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

Sinclair visited them at the mansion one early afternoon when the sun had reached its highest point in the sky. The three of them huddled underneath the dusty columns of Dr. Silva’s courtyard, donning sunglasses, and tall glasses of homemade iced orange juice.

“Diego, good to see you’re back on your feet again.” Sinclair patted Diego on the shoulder.

“Like nothing ever happened. Not the first time someone has shot me. Probably won’t be the last. You got something for us?”

Sinclair perched himself on the edge of his chair. “Mexico City has finally decided to take action. They’ve deployed the Federal police and some divisions of the army in Guanajuato, mainly around Celaya and León.”

“Great news, that should really help us,” said James with heavy sarcasm.

Sinclair ignored him. “A man called Rasgado was promoted as the new secretariat today. That’s defence minister in England. The last one, Camacho hasn’t done any good, so we’ll see how he does. They say the president is desperate.”

James shrugged. “Well, that’s warmed the cockles of my heart. Did you come all the way out here to tell me that?”

Sinclair sighed. “No. I came to tell you I contacted Jacob Finch today. I’m sure you both know him, even if you haven’t met him.”

James and Diego grunted in agreement. Finch had worked with Blackwind for much of the last decade. The notoriously reclusive hacker rarely left his home, and few had ever met him in person. He hacked not for gain but enjoyment. Like Gallagher had done for James, he’d extracted him from the clutches of British justice.

“I asked for authorisation to gather information about the goings-on in Mexico. In a bid to get some more information about Parejo and Vargas, in particular. Gallagher authorised it, and Finch hacked the Mexican government’s computers, including the computers of the Federal police.”

James ignored the long snake of ash about to crumble from the end of his cigarette. Getting authorisation for Blackwind to actively hack a government’s systems took a lot of legwork. Now he understood why Sinclair had rarely been in contact during the past few weeks.

“It turns out the Mexicans know more about Vargas than we first thought. Apparently, an investigation was carried out and completed into the bus massacre in Celaya. They just never made it public. Vargas was the man behind it.”

“Yes, we know that.” Diego’s tone betrayed growing impatience. “And it’s not something we care that much about. We want Vargas or Parejo and then we find Jessi Montoya. Nothing else. We’re not the police.”

Sinclair turned to James. “Did you know the Federals also have an address for Vargas’ family?”

“Interesting.”

“In particular, they know where his mother lives. She lives across the border in Michoacán, in a place called Pátzcuaro. Have you heard of it?”

James shook his head.

“No, of course not, because James doesn’t like tourism and never likes to explore the country he’s in. Stupid question.” Sinclair cleared his throat. “Pátzcuaro is a city on Lake Pátzcuaro. That’s where Day of the Dead originated. There’s always a big festival there every year. She lives in a house on the lake. That’s the address the Federals wrote down for Vargas.”

“Obviously, it’s not where he actually lives, though. But if they wrote down that address it must mean he visits regularly.”

“That’s something you must understand about us Mexicans,” said Diego. “We men are very close to our mothers, even narcos. A son will scream and fight his father all day, but his mother is the queen. Even cartel leaders fear their mothers.”

James nodded. The way forward was clear. If they could target the mother of Vargas, it would draw him out of hiding. Thus far, they hadn’t managed to pin him down. But if he believed his mother was under threat, he would have to respond.

“How bad could it get?” asked James.

Diego guffawed. “Bring an army. Vargas will bring his.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Miami, Florida, United States of America

Romero struggled to hide his distaste for the man in front of him. Senate Majority Leader Phelps reclined in his garden like he owned the place. The wrinkles and spots on his face made him resemble a melted candle. Every kind word that passed this man’s lips dripped with insincerity. Yet Romero knew he needed him to cement his place as the most powerful underworld figure in North America.

“Have your butler bring me some more whisky,” said Phelps. “It’s a fine whisky. The very best.”

Scott remained impassive, but Romero knew he boiled inside at Phelps’ arrogance.

“Go on,” said Romero to Scott.

Phelps waited for Scott to disappear before leaning forward, his expression positively salivating at what he knew of Romero’s proposal. “So, are you still backing what you told me before?”

Romero gave him a cool look from behind his sunglasses. “Leader Phelps, everything I said before still applies. But you know what I want in return. This must be a collaborative effort. You need to tell me what you can do for me.”

“What I can do for you? Well, you know I can continue stalling Congress. I can make sure nobody bothers you or your operations. Every state governor of my party will do exactly as I say, because they know they won’t get any more funding for their election campaigns if they don’t.”

Romero nodded. “What else?”

“What else?” Phelps spluttered. “What more could you need from me? Grinding the entire Federal government to a halt should be more than enough for what you need.”

“I need more, Leader Phelps.”

Phelps’ nostrils flared. “Alright, I have a direct line to the president of this country, you know that? He’s the president of my party. I’m the reason why the opposition can’t lay a finger on him. I’m the reason why he can appoint justices to the Supreme Court. Without me, the president wouldn’t be