by James Samuel
“What do you want from me?”
“It’s quite simple. Continue this aggressive expansion and take Mexico. Your progress thus far demonstrates you have the ability to do it.”
Fernando turned to him with a look of disbelief. “Come on, that’s not what you want.”
“Expand this war for me. The reasons why don’t matter.”
Fernando turned away from him again and focused on the altarpiece.
“That’s the price. I don’t want you to stop. I want you to be to Mexico what Pablo Escobar was to Colombia.”
Fernando recoiled from him. “What, are you in the business or something?”
“I’m not.”
Fernando didn’t respond. It didn’t bother Blake in the slightest as he allowed the tension to settle between them. Blake wanted the wheels of Fernando’s mind to turn and process his newfound power. The young narco would soon get greedy and split the whole country into petty narco kingdoms. His client would be delighted with the chaos. Lots of smaller warring cartels gave him more bargaining power in his line of work.
“How?” Fernando said at last.
“Use Roberto Romero. He’s your man, but I’m sure you already know that.”
Fernando folded his arms. “That’s all?”
“That’s all. Use your full potential.”
“Fine.” Fernando got up and walked away.
Blake lingered in the near-total silence of the cathedral, enjoying how well everything had gone so far. Fernando had indeed taken up the mantel of leadership well. He’d killed the boy. The man had been born.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Yuriria, Guanajuato, Mexico
James sprinted through the abandoned half of the hacienda. His thoughts were not for his safety but for Jessi. The girl he’d only just met. He heard the screams and the sound of a struggle. Gunfire popped throughout the hacienda. Every shot gave him hope. Every silence made him fear the worst.
He halted at the upper levels, mindful of Quezada’s man. James levelled his gun and advanced across the top balcony.
James gained only a few steps when a heavy weight slammed into him, forcing him against the wall. Quezada’s man barrelled from one of the empty rooms. He hammered desperately onto the man’s thick back. James managed to throw the larger man off for a moment before a meaty fist caught him on the nose.
He tasted his own hot, coppery blood as his nose exploded. James folded up like a cheap garden chair as the man smashed him in the ribs with another meaty fist.
“Puto, gringo.”
James buried his shoulder into the man’s ribcage and drove him back towards the opposite wall. The man elbowed him on the top of his spine. The sharp pain rocketed through his spinal cord.
He slammed his fist between the man’s legs. Quezada’s man stopped, frozen as the pain hit him like a solid wall. James hit him in the same place again and the man sank to the ground holding himself.
James grabbed him by the collar of his shirt before he could hit the ground and hauled him towards the balcony wall. He heaved his heavy form over the top. The man screamed before hitting the ground headfirst.
He fell against the wall, looking down at the man he’d just murdered. He took in deep gulps of air. Wiping some of the blood from his lips, he fingered the bridge of his nose. Still intact. Still unbroken.
Jessi screamed again. Roused, he snatched up his gun. This time he had no trouble locating Jessi. He ran through the open door to what seemed like an old bedroom of some kind. The mattress had long since gone and only the wooden frame remained. He found Quezada throwing Jessi around by the hair.
James levelled his weapon at Quezada. “Let her go.”
Quezada’s eyes swept him up and down. The perfect face given to him by the best plastic surgeons in North America carried an arrogance about it. The icy blue eyes didn’t match his compatriots. One look chilled him.
“She’s my wife,” said Quezada. “I do what I like with her.”
“I’m not your wife,” Jessi shrieked.
“Shut up.” Quezada bent her neck at an awkward angle and forced his gun into her temple. “I’ll kill you.”
Rage erupted like bile as he watched tears running down Jessi’s face. He never lowered his weapon, but he couldn’t get him in his sights. Quezada wasn’t stupid. This wasn’t like the movies where the kidnapper stared at his attackers over the shoulder of his captive to give them a shot. Quezada didn’t move his head out from behind Jessi’s for more than a split second.
“Put your gun down,” said Quezada. “Or I’ll kill her now.”
James’ arm shook with anger and fear. He could slay Quezada now if he wanted, but the price would be Jessi. Another agent would have taken the shot. Diego would have opened fire. Blake too. But he couldn’t.
“Why would I do that?” asked James. “You think I trust you?”
“I don’t care if you trust me, gringo. Drop the gun. Last chance or I kill her. You think I care about her?”
James didn’t need to answer that. He knew Quezada didn’t care about her. He didn’t love her. She was a tool. Against his better judgement, he lowered his weapon.
“Fine.” James never took his eyes off the two of them as he put his gun on the ground and kicked it a few feet away.
Quezada didn’t move to grab the weapon. “So, you’re the gringo? The gringo who wanted to fight for Montoya?”
“It was never about that, Quezada. I don’t care about your war. I work privately.”
Quezada stopped hiding his head behind Jessi’s. His grip loosened and Jessi melted towards the floor, leaning against Quezada’s knees. For the first time, James saw the narco in his full malevolence. He didn’t wear the tattoos his men did or the garish jewellery. If anything, he looked like a normal man in smart clothes. It was those eyes that made him stand out. Even the surgeon’s scalpel couldn’t extract the viciousness within them.
