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

by James Samuel

  “It’s run by one of Quezada’s aunts. There shouldn’t be much of a presence, considering it’s technically on La Familia’s territory.”

  “Sounds like crap to me. The girl would have escaped by now if she’d tried hard enough.”

  “She’s a woman who has never had anything to do with this business. I’d be surprised if she’d been in a fight in her life. One locked door with bars on the windows and you have a prisoner. We’re not talking about a soldier here.”

  “I’m not buying it.”

  “Suit yourself, Blake.”

  James and Blake settled back into an uncomfortable silence as they entered Yuriria. The town offered little more than a white stone cathedral and a manicured lawn. Few tourists came here, and those who did, stayed only a few hours.

  People on the street turned and stared at the Audi as it drove through town. Most of the locals likely had never encountered a car this expensive outside of photos. Some youths even pulled out their smartphones to snap a picture.

  James cast a disgusted eye at Blake. “Did you have to drive down the central street of the town?”

  “Let them stare.”

  “If they take pictures it means they’ll get the license plate. What happens if they start posting it online? Quezada will have your license plate.”

  Blake shook his head. “You need to kick back and relax.”

  “I’m being careful. Even Diego would have understood the reasoning behind not driving his car through the middle of a small town. It’s not like driving in a city. We’re going to stick out here.”

  Blake slowed the car down as they came to a red light. He turned to James for the first time since their journey started and proceeded to burn the rubber from his tyres as the lights changed to green again. The power of the car pressed James’s back to the seat as it left a trail of smoke drifting down the road.

  “Sounds like a jet engine,” James barked.

  “That’s the point, pal,” Blake smirked in James’s direction.

  “Well, you know what they say about Americans…”

  Blake laughed at that. “Yeah, this is why we run the world and you guys used to run the world. How’d you like that, limey?”

  James shook his head as they headed towards the lake.

  Lake Yuriria was the main reason why most people from Guanajuato visited Yuriria. Little islands dotted the heart of the blue expanse. Overgrown trees bent towards the surface of the still waters. Various reeds created a painter’s palette of vibrant blues and greens set against the cloudless sky.

  “So, you see any haciendas in the distance?” Blake ducked his head to look through the windscreen. “Looks just like the sides of the lake to me.”

  “Nothing yet. He did say the north side so you might want to try not sitting on the south shore of the lake, firstly. Secondly, try some patience.”

  “Smart. You might be useful after all.”

  Blake pointed the saloon towards the east side of the lake, and they traced the shore along dusty side roads. The Audi bumped and rocked along the missing cobbles as Blake tried in vain to protect the suspension and paintwork of his beloved car.

  It took them over an hour to trace the rim of the lake. Only when they made it onto the north side did they spot the collection of haciendas Vargas had mentioned. Some of them were next to the shore, others dotted the mountains beyond.

  “So much for a quiet entrance. If anyone looks out of those windows, they’ll see us for miles around,” said James.

  “Well, you say it’s unguarded so that shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

  James pointed through Blake’s window. “Look, there it is.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “It’s worth a try. I don’t see any other red haciendas around here.”

  The red hacienda in question clung to the mountainside away from the lakeshore. A small road leading up to it seemed like the only point of access.

  “See if the road goes past it. It would be easier to come at it from above.”

  Blake grunted his agreement and drove past the hacienda. James pointed to several other dwellings much further up the mountain, highlighting any potential vantage points for Quezada’s men.

  “Maybe you can turn around up there.”

  Blake grunted in annoyance at his suggestions.

  Scenes from the mission that broke their relationship flared in his mind. James couldn’t let Blake’s temper get in the way of success today, like it had so many times before. Blake had a habit of taking credit for the triumphs of others. James’ triumphs, mainly.

  The road twisted and turned until Blake found a small area to pull over in. Scrubland surrounded their sandy parking spot and tyre tracks were embedded into the dusty ground.

  James got out of the car. “This is strange. Why would these be here in the middle of the mountains?”

  “It’s nothing.” Blake wrinkled his nose. “You waste time trying to analyse things that don’t matter.”

  “And you make mistakes and try to blame your partners for them. If it weren’t for Gallagher, you’d be sitting behind a desk.”

  Blake spat on the ground. “You got your head up your ass.”

  James tried to ignore Blake as he observed the hacienda. From here, James could tell the hacienda looked old. Its missing red paint spoke of neglect and the passage of time. Like so many narco mansions, a courtyard in the centre marked the starting point for any would-be visitor.

  “Christ.” James scanned the layout. “No way of telling which room she’ll be in.”

  “If she’s still there at all. I don’t give a damn what Vargas said. I don’t trust him.”

  James bristled. “Well, all we can do is try. It doesn’t look like they have anyone armed there. No patrols and no soldiers.”

  “Then you knock yourself out, Winchester. I’ll stay here and cheer you on from the car.”

  James gave Blake a disgusted look. “You’re not much of a partner, are you?”

  “I drove you here. Now, go on, get. I’ll fly in to save the day if there’s a problem.”

