by James Samuel
Scott found Romero enjoying an iced drink in his study. Although Romero did little in the way of business here, he said all rich people must have a study of some kind. Scott had been responsible for filling the shelves with books to make him look well-read. In reality, he doubted his employer had read a full book in his life.
“We have a problem, Scott.” Romero didn’t turn around. “A serious problem.”
“How can I help?”
“I’m not from this country. Your American ways are strange to me, but if I suddenly found more of my shipments intercepted, what would that mean?”
Scott inclined his head. He knew this day would come. Romero had made a deal with Senator Black to ensure that fewer shipments were caught up in legal entanglements. It could only mean Black had turned against them.
“Black thinks he’s clever,” said Romero. “He thinks that he can work against me when it suits him. But that’s where he’s wrong.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What would you say if I wanted to have him killed?”
Scott had nothing to say to that. He didn’t know what Romero wanted to hear.
“Say what you think. That’s an order.”
“I would say it’s the wrong decision, sir.”
“And why’s that?”
“Killing a senator would destroy you. It couldn’t be covered up and it would bring the US military down on your head.”
Romero finally spun around in his chair. His eyes locked on his butler like a rabid dog. “But we already killed a senator. Not just any senator but the majority leader. Why couldn’t we do it again?”
“Because it would look suspicious. Too suspicious. They’d wonder why politicians keep coming south and disappearing. The media are talking. They want action on drugs in Florida. I understand Congress is trying to declare a state of national emergency.”
Romero nodded along slowly. He never read the newspapers or followed current affairs online. That was just one of Scott’s many duties.
“What would a state of national emergency mean for us?”
“Well, sir, it frees up billions in Federal funding to go after whatever the emergency is. If it’s drugs, they’ll increase the number of customs officers and they may relocate some of their warships. That makes it difficult for you to make a profit.”
Romero drained the rest of his glass and slammed it onto the desk with a violent Spanish curse.
“This could ruin everything. Rasgado can force my people to stand aside. Santa Maria can control the land, but without more friends in your country, there’s nothing we can do to keep the fire away from us. Any suggestions? We still have time.”
Scott thought about it. He’d always appreciated Romero because he involved and trusted him in making decisions. Since he’d heard the rumours in the media, he’d wondered what it would mean for him and Romero. The tighter the noose got around their necks, the more Scott found himself in an awkward position.
“Find out why Black decided to turn against us. We saw it coming, but we don’t know how or why. He must have found someone who pays more. You see the way he looks at me. Like a rat.”
“Yes, sir. If we find who’s backing him now, we can get to them before they can do any serious damage.”
“Then, vamos, we don’t have any more time.”
Scott gave a little bow of his head and left the office. He, too, had a decision to make. Where did his loyalty lie? He could still get out of this yet.
Chapter Forty-Four
Yuriria, Guanajuato, Mexico
Blake clasped his hands behind his back upon the hill overlooking the hacienda. The fading light silhouetted him. One week had passed since he’d left James at the hacienda with Jessi. Still, Quezada hadn’t deigned to show up.
He stared down upon the courtyard through a pair of binoculars. Once again, James practised shooting with Jessi on his makeshift range. A loud crack of live ammo burst through the air on occasion. The birds in the distance left their perches squawking and screaming.
Blake lowered his binoculars and held them out for Sinclair to take.
Sinclair raised them to his eyes. “Do you see anything interesting?”
Blake’s lip curled upwards in disgust. “Winchester is wasting our time. Quezada must have learned to stay away.”
“We would have heard about that by now.” Sinclair clutched the binoculars in one hand. “He must be feeling the effects of Vargas’ death. Montoya has been stepping up his attacks.”
“God damn fool. That lady said he hadn’t visited her in a while. There must be something she’s not telling us.”
“You spoke to her?” asked Sinclair.
“I questioned her in accordance with protocol. I don’t trust Winchester. I don’t trust him at all. He’s training her how to use a gun, but I think she’s distracted him. He’s not paying attention to the contract.” He scratched his sideburn. “Last I checked, the contract involved killing Quezada, not hanging out with Montoya’s sister.”
Sinclair spied two figures in the courtyard. He didn’t want to believe James had fallen for her. Agents spent their free time seducing the local women, of course, but this was neither the time nor place.
Blake stamped his foot. “I’m going to pull him right out of there soon. That bitch and what she wants can go straight to hell. That’s what I get for having faith in Winchester.”
Sinclair gave Blake a sidelong glance. “Give it time. There’s no hurry.”
“Yes, there’s a hurry.” Blake removed his sunglasses. “Don’t you read the news?”
Sinclair shrugged. “Of course, but what does this have to do with us?”
“A big scandal is about to break in the US. Senate majority leader Phelps is dead. They found the body. They’re about to declare a state of emergency in Florida to stop the drugs and guns moving across the Gulf. They’re linking it partly to Senator George Black.”
Sinclair didn’t see the connection between assassinating Quezada and the machinations of US politics. Didn’t scandals break every so often in Congress anyway?
“This is all connected.”
“I don’t follow you, Blake.”
