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

by James Samuel

  “No problem. I’m on my way up. I don’t know what the conditions are like on the upper floors.” James called for the elevator. “You’ll need to tell me how far up I need to go.”

  The elevator arrived with a ding. James observed the illuminating numbers above the elevator doors. He hoped the other security guards weren’t keeping an eye on the elevators or he might have trouble.

  “Most of the construction has already been completed,” Sinclair confirmed. “It’s just everything inside. Only the upper floors are still skeletons, so you shouldn’t need to worry about wind conditions up there.

  “Got it. How far?”

  “Hard to say. You’ll have to judge that for yourself.”

  James sighed as he pressed the button for the 27th floor. The elevator went no further than the 35th right now. He assumed the floors above that were still skeletons. As the elevator ascended the floors with a whirr, he tried to make a mental picture of how far up he would have to go to make the shot.

  The illuminated numbers in the elevator crawled past at a painfully slow pace. It gave him time – too much time – to consider everything that could go wrong. Maybe the guard knew about an emergency lock inside the storeroom and had already pressed a panic button. Perhaps the guards had seen one of the elevators on the move and wanted to investigate. James had no intention of murdering any of these innocent people.

  “Are you there yet?”

  “Shut up,” said James. “I’m almost there now. I can’t talk until I know it’s clear.”

  “Well, I don’t see anything that could go wrong from up there.”

  James stopped responding as the elevator dinged to signal its arrival. The automatic doors slid open to reveal the 27th floor. To his surprise, the guard he’d taken hostage had told the complete truth. Instead of the gilded surroundings of reception, he encountered a faceless, undecorated construction site. Only a few lonely maintenance lights lit the way.

  He stepped out of the elevator with his suppressed pistol clutched at his hip. This silence spooked him for a moment. For his own sake, he didn’t want to take the elevator again for fear of discovery.

  “I’m on floor 27 now.”

  “What do you see?”

  “It’s completed but nothing has been decorated yet. Just an empty space. I’ll see what the shot’s like from here. If the guard was telling the truth, I won’t find anyone on these floors at this time of night.”

  “Never assume anything.”

  James began his search of the floor. The various office partitions had already been erected and hastily painted in white. He found no furniture to speak of. Exposed cables snaked along the ground. Like every floor in buildings like these, the windows stretched from floor to ceiling. He gazed through the window. There was indeed a clear view of Romero’s house but for a stubborn couple of palm trees separating his marina from his home.

  “I can’t get a shot here,” said James. “But there are lights on in the garden. You were right. Romero must be there, or at least close by.”

  “Keep going.”

  James resisted the temptation to use the elevator and, instead, made his way to the staircase. Through the heavy metal door, he entered the isolated stairwell. He took a second to peer down the centre of the stairs to the nearest landing ten or fifteen stories below.

  Through the shadows, he decided to go all the way to the 30th floor. Every minute he allowed to pass would only make it more likely he would miss his opportunity. His thighs burned by the time he’d vaulted the last couple of steps and burst through the door.

  The 30th floor had much the same look as the previous floor, only the walls hadn’t been painted and still had large numbers scrawled across them. The cables were less ordered, and James smelt paint fumes.

  He went to the window and squinted at the view. He’d managed to clear the palm trees. Something about the shot didn’t feel right, though. He wanted to do better.

  “I’m going to go a floor higher,” said James.

  “Hurry up or we are going to run out of time. The temperature is already starting to drop out here. If it gets too cold, the chances of Romero going out into the garden are small.”

  James wasted no time in heading for floor 31. This time he found what he wanted. Like every floor he ascended, he found a little less care taken. He even found toolboxes pushed up against the wall, with the body of a crane on either side of his view into Romero’s garden.

  “This will be fine. I can feel a draught coming in from somewhere.”

  “Walk me through everything you’re doing. I’ll report if I see anything suspicious.”

  James finally put the weighty case down on the ground. He unclicked the locks and revealed the kit Sinclair had prepared for him. Firstly, he removed the glass cutter, polished in gold plating, and set to work setting the suction cup in the centre of the window. It adhered cleanly.

  “I’m making the incision now.”

  The cutter sliced apart the glass like butter. When he finished making the opening, he moved the suction cup gently. The circle he’d created moved and James eased the portion of glass outwards. A rush of cold air hit him in the face. He squinted through the icy blast of air.

  “Alright, it’s open. Putting together the rifle now.”

  In the dim light, James took the various pieces of the rifle out of the case. They fitted together with simple clicks. The final part, the suppressor, increased the size of the deadly sniper rifle by almost double. He started loading the rifle.

  “Freeze!”

  A shock went through James’s solar plexus at the new voice behind him. He turned to find a man pointing a pistol at him. The whiter than white American didn’t appear like someone from Romero’s crew. In fact, he dressed smartly, like he could hold down a job with the Secret Service.

  “What’s going on?” Sinclair said into his ear from his position in the rental car across the street.

  James hissed and switched Sinclair off.

  “Put the rifle down.”

  James paused for a moment. The man held his gun with two hands like a trained professional, rather than a gangster. He finally put the sniper rifle on the ground, all thoughts of Romero banished.