“A mercenary,” said Quezada.
“If you like.”
“And what was your mission?”
“To kill you.”
Quezada smirked. “Why?”
James shrugged. “I only work for them. It’s just business. When I’ve finished my mission, the cartels can tear each other apart for all my employers care.”
“Who do you work for?”
James tilted his head out of curiosity.
Quezada pointed his gun straight at him. “Who?”
“Blackwind. You wouldn’t know the name.”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t. Didn’t you ever wonder why a cartel leader in Mexico would be that important to a gringo company? Try thinking about why someone would want you to kill me.”
“That’s not my job.”
“Do it anyway.”
James thought about it. At face value, it seemed like any other job. Someone ended up dead and he could leave to begin a new assignment on the other side of the world. He never meditated over why someone had to die or who wanted them dead.
“I don’t know. It could be anyone from the US government to someone who just doesn’t like you. Either way, it’s someone with a lot of money. Our services don’t come cheap.”
“I know who your client is. You think I haven’t known for at least a month that a gringo company has been hunting me?”
James licked his lips. He didn’t trust Quezada an inch.
“When I first created my cartel, I had someone who also wanted it. It was a man called Roberto Romero. You ever heard that name?” Quezada paused for a moment. “He lives in Florida now, so I can’t touch him on American soil. He always wanted a cartel like mine. Now he imports and exports our goods because that’s all he has left. I had my men make a deal with him, as a show of good faith.”
“Wait, wait, why would you work with someone you screwed?”
“He’s got a lot of friends in America. We had no choice if we wanted to make money. He’s wanted me dead for a long time. He’s your client, gringo.”
James clas
ped his hands behind his back. “Why are you telling me this? Why would it matter?”
“Sometimes people need to know what they’re doing. No, you don’t care, but if you kill me, Romero controls the supply and the means to transport it. He’ll be the most powerful man since Pablo Escobar. What do you think will happen to the people of this country?”
James raised his eyebrows. Was the brutal drug lord really trying to moralise with him? To pretend that his war was for the greater good of the people of Mexico.
“They’ll suffer like never before.”
“They suffer under your war already.”
Quezada clenched his jaw. “You’re being played for a fool. Do you know who takes over if you kill me?”
“Who cares?”
“Fernando Gomez. One of my lieutenants. No, you don’t care?” Quezada allowed his gun arm to drop to his side. “Another lieutenant of mine, Alex Parejo, he told me who put him into that position. Fernando is already prepared to take Santa Maria de Guadalupe today. He was put there by your friend.”
“What?” James exclaimed.
“Another gringo. An American. They met in Puerto Vallarta. I had him followed.”
James stiffened up. He didn’t need a calculator to tell him which American Quezada referred to. He distrusted Blake even more than he distrusted his boss Gallagher. Could Blake be playing everyone for a fool? Had he turned traitor?
“So, what are you going to do, gringo?”
James gulped. “Let Jessi go.” His voice came out weak and frail.
“I have bigger problems than her now. The original plan is not so important. Montoya is a cockroach to me. But why should I do something for you? You’ve already caused enough damage.”
“Please.”
Quezada cackled. “Oh, you care for her. The gringo mercenary. If you care about her or the people of Mexico, you’ll work with me.”
James hesitated. How could he help the man he’d been hired to kill? It could cost him everything if he tried to play both sides. He wasn’t sure which side deserved his support now. But he had to save Jessi. She was innocent in all this. Quezada wouldn’t lose any sleep over killing her.
Rays of light illuminated the disturbances of dust swirling through the air as the sun climbed up into the sky. “What do you want for her?”
“Kill Roberto Romero. Your bosses are using you like a tool. You think killing me will make the world a better place? Romero will control every cartel and he’ll be the next Escobar. He’s the biggest threat in the Americas. With me, you keep things in balance. After I’ve destroyed Montoya, I won’t move any further.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Answer now, or she dies.”
James looked away from Quezada and bit his lip. The worst decision of his life had fallen before him. His professionalism contrasted with his feelings, feelings he shouldn’t possess. He took one last look at the weeping Jessi.
“I’ll do it.”
“Good. James Winchester.” He scoffed. “The gringo.”
James nodded, his stomach tight as a knot. He knew nothing about Romero or whether Quezada was even telling the truth, but he had to do this. Jessi didn’t deserve to die.
“I’ll be in touch.”
Quezada dragged James’ weapon with the underside of his shoe before sticking it in his waistband as he departed the room. His footsteps died away. The deal sealed.
James waited for Quezada to go before he finally rushed to Jessi. He hugged her tight to him as she wept into his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated over and over again. “I’ve ruined everything for you.”
He held her tight. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Miami, Florida, United States of America
George never thought he would see the inside of a prison. The yard looked so desolate. Surrounded by high buildings and intimidating fences topped with razor wire, he saw no escape. No hope. Beyond the fences, the guard towers bristled with armaments following his every move.
