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

Guanajuato. Every whitewashed home looked pristine, free of the pockmarks found in the concrete of other neighbourhoods.

Blake Miller adjusted his aviator sunglasses as he wiped a curl of his sun-drenched blonde hair away from his ear. The field agent of Blackwind had turned up in Mexico without any warning. This worried Sinclair. It meant there had to be something more to this contract than simply assassinating Quezada.

“So, is Winchester on his mission now?” asked Blake.

“I think he should be. He should already have the car from Sarmiento and be ready to take Rosher.”

“Excellent. Does he know anything about the client for this mission?”

“No, I’ve avoided talking about it. You know how he can be when it comes to his principles. I don’t even know who the client is, which is out of the ordinary.”

“Quezada’s rise was fast. Too fast. He hasn’t had time to build real bonds with the little gangs he’s swallowed up. When he’s gone, they’ll rebel against Santa Maria and a whole new set of fronts will open up.”

“Indeed,” said Sinclair. “So, why are you here all of a sudden?”

“I know where they’re keeping Jessi Montoya.”

Sinclair looked up in surprise. “You do? How?”

Blake tapped the side of his nose. “Through some good old-fashioned espionage. To tell you the truth, there was an element of luck involved. I’m confident that Winchester would eventually find her. Whether it would be too late or not, I can’t say.”

“Where is she?”

“Why would I tell you that?” asked Blake.

Sinclair hated when Blake did this. Blake Miller came through the American branch of Blackwind. Bred in rural Oregon, he’d spent much of his career in the Marines before transitioning into mercenary work. Blake had never liked James, and James had never liked Blake.

“Why would we waste our time on this if you already know where she is?”

“Good question. A real good question. It’s what the client wants.”

Exasperated, Sinclair could only click his tongue. Blake was one of Gallagher’s favourites. He held a far higher opinion of him than he did James or Sinclair. When Blake stuck his nose into their contracts someone usually got hurt. James would always have to clean up Blake’s messes and, of course, Gallagher would give all the credit to Blake.

Sinclair tried a different tack. “Does Rosher know her location?” Blake didn’t blink. “Is this worth his time at all?”

“No, Rosher doesn’t know. But he does know other things about Quezada and his organisation, particularly the people who work for him, his lieutenants and advisors. One or two names should keep Winchester busy for a while.”

Sinclair scratched his head. “I don’t understand.”

Blake looked on impassively. From just a few feet away, his glasses were so dark that Sinclair couldn’t see his eyes.

“There has to be some reason for this. Some logic.”

“Look, Sinclair, the whole point of this long and dull journey is for Winchester to do more than simply complete the contact. The client specified he wanted Quezada dead. He also specified he wanted the Santa Maria cartel crippled. To cripple a cartel, you need to take out its lieutenants as well. It was the same with the Taliban in Afghanistan.” Blake paused to see if Sinclair understood. “How many times did the newspapers celebrate that another Taliban leader was dead? It accomplished nothing except to facilitate the rise of another one. The whole chain has to go if you’re going to really put an organisation to the sword.”

“Ah,” Sinclair just about managed.

“Ah indeed, Sinclair. Winchester must cut down the rest of them, and for that reason, he has to go the long way round.”

Sinclair finally understood. The contract centred around Quezada, but its purpose was to put an end to this dominant cartel and keep the war going. Gallagher had hidden that part because he knew James would never agree to it. James had his own code of conduct. He saw good and bad like black and white. If it weren’t for the greater good of the people, James would decline to take the contract.

“Then why did you ask to meet me here?”

“I wanted your cooperation in this.”

Sinclair mulled it over. He couldn’t stand deceiving James, but Blake’s logic made sense. If the client wanted the cartel crippled from top to bottom, this was the way to do it. Killing Quezada alone wasn’t enough.

“Okay, fine.”

 “Glad that you’re being reasonable. Okay, lead Winchester to Jessi Montoya. She’s being held in a hacienda southwest of Celaya, on the shores of Lake Yuriria. The town is small, and the hacienda is owned by a cousin of Quezada’s. The aunt lives there now.”

“In La Familia territory? Is Quezada really that brazen?”

“Sure,” said Blake. “Hiding her right under their noses couldn’t be easier. La Familia has no idea about most of Quezada’s family. Lead him there and have him free her. That will martial La Familia and allow the war to burn nicely. We’ll meet again afterwards to figure out Winchester’s next move.”

Blake gave Sinclair a stiff handshake and climbed back into his dark rental car. Sinclair didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all. Sinclair tried to tell himself this was just how their business worked, but it didn’t fill the gaping hole in his conscience.

What would James say if he ever found out the truth?

Chapter Twenty-Three

A long trail of sweat trickled down James’ back. He’d taken the car and driven it back to the academy. The other two cars joined him in convoy. None of them showed that they knew Sarmiento had taken a sudden vacation.

He tugged the peak of the cap over his eyes and kept his head down. His gun rested on the passenger seat, within grabbing distance. If this went wrong, he’d be a sitting duck. James tried to walk through the remainder of the mission in his