  James muttered curses to himself as he left Blake by the car and descended the hill. He pointed his feet slightly off to the side to avoid falling as he continued his approach. As he drew closer, he realised he still didn’t have a concrete plan for what to do if Quezada had already moved her.

  At the side of the building, he checked the windows and grounds for any hidden patrols. His nerves thrummed with each corner he turned. He heard nothing but the breeze moving through the burned grass.

  To his surprise, he found the entrance to the hacienda wide open. No locked gates, no guards, not even a doorbell to ring. James didn’t trust this. The whole place looked abandoned, but if Quezada assumed Vargas had talked, he would know Jessi was no longer secure.

  With his hand on his pistol, he advanced into the hacienda. He passed through the wide-open gate and into the courtyard. Here he discovered the same silence. Nothing stirred other than his footsteps scuffing the stone floor.

  He decided he had no choice but to break into the house. At the very least, James had to know if this was the right place. He moved along the courtyard, checking the doors to see which one he could force most easily. Success came at the opposite end of the courtyard. The wood looked warped, beaten down by a thousand afternoon suns. The keyhole appeared rusty and seldom used.

  He gazed around the silent hacienda again and took a deep breath. His stomach tightened as he let out a great kick at the ancient door. It moved but didn’t break. He kicked it again and again. After the fifth kick, the lock burst free and the door swung open with a crash.

  James clutched his gun and charged inside, expecting to find a gunman waiting for him in a dark corner. What he saw in that hacienda stupefied him. The hacienda had all the signs of a home, rather than a prison. Old and poorly maintained, but everything seemed in order. A tank with a variety of colourful fish inside bubbled away.

  “Hello,” he cal
led out.

  His voice echoed through the halls of the hacienda. He stopped to hear a response. On the very edge of his hearing, he swore he heard a voice shouting back, a woman’s voice. But was it the aunt, or Jessi?

  James fought the urge to run after the voice and potentially throw himself into a trap. He carefully stepped through the many storerooms, lounge areas, and the kitchen. All empty.

  “Is anyone there?” James shouted again.

  The voice came back at him, much closer this time. He listened and pegged it as coming from the upstairs apartments. He ran to the steps and took them two and three at a time. His feet slapped against the cold stone, reverberating throughout the building.

  “Is anyone there?”

  “Yes, I’m in here.” A woman banged on a door to his left. “Who are you?”

  James came to the door. Like the rest, it was well-worn, but a padlock barred his entry.

  “Move away from the door,” said James. “I’ll open it from the outside.”

  He heard shuffling on the inside and when it quieted, he massaged his right thigh for a moment. James checked the lock. It looked cheap and rusted through.

  Levelling his pistol, he slammed the butt of it directly onto the padlock. It snapped, the cheap metal not standing up against his firearm. He shoved the door open, revealing a small bedroom.

  A young Mexican heartbreaker stared back at him. Jessi Montoya.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Miami, Florida, United States of America

  George kneaded his hands together as he ruminated in his office. He stared up at the portrait of the president. The eyes followed him, judging him. He couldn’t believe Phelps had found out so much about his dealings. George cursed Harrison’s father for doing everything he could to mess up his plans. The elder Phelps had always wanted to stick his nose into business that didn’t concern him. That’s what had given him such power.

  “Jack, we don’t have another choice. I need you to come up with a plan to undermine Romero or it’s both our asses,” said George at last.

  Jack wore a worried look. “There’s not a lot we can do. Romero would know what we’re up to the moment you did it. What did you have in mind?”

  “Romero needs our ports. Without those, he’ll be forced further into the underworld. If he tries to launch smaller boats away from the ports, more of his shipments will be caught by the Coastguard. The more we can drain his money the bigger his risks.”

  Jack didn’t look impressed. “It is an idea.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “George, you’re forgetting the promises you made to Governor Newton. He wants his retirement, and if the money doesn’t come in, he’ll take you down.”

  George clenched his fists. That damnable Governor Newton. George let out a curse. The governor still believed George had Cazalla in his pocket and control over Mexico’s foreign affairs department. He didn’t. It was a bald-faced lie.

  “Well, god damn. How am I supposed to play both sides at the same time?”

  Jack scratched his right temple. “You need to drop one, George. You can’t pretend you’re neutral anymore. Someone’s going to have to take the fall, and we need to make sure it isn’t us.”

  George leaned forwards, contemplating the risks of betraying either side. Both Newton and Phelps could humiliate him politically. Not only would it lead to his forced retirement, but it might also mean spending the rest of his life in a Federal prison.

  “George, which country is the greatest country in the world?”

  George looked at his ally curiously. “America, of course.”

  “Then why side with anything Mexican? Side with the America that made us great. Side with the America that saved the rest of the world from the Reds. Forget these gangsters and the people who follow them. What, you think they’re going to try to kill you? They wouldn’t dare. Our president would send tanks across the border tomorrow, and they know it.”

  George’s heart swelled with joy at the realisation. Yes, Jack had a point. He should have never aligned himself with these lower-class humans anyway. He should have stuck to good old America. A sense of freedom washed over him, a feeling he’d not experienced in a long time.