“Quite the sight, isn’t it?” said Phelps.
“Look, Harrison, this is not the sort of place where I want to be seen. What if the press sees me?”
George’s heart thumped as he thought about the scandal if a journalist photographed him leaving a prison. It would only create suspicion. The faintest whiff of suspicion could end a man’s career.
“Nonsense.” Phelps held his chin in the air. “We are perfectly safe here. Unless you announce it to the press, there’s no reason to believe anyone knows we’re here. We’re only here to see our friend.”
George fidgeted and tried to focus on the task at hand. The doors opened and Governor Newton emerged in an orange jumpsuit, with a warden watching his every move. His face had turned a pasty white. No fake tan in prison, George thought.
Newton walked with an unsteady gait as he fidgeted with his cuffed hands. The warden removed the handcuffs and allowed him to walk unaided. Through the heavy steel doors, Newton staggered towards them. His retirement dreams in tatters and facing the rest of his life taking the air in a yard like this one.
“Governor Newton,” Phelps started. “How does it feel?”
“It was you.” Newton gulped. “You did this to me. And… you.” He stared at George. “We could have made a lot of money together and this is how you repay me.”
George straightened up. “I never wanted to work with you. But you wanted to dig your claws in. What did you think was going to happen?”
Newton gazed at him in disgust. “You’ll be in here with me too when I tell them what I know. I’m going to make sure all your dirty secrets get in the papers. I still have friends and you can’t stop me in court.”
Phelps smirked and stepped in front of George. “Now, now, that is something that will never happen. You must understand you are looking at serving the rest of your days here. But there’s also the possibility of getting out. Your retirement plans may have to change but –”
“What can I do now? Everyone knows about the corruption allegations. I’m as good as finished as governor. They can prove everything, and you know it.”
Phelps’ face barely flickered at the interruption. “Yes, you are. You will never hold any sort of political office again, and your influence will be toxic. So why not save whatever’s left of your reputation? Come out of that trial a free man.”
“So, you reached out to Black, did you?” Newton stared past Phelps at George again. “Is this just a way for you to make money?”
Phelps’ eyes flashed. “There are much easier ways to make money than this. No, Romero murdered my father. I am sure you must have known that since you were working with the senator.”
“No.” Newton’s mouth dropped open. “Never. I had nothing to do with your father’s death.”
Phelps shrugged. “It makes no difference whether you knew or you didn’t. The point is Romero is on my list. This is about vengeance. I’ll make sure Romero goes back into the dirt where he belongs. He thinks he’s stronger than a family stretching back centuries.”
“Harrison,” said George. “The deal?”
George clasped his hands behind his back. He’d jumped at the chance to see Newton removed from his position, but now Romero knew he’d turned against him. Only a fool couldn’t see that now. Although the public didn’t know it, he’d gone to war with one of the leading criminal drug traffickers in the US.
“You stay quiet about the senator’s involvement and you can be a free man after your trial. It may take six months in here, of course, but your trial will be expedited. You won’t leave the newspapers for weeks.”
“And how can I guarantee that?” asked Newton. “Why should I trust anything you say?”
“Because you have no choice. No choice at all. Take it or leave it. The senator stays out of the media, and you’ll get to enjoy your retirement. If he sees the inside of a cell, you’ll never see anything else.”
Newton
’s eyes flitted between Phelps and George. He eventually gave a small nod as his head drooped like a wilting flower.
“Excellent. I will make the arrangements. I’ll also see if I can make sure your trial comes up a little faster. I think that’s all we need to talk about for now.”
Newton didn’t extend his hand. He turned and trudged away, defeated and broken. George no longer recognised the Newton he’d met at the ice cream bar not too long ago.
“So,” said Phelps as Newton disappeared. “What should we do with him?”
“Let him go, right?”
“The choice is entirely up to you,” Phelps chuckled. “We can always let him rot. Think about what he said he was going to do to you.”
“But he’ll squeal,” George blurted out.
“Not until the verdict comes down. Once that happens, it doesn’t matter what he has to say. He will look like nothing more than a desperate man trying to settle old grudges and get his sentence reduced.”
George thought about it. He believed in Phelps, the man who had extracted him from this sticky situation. But it was a risk. Newton could always get a new hearing if someone believed he had more evidence. He took a deep breath, wavering between his desire for justice and his desire to stay afloat.
“Well, George?”
“Yes, yes, let him rot.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Sinclair saw movement in the hacienda. He’d watched James appear every so often, taking out Quezada’s bodyguards along the way. For a long time, everyone disappeared into the hacienda and the gunfire stopped.
His grip tightened on his binoculars as he watched Quezada leave the hacienda alone, get into his car, and drive away. His mouth fell open. Sinclair had an empty feeling coursing through his stomach. James couldn’t be dead.
He threw his binoculars into the car and sped down the hill. Unblinking, if it were true, he intended to pick up the body. At the very least, James needed to have a proper burial. He wouldn’t allow his friend’s body to rot like the corpse of a common narco.
