester’s recklessness. I will ensure you are adequately rewarded for your service."
"Thank you, sir."
"Good, report to me as soon as you land in London."
The line went dead. Sinclair shook in his seat. He seemed on the point of vomiting.
"You heard everything," he said.
"Two or three Croatians plus Maugham. Doable, but not a guarantee."
"I'm really sorry about all this, James. I panicked. I didn't know what to do with Gallagher on top of me like that. All I wanted was to protect you and save our jobs. It wasn't my idea to lure you into this trap."
"No." James reclined in the driver's seat. "No, I don't believe it was your idea because that's not who you are. I hold Gallagher entirely responsible for this. When this is over, I'm going to go a long way from here."
"Any thoughts?" said Sinclair, weakly.
"No. Somewhere warm. Somewhere where nobody knows me."
A long, uncomfortable silence settled between the pair. There was no more talking to do. Kemal returned from the rest room and motioned to them with a plate-sized hand. The last leg of the journey had begun.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
A milky early morning light greeted them as they crossed the Croatian border. The village of Mrkopalj consisted of little more than a collection of houses dropped randomly into the foothills of the Croatian landscape. Large groupings of trees covered the upper areas of these hills. Kemal led the way, his taillights forming a beacon in this strange and unfamiliar land.
Kemal had told James in the past that he had an intimate knowledge of the border areas of Bosnia and Croatia. He wondered how many of these lonely farms he'd encamped at on his way to war, or how many of these back roads he'd followed when smuggling for Jakob Mlakar after the war. James checked the GPS on his phone. They were mere minutes from the town Nazifa had mentioned.
A single road wound into the mountain. At one time, it must have been a logging track of some kind. It looked relatively well-tended. Right now, snow lay in thick drifts along the edges, forming a natural border.