  “And to hell with Governor Newton, too. He’s a state governor. We can wipe the floor with him. He’ll retire soon anyway.”

  “Yes, Jack, yes. Now I know what I’m going to do.”

  George grabbed the black cell phone sitting on the edge of his oaken desk. He flicked through his list of contacts. The number he chose didn’t have a name associated with it, but he clicked on it and the dial tone rang.

  “Harrison, hello, it’s George.”

  “Good afternoon, what can I help you with?” Harrison’s smooth, confident tones slid like silk.

  “You have my full support. We’re going to starve Romero and cut off those boats. I want you to use your influence to have a full national emergency declared. Increase the presence of the Coastguard and anyone you have in the Gulf.”

  “I have a few friends who could help with that before I take my father’s place. By the end of the week, Romero won’t be able to take a dump without the Coastguard knowing about it. If it’s urgent enough, we might even get the Navy to come down and handle it.”

  George nodded along excitedly with Phelps’ every word. He politely thanked him and hung up the phone. His hands trembled as he lowered his cell phone back onto the desk.

  “We’re saved,” George declared.

  “You’re still forgetting about the governor.”

  George’s face dropped.

  “But you could have Phelps and his friends send him into early retirement. Perhaps a breaking scandal would make sure that happens. You move first and none of Newton’s allegations about your dealings with Romero will be taken seriously. The public will just see it as him trying to save his own ass.”

  George’s face lit up again. “I’ll make the call now. Tell you what, Jack, how about a drink? I think it’s time to get my special whisky out of the cupboard.”

  “Yes, George.” Jack clicked off his recorder.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Yuriria, Guanajuato, Mexico

  Jessi Montoya bore none of the dishevelment of a captive. She looked enchanting. Dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans and a band t-shirt, James could see why Jessi had become an object of Quezada’s desire beyond his awful business reasons.

  Jessi ran forward and seized James around the neck. She kept repeating the word ‘gracias’ over and over into his ear. James didn’t know what to do with her warm body up against his. He gently detached himself from her.

  “Jessi Montoya?” asked James.

  “Yes. Are you the gringo?”

  James’ jaw tightened. “How do you know a gringo was going to come and save you?”

  “Quezada always talked about the gringo. He was angry the last time he came here. He said the gringo killed one of his men.”

  James smirked. Good, now he knew he had Quezada’s full attention. He knew how the minds of his targets worked. He’d put the fear of God in Quezada. Scared men made mistakes.

  “That was you too?”

  “It was. A man called Vargas is dead. He committed many of the massacres in Celaya.”

  Jessi flashed a gleaming smile. James wondered when she’d last looked at ease. Weeks, he was sure. The light sprang back into her eyes. James thought he could see stars within those brown eyes, like the colour of parched summer soil.

  “We need to go, Jessi,” said James.

  “No.”

  James’ mouth dropped open. “No? What do you mean no?”

  “Now’s not the right time to go.”

  “What are you talking about? I have a car. We can get you back to your brother in a couple of hours. Surely you want to go home.”

  Jessi sat down on her bed. “I don’t want to go back to him.”

  He stood frozen to the spot. He’d made a deal with Montoya in exchange for hi
s help. James had to keep his word or Montoya would want blood.

  “Look, Jessi, I know it might be hard, but you’ve been here for so long that you’re scared of leaving. I’ve worked with hostages before and I know how they think. Trust me, this will be for the best.”

  “No. I won’t go.”

  He gulped. The idea of dragging Jessi out of the hacienda by the hair rankled him. But he would if it would help him complete his mission.

  Jessi shifted across the bed. “Please, sit.” She patted the space next to her.

  His training allowed him to decipher the behaviours of his opponents, but Jessi eluded him. What was she playing at? Why wouldn’t she take the chance to escape from Quezada when he’d delivered it on a silver platter?

  James approached and lowered himself onto the bed.

  “Why don’t you stay here?”

  James screwed his face up. Had she gone crazy?

  “Wait for him. Wait for Quezada to come. He will sooner or later. He’s still trying to get me to marry him.”

  “No, I would be a sitting duck here. I’m only one man. I can’t take on an army.”

  “He won’t bring an army. When he comes here, he brings four men, and one of them is his driver. Nobody lives here except me and his aunt. She’s a crow. Weak. She can barely make it upstairs to bring food.”

  James chewed over the idea of waiting in the hacienda for Quezada. If he came relatively unprotected, he knew he could take down four men. He doubted if any of them had any serious military training. But it was a risk. Quezada may never come now he’d thrown his cartel into disarray. And if he did come, he may well bring an army.

  “You know, he is a strange man. Alberto tries to be tender, but I can see right through him. He knows I can see into his soul. No matter how many times he tries to come and change who he is, I see through him.”

  James grunted. He wasn’t interested in who Quezada was as a man. His only orders were to kill him.

  “He’s not the man you know.”

  James turned to her. “What?”

  “You won’t recognise him. Any photo you have won’t show who he is. He had plastic surgery less than a year ago. Until he told me who he was, I didn’t see him as the man in the news.”