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

Romero sipped at his whisky. “I assumed that would be a natural part of the bargain anyway, as it would be in your interest just as much as it would be in mine.”

“Then tell me what you want.” Phelps raised his voice. “I didn’t come here to play games. You know I took a risk in coming here. If the media – or any of my staff – knew I was meeting you it would be a national scandal.”

“And I thank you for trusting me enough to come here without the usual security arrangements. It’s a real honour, Leader Phelps, but we came to talk business, and your family have always been smart businesspeople.” The words pouring out of his mouth sickened Romero as he said them. “That’s why we are negotiating. I was hoping we could go beyond the usual arrangements. Give me something special and your payoff will be worth many times more than it already is.”

Phelps’ eyes glinted at that. “Many times more?”

“The biggest import exporter in both the US and Mexico will have the budget for that. You’ll wonder why you spent so many years in Congress. Your family won’t have any debts to pay ever again.”

Phelps nodded. “Okay, what I can do is pass legislation to take attention away from Mexico. I could even tell the president to start a small war in the Middle East to distract the public from what’s going on. If I can divert those resources away from tackling drugs and arms, you can make as much money as you want.”

Romero flashed his teeth at that. “That would be tremendous. I just have one small concern about this plan. What happens if you’re no longer the majority leader in the Senate? Your power would be gone. The polls don’t look good.”

He chuckled at the idea. “Son, I’ve been in politics for the last fifty years. I’ve seen them all come and go, and yet I’m still there. Trust me when I say this, I’ll be the majority leader of the Senate for the next few election cycles yet.”

Romero knew Phelps would react like that. The man did have some strength about him. Regular low approval ratings in Virginia had had people prophesising his demise for the last ten years, yet he always found a way to win.

“It’s still a great risk to me. It could leave my operation stranded if your party fell out of favour with the wider public.”

“God damn it!” Phelps slapped the table, sending whisky shooting into the air. “I’m telling you what I know. I’m not going to be lectured by some wetback who only stepped foot in this great country of mine five minutes ago. Take it from an expert that I know what’s going to happen.”

Romero sat frozen in his chair. Every instinct encouraged him to get out of his chair and strike Phelps across the face. Nobody had spoken to him like that since he was a child, and he wouldn’t take it from some old white racist with delusions of grandeur.

“I do have certain sources in US politics.” Romero measured his words. “And they do know certain things about you, personally.”

Phelps’ droopy eyes lifted to meet his for the first time. “Whatever they’re saying they’re wrong. Now, where is that damn whisky? What sort of lazy cretin are you hiring here?”

“They say you’re done, Leader Phelps.”

“Do they really? And what do you think of that?”

“I believe them.”

Romero reclined further in his chair, letting his head descend beneath the backrest.

The sniper shot came swiftly, sending the chittering birds fleeing from the trees. Phelps fell backwards, a bullet straight through his eye. Romero stood with a vicious grin on his face. Phelps had made a fatal mistake today by trusting Romero enough not to bring his security detail.

Romero turned back to the house and gave a thumbs up to Scott in the annex of the house.

“It’s a shame you didn’t know that if you left here today, I would have leaked it to the papers. You’d have resigned by tomorrow and your family would have become the nothings they should have been long ago.” Romero gave the prone mess that was once Senate majority leader Phelps a sharp kick in the stomach. “Pendejo.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Pátzcuaro, Michoacán, Mexico

Michoacán state marked the beginning of the drug war all those years ago. Former President Felipe Calderón had launched his attack on the narcos in Michoacán days after taking an office. Since then, the drug war had never ceased.

They drove Diego’s Land Rover down from Guanajuato. Rather than the burnished golden ground and scrubland bordering every highway, Michoacán gleamed luscious green forests with towering mountains. The mists shrouded the hearts of each mountain, leaving only the peaks visible in the cloud-filled sky.

“Why does Sinclair never come with us on these missions?” asked Diego as they tackled the undulating hills outside the centre of Pátzcuaro.

“I never asked.”

“You should. He’s trained as a field agent. There’s nothing stopping him from doing this. Just because he’s in intelligence doesn’t mean he can’t help.”

James glanced over at Diego. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing. I’m just speaking aloud.”

It had dawned on James in the past that Sinclair avoided anything in the field. He tended to melt into the shadows until everything was said and done. He had always put it down to Sinclair being more skilled in the arts of intelligence and planning than shooting. Not everyone had the stomach for looking into the eyes of the dead.

The winding uphill road took them into the heart of Pátzcuaro. The white-faced buildings and dark signs created a rustic standardisation across the town. In many ways, it resembled Guanajuato with all the colour drained away.

Diego struggled to fight his way through the traffic to their hotel. The complex