Failed State (A James Winchester Thriller Book 1) (James Winchester Series)

by James Samuel

  James sent one more intimidating glare at the two taximen and the man running the taco truck before donning Sarmiento’s hat and coat. He grimaced when he saw the sleeves barely touching his wrists. It would just have to do.

  A couple of seconds behind the tinted glass. A couple of seconds to lock the doors. A couple of seconds to seal Rosher’s fate.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sinclair yawned as he waited at the side of the road near Villas de Guanajuato. This was where the buses terminated their routes and headed back to the city. Villas de Guanajuato was one of the newest suburbs to spring up outside Guanajuato. Every whitewashed home looked pristine, free of the pockmarks found in the concrete of other neighbourhoods.

  Blake Miller adjusted his aviator sunglasses as he wiped a curl of his sun-drenched blonde hair away from his ear. The field agent of Blackwind had turned up in Mexico without any warning. This worried Sinclair. It meant there had to be something more to this contract than simply assassinating Quezada.

  “So, is Winchester on his mission now?” asked Blake.

  “I think he should be. He should already have the car from Sarmiento and be ready to take Rosher.”

  “Excellent. Does he know anything about the client for this mission?”

  “No, I’ve avoided talking about it. You know how he can be when it comes to his principles. I don’t even know who the client is, which is out of the ordinary.”

  “Quezada’s rise was fast. Too fast. He hasn’t had time to build real bonds with the little gangs he’s swallowed up. When he’s gone, they’ll rebel against Santa Maria and a whole new set of fronts will open up.”

  “Indeed,” said Sinclair. “So, why are you here all of a sudden?”

  “I know where they’re keeping Jessi Montoya.”

  Sinclair looked up in surprise. “You do? How?”

  Blake tapped the side of his nose. “Through some good old-fashioned espionage. To tell you the truth, there was an element of luck involved. I’m confident that Winchester would eventually find her. Whether it would be too late or not, I can’t say.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Why would I tell you that?” asked Blake.

  Sinclair hated when Blake did this. Blake Miller came through the American branch of Blackwind. Bred in rural Oregon, he’d spent much of his career in the Marines before transitioning into mercenary work. Blake had never liked James, and James had never liked Blake.

  “Why would we waste our time on this if you already know where she is?”

  “Good question. A real good question. It’s what the client wants.”

  Exasperated, Sinclair could only click his tongue. Blake was one of Gallagher’s favourites. He held a far higher opinion of him than he did James or Sinclair. When Blake stuck his nose into their contracts someone usually got hurt. James would always have to clean up Blake’s messes and, of course, Gallagher would give all the credit to Blake.

  Sinclair tried a different tack. “Does Rosher know her location?” Blake didn’t blink. “Is this worth his time at all?”

  “No, Rosher doesn’t know. But he does know other things about Quezada and his organisation, particularly the people who work for him, his lieutenants and advisors. One or two names should keep Winchester busy for a while.”

  Sinclair scratched his head. “I don’t understand.”

  Blake looked on impassively. From just a few feet away, his glasses were so dark that Sinclair couldn’t see his eyes.

  “There has to be some reason for this. Some logic.”

  “Look, Sinclair, the whole point of this long and dull journey is for Winchester to do more than simply complete the contact. The client specified he wanted Quezada dead. He also specified he wanted the Santa Maria cartel crippled. To cripple a cartel, you need to take out its lieutenants as well. It was the same with the Taliban in Afghanistan.” Blake paused to see if Sinclair understood. “How many times did the newspapers celebrate that another Taliban leader was dead? It accomplished nothing except to facilitate the rise of another one. The whole chain has to go if you’re going to really put an organisation to the sword.”

  “Ah,” Sinclair just about managed.

  “Ah indeed, Sinclair. Winchester must cut down the rest of them, and for that reason, he has to go the long way round.”

  Sinclair finally understood. The contract centred around Quezada, but its purpose was to put an end to this dominant cartel and keep the war going. Gallagher had hidden that part because he knew James would never agree to it. James had his own code of conduct. He saw good and bad like black and white. If it weren’t for the greater good of the people, James would decline to take the contract.

  “Then why did you ask to meet me here?”

  “I wanted your cooperation in this.”

  Sinclair mulled it over. He couldn’t stand deceiving James, but Blake’s logic made sense. If the client wanted the cartel crippled from top to bottom, this was the way to do it. Killing Quezada alone wasn’t enough.

  “Okay, fine.”

  “Glad that you’re being reasonable. Okay, lead Winchester to Jessi Montoya. She’s being held in a hacienda southwest of Celaya, on the shores of Lake Yuriria. The town is small, and the hacienda is owned by a cousin of Quezada’s. The aunt lives there now.”

  “In La Familia territory? Is Quezada really that brazen?”

  “Sure,” said Blake. “Hiding her right under their noses couldn’t be easier. La Familia has no idea about most of Quezada’s family. Lead him there and have him free her. That will martial La Familia and allow the war to burn nicely. We’ll meet again afterwards to figure out Winchester’s next move.”