  “Who are you?” asked James.

  “I’m the one asking the questions. Who are you and what are you doing here, as if I didn’t know already?”

  “Then you already know the answer.”

  The man reset his grip on his gun and took a couple of steps forward. James noticed he had the correct stance. He’d been trained in combat.

  “I was stationed here because it overlooks the back of Romero’s house. The only real place you can get a clear shot of it. It turns out we were right.”

  James nodded. “Then you know already that I came to kill Romero. Are you one of his men?”

  “FBI.”

  He drew in a deep gulp of oxygen. Blackwind preferred to avoid organisations like the FBI as much as possible. It only caused problems that could well expose the rest of their activities worldwide.

  “State your name. Your real name.”

  “James Winchester. And your name?”

  “Enough,” the man snapped. “I’m asking the questions.”

  “If you’re really an FBI agent, you’re supposed to tell me who you are if I ask, whether I’m under arrest or not.”

  The man’s lip curled upwards in disgust. “Agent Scott May.”

  “Nice to meet you.” James stayed on the ground on one knee. “You’re going to protect a man like Romero. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which side you’re on.”

  “Why do you want to kill Romero, Winchester?”

  “Private business. Before you ask, no, I don’t work for the Mexican drug cartels.”

  “I’m going to have to take you in, you understand that, right?”

  “If you must.”

  Scott clicked a button on the top of his vest. The radio crackled into life. “We have an intruder.” James didn’t hear the resp
onse. “No, I’ve got him. I’ll take him down.”

  “So, you were already staking this place out the whole time?”

  Scott approached him. “You bet. Romero is our business, not yours. We’re not going to let a foreign hitman interfere with our business on US soil.” He removed a set of handcuffs from his belt. He stood a few feet away from James. “Put your hands behind your head. You’re going to play nice, right?”

  James moved his hands behind his head and lowered his other knee to the ground. How could they have been so stupid to not prepare for this?

  Scott lowered his gun and stood behind James.

  “Where are we going?” asked James.

  “We’re taking you –”

  James grabbed the glass cutter hidden behind his ankle and struck him across the face with it. The agent screamed in agony as he dropped his weapon. He hopped up with the cutter in hand and swung at Scott’s head. The FBI man couldn’t even raise his hands in time as the second and third blows came in, mangling his face like the grinder in a slaughterhouse.

  James stood over Scott, his hands covered in blood, still holding the cutter. The agent still breathed. Each ragged intake of oxygen sounded like the wind rushing through a narrow canyon. This was one man he couldn’t allow to live. Picking up his suppressed pistol, he silenced Scott forever.

  “Sinclair.” James tapped the radio. “The FBI are here. They’ve found me.”

  “What?” Sinclair sounded panicked. “What happened?”

  “I killed him, but he’s called in back up. We don’t have long.”

  “Get out of there. We’ll think of another plan.”

  “No,” James snapped. “I didn’t come this far only to back out now. Keep me updated. I’ll fight my way out.”

  “With what? You only have a pistol and a sniper rifle. They’ll swarm you if you stay there. Get out of there.”

  Sinclair’s words rang in his ears, but he didn’t care. Wiping his bloody hands on his trousers, he grabbed the sniper rifle and set the heavy gun in place. He tried to steady it as he looked through the scope for Romero. Whatever happened, he would take the shot.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Washington D.C., District of Colombia, United States of America

  Blake watched the bank of computers with folded arms. Fresh off a plane from Mexico, he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Data ran across most of the eight screens. It moved so fast he couldn’t read what any of it said. His favourite computer geek, Ryan Haley, typed away furiously on his keyboard.

  “Where’s Romero?” asked Blake. “Did the FBI move in on him yet?”

  “No. They say it’s tomorrow.”

  Blake clasped his hands behind his back and observed the caged guinea pig on the table behind Ryan’s high-backed computer chair. Sprinkles the guinea pig made little chittering sounds as he hopped across the sawdust.

  “Your friend Winchester is having a party in Miami it seems,” said Ryan.

  Blake looked away from Sprinkles. “What are you talking about?”

  The rogue FBI agent cracked his hands in front of him and wiped his glasses with the bottom of his rumpled shirt. “I’ve been tracking him as you told me since he arrived in Miami. He’s alerted the Bureau.”

  Blake approached the computer screens again. None of the computer-speak on the screen said anything to Blake about James.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The Bureau has put out an alert at the building here. It’s right across from Romero’s mansion. You don’t need to be intelligent to figure out what he might be doing there.”

  “So, that’s what that bastard is doing. He’s trying to kill Romero, finish everything off for good.” Blake’s jaw hardened. “I’ll give him credit. He’s got balls. What’s the Bureau saying?”

  “I can see more chatter in their systems.”

  “You can see that much?” said Blake, impressed.

  “It’s not hard.” Ryan grinned, displaying his coffee-stained teeth in the blue light of the computers. “Increased chatter means something has happened. Winchester must have been discovered.”

  “Can we do anything from here?” said Blake.

