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

Time was running out. He couldn’t risk her running. He took a right into the residential streets. Dogs barked as he moved past the high buildings. The thick jowls of the half-starved guard dogs snapped at him from their rooftop sanctuaries. His pulse quickened.

Fernando took a hard left in an attempt to circle back onto the avenue without arousing her suspicions again. He knew from the previous nights, Carrea would keep moving down the avenue to her mother’s apartment.

He stopped on the edge of the street and peeked around the corner. Carrea came into view again. She moved faster than before, probably convinced the man who had passed her wasn’t just an innocent bystander.

When she strode out of view again, Fernando sprinted up the street. The dogs burst into their vicious song again as his sneakers slapped the dirty concrete. He stopped and dipped his head around the corner. He had the young candidate in his sights again.

To his surprise, Carrea didn’t continue her normal path. She stopped at a taqueria and disappeared inside. Fernando couldn’t believe his luck. He had her right where he wanted her. Wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans, he pulled out his phone and pressed his finger to the number he’d saved just hours before.

“Yes?”

“Stop for me. I’ll be on the side of the road,” said Fernando.

“What are you doing? That wasn’t part of the plan. We can’t stop.”

“Yes, you can,” Fernando spoke faster and faster. “She’s in the taqueria, she’s not going anywhere. I don’t want to be seen, so I’ll do it from the car.”

The driver didn’t reply. Fernando heard loud chattering in the background, with plenty of curses. Fernando clutched the phone to his ear like a raft in the middle of the ocean. Sudden changes of plan weren’t welcomed in the cartel.

“Fine, fine. We’ll slow down and pick you up. If we miss you, we won’t be able to get around. This is a one-way street and there’s too much traffic.”

The line went dead with a small two-tone beep, and Fernando headed out into the street. In the darkness, they would struggle to see him, so he stood facing the traffic, leaning against the lamppost.

A rickety Nissan Tzuru sedan pulled over. Once the workhorse of the Mexican taxi fleet, this retired rust bucket had been sprayed silver when it entered private use.

Fernando jumped into the backseat of the Tzuru. The driver and his accomplice in the front seat didn’t look back at him.

“Where is she?” asked Alex.

“In the taqueria.” Fernando gestured ahead at the little family-run taco restaurant. “There.”

“He’s going to get us killed, Alex,” the driver barked. “There’s a police station just down the road.”

“Shut up and do your job. We’ve got her now.”

The driver went silent. Alex outranked all of them. The men were sicarios, but Alex was a lieutenant reporting directly to the drug lord Quezada himself.

“Are you ready?” asked Alex.

Fernando nodded and removed the Glock 17 9mm pistol from inside his belt.

“Use this instead.” Alex dove down inside the footwell and pulled out a modified Colt AR-15 A3 Tactical Carbine with basic iron sights. “It’s been converted to automatic fire. You know what to do.”

The driver cruised down the road, hugging the righthand lane. Fernando rolled the window down. He’d practised with the AR-15 before. Alex had taught him how to shoot it and how to ensure he left no witnesses. The car cruised until it came level with the taqueria. He had only seconds to make things happen.

Carrea’s head snapped up from the little plastic table in the shadow of the doorway as the car threw its two wheels onto the curb. Fernando felt her eyes lock with his in surprise. He pulled the trigger, and the AR-15 unleashed its murderous spray.

The woman went down, falling underneath the table. Fernando tensed his arms to control the sheer power of the weapon as he angled it up and to the side to slay everyone else in the shop. They couldn’t afford witnesses. They couldn’t let anyone write down their license plate.

“Go!” Alex yelled.

The driver slammed the ancient Tzuru into gear. The wheels skidded as they struggled for purchase on the road before they all jerked forwards and the car zoomed away, weaving through the traffic as they headed for the highway out of Mexico City.

Chapter Two

Guanajuato, Guanajuato, Mexico

The bus station of Guanajuato City had but a single terminal surrounded by desolate wasteland. The Mexicans who got off the bus from Mexico City fought to get on the local bus into town. The richer folk headed for the taxi rank. James Winchester watched the scene play out as he tucked into a plate of Enchiladas Suizas in a ramshackle restaurant at the side of the road.

His bright green eyes were an oddity in a country where most locals bore an unremarkable brown. James’ handsome countenance and hollowed cheeks told the story of a high-stress lifestyle. His shirt traced the outlines of rippling muscles held to a sturdy yet slim frame.

Sitting on a blue plastic chair and trying to make the plastic cutlery cut through a tough piece of chicken, he kept glancing up at the door. James never entered a restaurant where he couldn’t sit and see the door. His acquired behaviours made him look strange, but, he reasoned, this was a natural consequence of immersing oneself in the business of death. It kept him alive.

James stopped to squeeze half a lime into the zesty salsa verde pooling around his enchiladas like a swamp. The buxom cook emerged from her kitchen, wiping her hands on the floral apron that barely made it past the top of her thighs, under which she wore a short denim skirt. He observed her for a moment as she moved outside and lit her cigarette.

He