  Blake gave Sinclair a stiff handshake and climbed back into his dark rental car. Sinclair didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all. Sinclair tried to tell himself this was just how their business worked, but it didn’t fill the gaping hole in his conscience.

  What would James say if he ever found out the truth?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A long trail of sweat trickled down James’ back. He’d taken the car and driven it back to the academy. The other two cars joined him in convoy. None of them showed that they knew Sarmiento had taken a sudden vacation.

  He tugged the peak of the cap over his eyes and kept his head down. His gun rested on the passenger seat, within grabbing distance. If this went wrong, he’d be a sitting duck. James tried to walk through the remainder of the mission in his head. In theory, it was quite simple. He would take the turnoff at the highway at the last possible second so the security would have problems following him. In practice, he expected a fight.

  James glanced to the right and watched as the delegation appeared at the entranceway. Rosher still had a great big smile on his face as he posed for more photographs and chatted with Ocampo. He wondered who Ocampo worked for. Did he know Rosher was in Quezada’s pocket?

  He tightened his hands on the wheel as the delegation approached. Rosher gave little waves to the assembled masses before he turned and walked to his car. Now only feet away, an aide pulled the door open. James forced himself to look down at the wheel, not daring to look in the rear-view mirror.

  James gulped as he waited for the lead car to start the convoy. It felt like a lifetime before the rear lights of the car in front flashed and moved away.

  He followed the lead car and took his position in line, moving as smoothly as he possibly could. Once they started driving, James pressed the button to lock all the rear doors. He chanced a peek in the mirror and saw Rosher glued to his phone. He had him now.

  “Paulo, are you able to work overtime tonight?” asked Rosher.

  James didn’t respond. The gig was up, and he knew it.

  “Paulo, didn’t you hear me?”

  He lifted his head and looked Rosher dead in the eyes through the rear-view mirror. “I think I can work a few extra hours, governor.”

  Rosher yelped and tried the back door like a caged animal. His phone fell to the floor w
ith a thud as he raced across to the other side. He tried banging on the window, but this car had reinforced glass. These cars didn’t penetrate easy.

  James grabbed his gun and pointed it at Rosher, whilst trying to keep an eye on the road. The rest of the convoy and Rosher’s security detail hadn’t yet seen what had happened.

  “Look, you’re going to sit back in that seat and stop talking. I heard enough of your lies the last time, and I don’t need to hear anymore, understand?”

  Rosher trembled, his lower lip sticking out as if he were about to cry.

  James turned fully around in his seat to inspect the captive governor. He saw the same dark patch between his legs again. “You really are a dirty pig, you know that?”

  His passenger didn’t respond.

  James continued the journey as best he could. His gaze kept alternating between the road and Rosher. The governor tried to lower himself down to cower in the backseat.

  “Stay where I can see you, governor.”

  James barely blinked as he remained in a total state of focus.

  The lead car screeched to a halt. James couldn’t react in time as he clipped the corner of the car. He found himself being propelled forwards as the rear car took a running jump and smashed into the back of the governor’s car. They’d trapped him.

  James cursed. Somehow the governor must have alerted them. The phone. How could he have been so stupid? Slapping the steering wheel in frustration at his own laxity, he thrust the car into gear and manoeuvred his way around the lead car just as the gunshots smashed into the bodywork.

  He accelerated and started shifting through the gears as he outran the other cars on the road. Like a desperate prisoner on the run, he saw his options shifting and narrowing the further he went. The traffic started to clog up like a sewage pipe in both directions. James knew he would never make the turnoff for the highway like this.

  “If I go, you’re not going to live through this, Rosher,” James shouted at the traffic ahead.

  He took a calculated risk and barrelled across the adjacent lane into the path of oncoming traffic. The miniature cars he’d chosen to take on slammed on their brakes. James couldn’t get out of the way of the last car in time and smashed the front fender. The little vehicle crumpled under the gas-guzzling weight of the governor’s vehicle. Like a tank, he cleared the obstacles the hard way and headed for the industrial wasteland.

  James checked the mirror as the car started to bump along the uneven ground. It utilised every bit of suspension as it threw itself over little hills and trundled over large rocks hidden by the overgrown brush.

  One of the cars had managed to tail him. The vehicle charged across the field, its front bumper hanging off. Another two cars from Rosher’s security appeared, the same make and model.

  James gritted his teeth as he barrelled back onto the road leading out of Guanajuato towards León. He knew he would have to take the free road or risk smashing through the toll booth. He slowed down at the end of the field and angled the car slightly.

  He hit the button for the automatic windows. James grabbed his Glock just as his pursuers careened down the hill. James aimed out of the window and opened fire on the windscreen of the car before it had a chance to take evasive action. The bullets penetrated the driver and passenger seat.

  He didn’t wait to assess the damage he’d caused as he slammed his foot on the accelerator again. The wheels spun in place as they struggled for purchase on the concrete. James felt himself thrown back by the power of the car as it lurched off again.

  One quick look in the mirror and he saw the other car continuing to roll down the hill, out of control. He’d managed to slay the driver, and perhaps the passenger too. He had only seconds to make his decision and trained the gun on Rosher, using the rear-view mirror to calculate his aim.

  “Throw the phone into the front. I know it was you.”