“The client is involved in this whole thing. Everything happening here is linked to everything happening in the US. If we don’t move soon, the client will be very unhappy. And if the client is very unhappy, we’re going to be very, very unhappy. You get my meaning?”
Sinclair nodded, finally understanding. “Who is the client?”
“None of your god damn business. I’m just telling you that we’re out of time. Quezada has to go. We can’t wait anymore.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Sinclair.
“Get Quezada here. I don’t care how you do it. Just get him here.”
Chapter Forty-Five
The sound of a powerful engine awoke James from his doze on the balcony of the hacienda. He stopped for a moment, his pulse pounding in his ears, searching for the source of the noise. He popped up from his chair, his hand already on his pistol.
Should he wake Jessi? No, he didn’t want to scare her. He crouched down and put a single eye above the balcony wall. The sun had just crested above the horizon. A black 4x4 with blacked-out windows and an aura of viciousness charged through the gate. The sunrise glinted off the hood of the car.
It could only mean one thing. His adrenalin soared. Quezada had managed to catch him out. James continued to spy on the car, hoping they wouldn’t sense anything untoward.
He watched four men climb out of the car. None of them looked like Quezada. He gritted his teeth and snuck into Jessi’s room. He still had a few minutes before Quezada would notice something amiss.
Jessi continued to sleep soundly, a peaceful expression on her face. He reached out a hand and brushed her cheek lightly. Her eyes, like two deep chocolate pools, opened to him.
“Mmmm?” She barely moved.
“I need you to get up and take the gun I gave you. It’s Quezada.”
&nb
sp; A look of terror came into her face and she threw the covers aside. James stepped backwards as she stood in the dimly lit room dressed only in her underwear. Jessi seemed unperturbed by his presence as she seized her gun from the drawer of her night table and loaded it.
James thought about stepping outside, but something rooted him to the spot. Jessi took her time dressing. He kept switching his gaze between Jessi and the outside. He hadn’t heard a noise yet. Quezada must be taking his time.
He made a mental picture of the hacienda’s layout, including the wing where Aunt Camilia slept. This was home turf for Quezada.
“Which one is Quezada?” asked James.
Jessi balanced on one foot as she shoved her leg into her pants. “He has black hair, not shaved. He uses gel on it, lots of it. High cheekbones and a straight nose. Too straight. It used to be a hook.”
“What colour are his eyes?”
“Blue.”
“Blue, good. Rare for a Mexican.”
“What are you going to do?” Jessi zipped up her pants.
“I don’t know yet. For now, stay quiet and stay out of sight. This is a big house. It gives us an advantage. Don’t shoot unless you absolutely have to, or until you hear me shooting, okay?”
Jessi’s mouth hung slightly open.
He stepped forwards and embraced her. “Be strong. You can do it.”
Jessi nodded into his chest.
“Go. Into the north side of the house. It’ll give us some time.”
They emerged back out onto the balcony. James no longer saw Quezada and his men, but he couldn’t hear their rage either. They still had the jump on them.
“Slowly,” James whispered. “Don’t make any noise.”
Jessi raised her hand to her mouth as if she wanted to break and cry. She obeyed James and wandered away to the opposite side of the house. James bit his lip as he wondered whether he could keep her safe. He couldn’t afford a shootout. Despite her practise, he couldn’t teach combat experience.
He took a deep breath and closed the door of Jessi’s room. It may give them a few precious seconds.
A violent Spanish curse slashed the early morning quiet. James watched as Jessi increased her pace and disappeared into another room. For now, she was safe. But for how long?
James headed for the lower levels, into the maze of rooms snaking around the hacienda, listening for any signs of the four narcos out for blood. His thoughts kept moving back to Jessi, cowering in the darkness. He couldn’t allow them to get to her. He’d promised to keep her safe. It was a pledge to her, a pledge to Montoya.
He crept through a living room when he heard a thump. James threw himself behind the sofa, aiming his pistol, ready to strike. A shadow fell across the room, illuminated by the alien green light emanating from the aquarium.
Heavy footsteps made their way into the room. James froze as he peeked out at the intruder. The man gripped a gun. The ghoulish light illuminated the side of his face. Not Quezada.
James stalked the man as he crept through the room. He inched his way to the other side of the sofa. The man turned his head away from him. James leapt out and seized the man around the neck. Pressing his forearm into the front of his windpipe, he clutched the man in a death hug.
The big man stumbled backwards. James fell into the wall. His head snapped back against the concrete. A shooting pain erupted through the back of his skull, but he never let go. The edge of his arm pressed as the man struggled for breath. James held on tighter as the fight drained out of his quandary.
Quezada’s man opened his mouth as if to call for help. Only a gurgling sound squeezed out of his throat. The death rattle. James cranked on his arm one final time and the man went limp. James let him sink to the floor.
He released out a great puff of air and shook out his arm. The feeling returned and he seized the man by the shirt and dragged him into the corner. It wouldn’t hide him for long, but those few seconds could prove crucial.
