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

more than capable of handling these people,” he said. “These are narcos, not special forces. Worst-case scenario, we could fight off enough of them. These people won’t bring an army into the city, which is why I suggested we meet here and not in Celaya.”

They had purposely arrived at the café a half-hour before the scheduled meeting with Mario. During their time scouting the café, no customers had entered. The young girl behind the counter spent most of her time tapping away with two thumbs on her smartphone.

James chose a table in the garden, where they could see everyone advancing up the little hill and across the open plaza. Nobody could surprise them from this angle. If Mario had set a trap, they would have enough time to react.

As they waited, James ordered a breakfast of coffee and chilaquiles, a dish of beans, eggs, chicken, and tortillas in a Salsa Roja sauce. It came in a deep blue metal pot.

“Are you armed?” asked James.

“Hmm?” Sinclair had taken a strong interest in the leafy vines creeping up and down the walls of the centuries-old building. “Of course. A small pistol. Enough for something like this. You?”

“Always.”

As James spoke, he glimpsed a man coming up the hill. He didn’t need to ask if it was Mario. The glint of his gold Rolex watch and his tattoo-covered forearms announced to any onlooker that the narco had arrived. Only a narco would consider that high fashion.

“Ah, our man.” Sinclair stood and gave Mario a little wave.

James and Sinclair greeted Mario as he entered the café. Mario barely came up to James’ shoulders, but he walked like he believed himself ten feet tall. His designer clothing and the gold crucifix chain around his neck made him look like a rapper’s caricature.

James shook his hand with reluctance. “Good morning, Mario. Would you like something to eat? Perhaps some coffee?”

Mario shook his head, the tension apparent in his face. “You have the money?”

Sinclair sat down and took a thick envelope out of his coat. “They are all hundred-dollar bills. You can count them now if you like.”

The narco made it clear he trusted neither of them by meticulously counting the notes out in the envelope and muttering the numbers under his breath. Although the two of them could both speak Spanish, Mario’s heavy accent and tendency to mutter his words made it difficult for them to understand every word.

“All there?” asked Sinclair.

“Good.” Mario stuffed the envelope into his pocket. “You want to speak to Rodriguez?”

“As I said on the phone, that’s why we’re here. We have business with Quezada, and we need your help to get to him. You’ll be dealing with my friend here, Mr. Winchester.”

Mario looked James up and down. “Him?”

James maintained a straight face, even though the idea of working with a man like Mario disgusted him.

Sinclair nodded. “You know the deal. You have half now and you will get the other half when we find Quezada. Until that time, you will work with Mr. Winchester.”

Mario clicked his tongue. “Okay. My brother already knows. You going to work for us?” He looked James directly in the eye.

James nodded. “If that’s what it takes to meet your boss.”

“Meet me tonight at the bus station. Then we see if we’re going to work with you. My brother will be there, and he’ll decide. Be there at eight. Don’t be late.”

Mario didn’t linger to shake their hands or say goodbye to them. He stood up from the table and made his way out of the café. James noted the bulge coming from his waist at the back, the tell-tale sign of a gangster hiding a weapon.

James watched him until he disappeared out of sight. He didn’t know what to say about what had just transpired at their table.

“So, he’s not one for talking.” Sinclair laughed. “I suppose he still thinks we work for the police or the government. I’m sure after you prove yourself to him, he will lighten up and you’ll be the best of friends.”

James rolled his eyes. “He’s the sort of man I’d kill for free.”

Chapter Five

MTP fire-resistant gloves, ultra-high-density polyethylene body armour, L-3 BNVD night vision goggles, and countless weapons of various calibres, including an unused and vicious-looking Colt M4 Carbine.

All the tools of an advanced mercenary. All completely illegal. James arranged his gear on the bed in his spare room. Yet, despite his careful attention to every detail, in a few hours, he would meet with Mario, and he would be entirely at the mercy of the cartel. The moment he stepped into their presence he will have cut all his lifelines.

As much as he wanted to take as much of his gear as he could, he knew it would only put the cartel members on edge. He had to blend in and rely on his own wits to keep him alive and in their good graces. James selected a military-grade Glock 19x, with some extra bullets hidden inside his coat pocket.

After putting on his body armour and buttoning up his shirt, he observed himself in the mirror on the textured wall. It wasn’t obvious. It didn’t make him look too fat. The cartel members wouldn’t suspect anything as long as he kept his coat on.

He took a deep breath and left his home, ready, equipped, and with the mindset of a cold-blooded killer. Nothing else mattered now.

The sunset created a blood-red mask skittering across the sky. The tattered ends of the shroud gave way to fiery oranges and reds. He knew he had about an hour to meet Mario and his men at the bus station.

He had Guanajuato’s primary layout memorized, but the side streets and alleys snaking up the sides of the valley took a lifetime to master. James always stuck to the main