Failed State (A James Winchester Thriller Book 1) (James Winchester Series), James Samuel [most read books in the world of all time TXT] 📗

He kept muttering curses to himself and gesturing out of the window at anyone slowing him down. They fought their way through El Centro until they arrived in the district of La Presa de la Olla. Diego parked them outside a white colonial mansion, the office of Guanajuato’s state governor.

“Why are we here?” James asked.

Diego ignored him and flew up the steps to the door. He threw his shoulders into it and marched into the depths of the office.

James followed in confusion. He found Diego leaning over the table of the bespectacled secretary. She looked upon him with a cold, impassive expression. What had the governor said to upset Diego so much?

“Where is he?” Diego demanded of the secretary sitting at her battered table. “I know Rosher is around here and I want to see him. Tell him who it is.”

“Governor Rosher isn’t here,” the secretary repeated.

James groaned and plopped himself onto a chair with spongy red padding. He sensed he would be here for some time.

From the gist of the conversation, Governor Rosher had said something Diego didn’t like over the phone. Like lighting the touchpaper, Diego wanted to extract his pound of flesh. As James closed his tired eyes, he thought only of Diego’s shady business dealings. The voices of the secretary and Diego grew in volume. Two stubborn moose pushing their antlers against each other.

“Come on, Diego, he’s not here.” James got up after hearing enough. “This is a waste of time.”

Diego backed off and raised a finger at the secretary. “You tell him, I’ll be seeing him soon.”

James and Diego left the office. Out on the street, they stood among big colonial-style mansions bathed in the morning sun. Despite the luxurious surroundings, most of these homes were split up for student apartments. Towards the upper end of La Presa de la Olla, the little crime centre of Guanajuato City housed much of the city’s scum.

“This isn’t normal,” said Diego. “He said he wouldn’t work with me. He’s avoiding me. It doesn’t make any sense.”

James shrugged. “Well, the governor isn’t going to help us. I suppose we’ll have to think of something else.”

“Oh no, this isn’t over.” Diego’s voice shook with rage. “This land works in a different way to your country. Rosher knows my business and I know his. When a governor suddenly decides he doesn’t want to work with you anymore, it means someone has bought him.”

“But who?”

“Usually a cartel. They’re the only organisations with enough money to buy a politician’s loyalty. I wonder which one bought him. It could only be one of two. La Familia or Santa Maria. Nobody else in Guanajuato has a big enough presence.”

“So, what’s the solution?” asked James.

“We take him.” Diego had a glazed look in his eyes. “We take him, and we find out who bought him.”

“Oh, come on. This is just getting messy now. How many times can we kidnap or kill someone? The mission was to kill Quezada and that’s the end of it. I’ve no interest in Mexican politics.”

“This is not about politics. This is a personal insult to me. You promised me that if I needed a favour you would do it without question. I’ve decided. This is your favour. This is your way of repaying me. We kidnap Rosher and we make him talk.”

James took a deep breath. The wind rustled through the willow trees in the garden. Their long leaves fluttered as the breeze caressed them. He knew he had no other choice. For want of a better solution, he needed Diego, therefore he needed the governor.

Chapter Thirteen

Celaya, Guanajuato, Mexico

On the home turf of La Familia, Celaya slumbered. The only signs of life were the stray dogs picking at the garbage bags on the street. One of the most dangerous cities in Guanajuato enjoyed a rare moment of peace.

Fernando crouched down in the cargo hold of the aeroplane piloted by one of Santa Maria’s professional pilots. Only tonight they weren’t performing a drug drop for their men on the ground. Three bodies lay on the floor of the cargo hold. They were shirtless, beaten beyond all recognition. Members of La Familia Celaya.

“The Sinaloa cartel did this once before,” said Alex.

Fernando gulped. It wasn’t the bodies that scared him but the rickety aeroplane. The floor shook beneath his feet, a few inches of metal protecting him from the world below.

“Quezada liked your idea about making Rasgado the new secretariat. A stunt like this will have all the papers talking. It’ll goad Camacho into taking action. And when he doesn’t get results, the president will remove him.”

“I’ve never flown in a plane like this before,” Fernando admitted.

Alex scowled at him. “Where are your balls, Fernando? Did you leave them on the ground?”

“No,” Fernando snapped. “It’s just this is a small plane, and it looks old. You can see the rust on the inside.”

“We’re coming over the centre of Celaya now,” the pilot called from the cockpit.

“Get ready,” said Alex. “When the doors open, start rolling them out. They’ll land over El Centro.”

Fernando nodded, barely managing to hold down the contents of his dinner. A couple of minutes later, the doors opened. He imagined how warplanes opened like this to drop bombs on the unsuspecting inhabitants below. He didn’t want to think about how these bodies would explode on impact, leaving a meaty mess strewn across the streets.

The whoosh of the air invading the inside of the plane hit Fernando full in the face. He couldn’t help but stare at the twinkling lights below him like they flew above the stars themselves.

“Fernando!”

He blinked and started mechanically as he rolled the bodies of the deceased. Like a bomber crew, they unleashed their cargo. One