  Ryan shrugged. “Not really. It’ll be on local stations now. They should have backup converging on his location now.”

  He thought about his next move. Blake hated James, but he couldn’t deny his skills or his uncanny luck. Part of him wanted James to fail. The FBI shooting or capturing James would be satisfying, but that wasn’t his destiny. Gallagher would be furious at losing one of their best agents. More importantly, if James were ever captured alive he might share any number of Blackwind’s secrets. Blake had to protect his livelihood.

  “Put in a call to this number.” Blake slid a handwritten card in front of Ryan. “Tell him you’re from the FBI on my behalf. Coordinate with him. I want drones on that building. I’ll put an end to this.”

  “You can’t send drones in on a residential area. That’s crazy.”

  Blake raised his eyebrows. “A lot of crazy things happen. My guy in Miami is on standby, awaiting orders. Now, do it. We don’t have much time.”

  Ryan took a deep intake of breath. He looked like he wanted to protest, but Blake had saved him a lot of trouble in the past. Now was the time to repay the favour.

  “Are you going to help him or hurt him?” asked Ryan.

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Chapter Sixty

  Miami, Florida, United States of America

  Fear paralysed James as he stared through the scope, hunting for his target. His arms shook from the adrenaline. Time was running out. The FBI were on their way. Doubt crept into the forefront of his mind. Would he even make it out of here?

  “James, I can see some black cars in the parking lot. No lights.”

  “Shut up,” James hissed.

  James refocused on finding Romero. Through the scope, he saw his garden in every detail. The lights burned, illuminating everything from his pool to the pretentious sculptures. There were people in the garden. Lots of faces only half-lit. He cycled through each of them, confirming their identities.

  Then he spotted him. Romero moved through the gathering towards the house. James followed him in his sights. He couldn’t get a clear shot as he moved up the stone steps to the main house.

  “Shit,” he said under his breath. “He’s there, but I can’t get a shot on him.”

  “Take a chance. You don’t have much time. It won’t take them long to realise their man is dead.”

  James tightened his jaw as he followed Romero. He had one chance. A gap between the top of the steps and the door where nobody lingered. James angled the sight in this space, waiting for Romero to enter the crosshairs.

  A massive ball of fire threw James back before he could squeeze the trigger. He dropped the rifle in shock. It clanged to the floor. The fire evaporated and so did Romero’s garden in a blaze that sent shockwaves radiating across Billionaire Bunker. James just stared open-mouthed at the scene before him.

  “What happened?” asked James. “Sinclair, what happened?”

  “Get out of there. This is your chance. Ask questions later.”

  James left the rifle where it was and backed away from the window. Part of Romero’s house had also caught fire as the garden smouldered. He wondered how many had perished in the blast. Grabbing Scott’s gun as well, he made his way towards the elevator.

  “Is it safe to take the elevator down?” asked James.

  “The FBI has already made their way into the building. You can try it, but you’ll give away your position and open yourself up to being cornered.”

  “I’ll take the stairs.”

  “I won’t be able to help you much from out here. There are no cameras in those stairwells.”

  James gazed at the bank of elevators. Both elevators were set on the ground floor. He pressed one button to head to the 29th floor and the other to the 33rd floor. Maybe it would buy him some time to get through the flo
ors before they found him.

  He descended the steps, jumping down the last few of each flight. As he got to the lower floors, he heard other footsteps. James strained to listen. It sounded like they were passing him on the office floors.

  On each floor he passed he tried to count where he was. It wasn’t until the 11th floor when he heard a door to the stairway open below him. James cursed and ran into the office on the 11th floor. Only the night lights burned. The maze of empty cubicles and thin partitions wouldn’t offer him much protection if they found him here.

  “I’m trapped on the 11th floor,” he whispered to Sinclair. “What should I do?”

  “There are at least five FBI cars now. A group of agents are outside blocking all the doors. You’re not going to get out unseen.”

  “Do you know if there’s another set of steps? They’re coming up.”

  “The other side of the floor. There always has to be two because of fire safety regulations.”

  James let out a great gust of air. Some luck at last.

  “Hurry up,” said Sinclair.

  What he wouldn’t give for a cigarette now, he sighed. James pulled his lighter out of his pocket. A thought crept into his mind. It was risky, but it might be the only way to continue his escape.

  He seized a sheaf of papers from the nearest cubicle and lit the corner of one of them. Each time the flame burst into life he added more paper. Precious seconds slipped by as the fire grew brighter. Finally, he threw on a great wad of paper and left it next to some folders. He could only pray the fire wouldn’t die out.

  James hurtled towards the other door. He threw his shoulder against it as the fire alarm wailed. The great hiss of the fire sprinklers went off as a thin film of water coated each office.

  Safe in the stairway, he heard only the muffled sound of both the alarm and the sprinklers. He began throwing himself down each staircase again and again. He’d reached the sixth floor. James looked over the railing and saw the entrance to the ground floor below him.

  The door burst open and agents entered the stairway. James froze. He had nowhere to go this time. James levelled his suppressed pistol at the agents running up the steps. At least he could catch them by surprise.