  Rosher didn’t comply.

  James fired a single shot through the back window. It left a gaping hole and broken glass rained down upon Rosher. The governor threw his phone like a hot coal. It hit the passenger seat and landed in the footwell.

  “Now don’t try anything else, or I’ll kill you next time.”

  James accelerated back onto the main road and off onto a small, cracked tarmac road. The free roads led through all the villages around Guanajuato. It took forever to get anywhere, and criminals mainly used them. The maze of free roads would make it harder for anyone to follow him.

  With danger receding in his mirrors, soon Rosher would answer for his sins.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  James drove well into the night. It hadn’t taken long to shake off the inexperienced drivers behind him. He knew never to drive at night on the free roads in Mexico. The cartels began their operations after dark and targeted anyone in their way. Hijackings were common, murders even more common.

  High on adrenaline, James kept one hand on the wheel and one hand ready to snatch his gun. He glided through an endless sequence of villages with their ramshackle houses and fading streetlights. His training allowed him to recall the little landmarks on the road that would serve to take him back to Guanajuato. He couldn’t afford any more surprises.

  After passing another village, he veered off through a gap in a broken-down barbed-wire fence. He figured this must have once been a farmer’s field. Here he came to a stop and switched off the headlights, allowing only the small interior light to illuminate the interior of the governor’s car.

  “Get out of the car, Rosher.”

  Rosher complied as the doors unlocked with a click. James followed him with his gun raised. The light of the half-moon provided scant illumination. Only the faint traces of the mountains amid the starry sky stuck out.

  “On your knees,” James ordered.

  “Look, I’m sorry about last time. The girl let us out after my wife complained. We took a chance and ran, you understand, right?”

  “You set us up. When we went to that restaurant in León, the place was crawling with narcos. And they weren’t there to eat dinner. They were spread out across the floor, almost as if they were expecting someone.”

  Rosher’s look of terror told the story. It was clear to James the governor had set them up, hoping for the cartel to kill them as they walked in.

  James pie-faced the governor with the sole of his boot. “You thought we would be that easy to get rid of. What you forget is these narcos aren’t half as proficient with a gun as you might think.”

  “Look, it wasn’t my idea. I had to. My wife –”

  “You’re really going to blame your wife for all this?”

  “No, no.” Rosher clasped his hands together in prayer. “You see, she left me. After we escaped, she ran. She’d been having an affair with one of Quezada’s lieutenants, a man called Nazario Gomes Vargas.”

  James tilted his head in interest. “Keep talking.”

  “Every time we argued she would throw it in my face. I couldn’t hit her or do anything about it because Vargas is with Quezada. I would have been killed. And she knew it. What was I supposed to do? It was her who made me help Quezada.”

  James took a deep breath. Part of him wanted to believe Rosher, but he’d lied before. He could already hear Diego’s voice in his mind urging him to execute Rosher.

  “Please don’t kill me. They have me by the balls. When we were alone in the bordello, she told me to lie and she would try to get out to contact Quezada. She did as soon as she got out and that’s why they were waiting for you.”

  He lowered his weapon. The governor’s eyes held nothing but fear, but he didn’t have the heart to execute someone for cowardice. Rosher was a desperate man. James nodded and gestured at the governor to stand. He’d let him live, for one more day at least.

  “I’ll give you a chance,” said James. “It’s more than you deserve. If I need you again, I’ll contact you. If I can’t contact you, this will be the last chance you ever get, do you understand me?”

&nb
sp; “Yes, yes, absolutely, Mr…”

  “None of your business. You might know Diego, but I’m going to stay anonymous. You’ve learned today that nowhere you go is safe. Wherever you go and however many men you surround yourself with, I can still get to you. Don’t put that to the test.”

  “You’re a generous man.” Rosher bowed in deference. “Nazario Gomes Vargas. Remember the name. I’ll be forever grateful if you kill him. He will know where Jessi Montoya is. Teach my wife a lesson. You have my permission to kill her too if you want… sir.”

  James almost wanted to laugh in the governor’s face. He could never respect a man who prostrated himself like this at another man’s feet. Rosher would do anything to stay alive, that had become clear, including selling out everyone he knew.

  “Go,” said James. “Remember what I said. If Diego calls you, you’ll pick up the phone.”

  Rosher stopped. “I don’t know where I am.”

  “Don’t you worry about that, governor. You’re in the middle of Santa Maria territory. If they don’t find you and take you back, see if you can get help in one of the villages. Use this time to think about the decisions you’ve made.”

  James shook his head in disgust at this pitiful excuse of a man and climbed back into the car. As he drove away from the stranded governor, he finally allowed himself to breathe.

  Nazario Gomes Vargas. Maybe this was the way to Jessi Montoya. The lead to Quezada himself.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Diego roared with laughter as he gripped the newspaper in his healthy hand. James couldn’t help but smile too as they relaxed in the middle of Dr. Silva’s mansion.

  The newspapers had had a field day over Rosher’s ordeal. They’d lambasted the cowardly governor. A ranchero had found a confused Rosher cowering in his field, covered in his own urine. The interview with the ranchero about the condition of the governor had been even more damning.