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

stabbed his fork into a piece of wayward chicken and held it in the air as a new arrival caught his eye. A tourist in khaki shorts, sunglasses, and a camera hanging around his neck gave a polite greeting to the bored-looking woman.

James lowered the food pinned to the end of his fork. He knew full well who the tourist was, and this most certainly was no tourist.

“Why are you dressed like that? “said James, half in bemusement and half in disgust.

Sinclair Wood, the overweight middle-class intelligence agent from England’s home counties, walked across the small restaurant and perched himself on a plastic chair. “You never heard of blending in, James?”

“There’s blending in and then there’s looking like that. You look like an American snowbird. All you’re missing are the white socks and the knee brace.”

James shook his head as he looked Sinclair up and down. His best friend in all the world. A level of seriousness always tempered by the mischievous glint in Sinclair’s pupils. Ever sarcastic but professional, Sinclair readjusted his chubby frame in his cheap, wobbly seat.

“I thought I looked rather realistic.”

“Nobody is denying that. Now, what do you want?”

“Not much for small talk, are you?”

“You’re the one who dragged me here to the bus station,” said James.

Sinclair sighed. “Fine, I know you’re the type who doesn’t like humans.” He pulled out his smartphone. “I sent it to you through our secure app. Just read it and tell me what you think.”

James felt the characteristic vibration of his smartphone against his leg. He left his meal to go cold and pulled out his phone. He hovered his finger over the button and unlocked it. Clicking on the app developed just for them, he found a link inside, with the URL directing him to the servers of Blackwind.

“How many files do you want me to look through?” James asked. “I’ve told you before, just tell me what I need to know and nothing else.”

“Click the first one. Anything else you need we can go through it later.”

James tapped his thumb on the uppermost file on the largely blank page. It opened to reveal the face of a Mexican with a thick black moustache, large jowls, and a stubby nose. According to the file, the man in the picture was Alberto Cardoso Quezada.

“Quezada?” James said under his breath.

“That’s the one. The leader of the Santa Maria de Guadalupe drug cartel. Do you know anything about them?”

James shrugged. “Cartel? I don’t watch the news here.”

“If you did watch the news, you would know that Guanajuato state has now become the frontline of the drug war in Central Mexico. La Familia from Celaya has run Guanajuato without too much trouble for years, even from the Michoacán crowd. Now they are moving in from the north. You would notice if you ever left downtown Guanajuato.”

James quickly scrolled down the page, absorbing little snippets of information about Quezada. It was true. He had rarely ventured outside downtown Guanajuato since arriving in Mexico. After his last job, he had wanted to get away from everything, and he chose the farthest place possible from England. Only the Blackwind private military organisation knew of his exact location.

“You never called me after our last job.” James didn’t look up.

“I believed you needed some time to rest. That was a big job in Hong Kong. The last thing we want is to overwork people in our line of business. That’s when they make mistakes. Why, did you gamble all your money away, or something?”

James smirked at that. Field agents of Blackwind were paid ungodly amounts of money. They hid behind an apparently legitimate private security company, of course, but Blackwind only dealt with the major offensive operations, typically on behalf of governments and other shadowy figures.

“So, what’s the job?”

“Liquidation.” The whites of Sinclair’s eyes appeared to glisten. “The usual.”

“A matter of simplicity, right?”

Sinclair shook his head. “Narcos don’t continue to survive just because of the incompetence and corruption of the Mexican authorities. They are not all as stupid as they seem. Quezada is someone you seldom see in public. That picture I showed you is from fifteen years ago, before he came to lead his own cartel. I believe that’s a police photograph from some minor assault outside a bar.”

“So, first of all, I have to find him and hope he hasn’t changed his appearance. Then I have to somehow get to him and liquidate him.”

“Precisely. You will have all the usual methods of support, so no need to worry there. Anything you need you can have. This is Mexico, after all.”

James nodded and locked his phone. Sinclair always made it sound so easy, but he never had to do any of the work on the ground. He only served as the intelligence partner for James, providing distant support through his network of contacts and computer wizardry.

Sinclair switched to Spanish as the woman sauntered up to their table. “Get me the same as him.”

The woman grunted in acknowledgement and returned to the back. Sinclair opened the fridge next to the counter and removed a glass bottle of coke. He flicked it open with the bottle opener hanging from a piece of string on the wall.

He turned to James and took a swig from the bottle. “Did you hear about Luna Carrea?”

James returned to his lukewarm enchiladas. “Who’s that?”

“Good God, it’s like talking to a hermit. She was a candidate for a senate seat in Hidalgo state. Her face was all over the news channels yesterday. She was murdered in Mexico City by a cartel. They shot her in a taqueria.”

James really didn’t care for current events. A woman walked down the cobbled streets of his neighbourhood six days a week advertising her paper, The Red Note. It only reported on the Mexicans who