James continued the hunt through the hacienda. Each room he swept like a fine-bristled brush, checking every corner, searching for any tell-tale signs that someone had crept through there. When he reached the kitchen, he found Aunt Camilia sitting at the table, her hands cradling a cup of coffee, the veins popping out on the backs of her hands.
“Where are they?” James whispered into her ear.
Camilia shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“You must have heard them. Where did you last see them?”
Camilia shook her head, once again, and said nothing.
James gritted her teeth. He knew Camilia wanted to protect her nephew from harm. He sighed and made his way out of the kitchen into a storeroom used as a pantry. Amongst the boxes of tortillas and canned food, he glimpsed the blinding light of the open door on the other side.
He checked his corners again before advancing through the cavernous space. James stopped at the end of the room. Something didn’t feel right.
James turned back. He saw nobody, but he felt a presence. He raised his gun out of instinct and fired back towards the little corridor between the kitchen and the storeroom. The sound of the gun echoed through the room.
A scream came back from the kitchen and a hail of fire rocketed through the storeroom. James dove away from the door and crouched behind a stack of cardboard boxes. He adjusted his aim at the door. Footsteps from the kitchen made his pulse accelerate. The silhouette came into view and James fired. Another of Quezada’s men dropped dead.
Once the echoes had cleared, James’s head snapped from side to side, as if attached to a swivel. Trying to catch a sound. Trying to find a sign. He heard footsteps thumping above his head. Quezada had started to sweep the upper levels. He was closing in on Jessi.
James tore through the storeroom, past the new bullet holes in the wall, and emerged into the sunlight again. He squinted into the sudden burst of light. Weighing up his options, he decided to make his way to the unused section of the hacienda. With only two men left, he had to check on Jessi. He couldn’t let Quezada get to her first.
Using the low walls as cover, he circled the hacienda to the one door he knew he could smash through into the other wing. He made it around one corner before more shots forced him to hit the ground. James didn’t need to look up to know where it had come from. Quezada had made it to their former living quarters.
“Quezada!” a voice called.
“Shit,” James muttered under his breath.
He half-crawled, half-stumbled along the veranda. Each time he made it a few feet, another burst of gunfire forced him to the ground again. He didn’t know where Quezada was, or where he’d emerge. If he got pinned down here against two guys, it was over.
James lifted his gun and fired blindly at the other side of the house, before crawling a few more feet. Little by little, he made his way around the hacienda until he came to the area hiding Jessi.
He crouched at the point where the two walls intersected and tried to locate his attacker. James slammed another cartridge into his gun and opened fire again. His shots missed hopelessly at the man in the distance.
“Quezada!” The man called again.
James had had enough. He backed himself against the warped wooden door and emptied his cartridge as he mule-kicked the door until it came free. The weak door flew open and James threw himself inside as the man returned fire.
He took some long, deep breaths to gather himself during the momentary lull. Quezada hadn’t responded to the shouts from his soldier. Smart move. A long chill ran down his neck. The drug lord was stalking him.
He inspected his new surroundings. It was like he’d stepped backwards in time. This part of the hacienda had nothing but broken-down furniture half-covered in dusty sheets. The windows, cut out of the stone themselves, allowed in just enough light through the bars to see the outlines of the room, nothing more.
James inched through. This time he moved with reckless abandon. They’d gotten close to Jessi’s hiding spot, too close. He did
his checks in a split second before ploughing on. Eventually, he came to a small stone staircase leading to the upper levels.
As he prepared to make his way up, he heard a scream and gunfire. It was a woman’s scream. Quezada had found Jessi.
Chapter Forty-Six
Valenciana, Guanajuato, Mexico
The great church of San Cayetano stood above the gaping mouth leading to the silver mines. The façade had lost most of its saints and one of the bell towers. Yet each day, worshippers came in droves. Blake passed the tired-looking organ and approached the pulpit. He sat down next to Fernando, who, with his eyes closed, clasped his hands in prayer.
“Praying won’t get you nowhere in this game,” said Blake in a low voice.
Fernando opened his eyes. “You Americans like to mock us.”
“I’m just saying, God isn’t interested in your business. He’s more interested in that.” Blake pointed at the altarpiece covered in gold leaf. “Your time has come.”
“My time?” Fernando’s jaw stiffened. “Why do you say that?”
“I hope you made the necessary arrangements. Quezada will be dead within the next few hours. He’s walked into a trap he won’t be able to get out of. If you’re not ready to take the leadership now, someone else will take it for you.”
“I’m ready.”
Blake nodded. He knew Fernando had everything he needed to take control of the cartel. With Quezada’s most feared lieutenant dead and Alex a shell of his former self, nobody could contend with a hungry young man like Fernando. Besides, according to his sources, Fernando held considerable respect among his peers.
“What are you going to do first?” asked Blake.
“Make sure everyone falls into line.”
Blake leaned back on the pew and crossed one leg over the other. “Intelligent. But then what? Continuing the war with Montoya shouldn’t be the priority. Be more ambitious. Montoya will fall sooner or later, then what?”
“I’ll decide what we do, not you, gringo.”
“Remember who put you in power,” Blake snarled. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. It’s why your boss is dying as we speak and you’re sitting in this church.”
