Failed State (A James Winchester Thriller Book 1) (James Winchester Series) by James Samuel (best selling autobiographies TXT) 📕

won’t last much longer, Alejandro,” said James. “Give us something useful. Is this really the way you want to go?”

“I told you, I don’t know nothing. I’m nobody in the cartel. They won’t tell me anything like that.”

James looked at Diego, who already held the water ready to continue the torture. He shook his head at Diego to stop. A street narco like this didn’t have the mental fortitude to hide his secrets under waterboarding.

Diego released his knee from Alejandro’s stomach. Even he realised that this man had nothing to offer them.

“What do you want to do with him?” Diego switched to English. “He’s worthless to us.”

“He thinks we’re going to kill him anyway. You think he’s not telling us something?”

“It’s possible.” Diego shrugged. “Snitches and their families are usually killed, so narcos will do anything they can to stay quiet.”

“What about this one?”

Diego shook his head. “Nah, he knows nothing.”

James sighed. Now they had a worthless prisoner who knew their faces. If they released him, he would blow their cover. He knew what had to be done. Blackwind made it quite clear: no loose ends.

Diego whipped out his revolver and shot Alejandro clean between the eyes. With that, Alejandro was no more.

“We’ll need to bury him before the sun sets. We don’t want to get caught in the middle of nowhere when it gets dark. You never know who’s out there.”

“You better start digging then.” James ran his hands through his short hair. “There’s only one spade.”

James walked away to contemplate their next move as Diego’s eyes bored maliciously into his back.

Chapter Twelve

Guanajuato, Guanajuato, Mexico

 

The mosquitos and moths flitted around the lights of James’ garden as morning crested above the other side of the valley. James, Diego, and Sinclair sat around the table smoking cigarettes and pouring Cuba Libres. Despite the alcohol, annoyance dominated the ambience. James had reached a dead end and didn’t know where to turn next.

James took a big puff of his cigarette. “We can’t just go around kidnapping narcos in the hope someone knows where Montoya is. She could be anywhere and if too many people disappear, they’re going to lock everything down.”

Sinclair shrugged. “I really thought news of things like this would spread. We’re not dealing with a government. We’re dealing with narcos.”

Diego tutted. “You really underestimate these people. They’re not the government, but they run things like the government.”

“You say that, but criminals are not as smart as they like to think.”

“They fight the government to a standstill every day.” Diego raised his voice. “Every year hundreds of policemen die in ambushes. You gringos always think criminals are stupid. But I tell you, the Americans were defeated by a bunch of farmers in Vietnam. You British were beaten in Afghanistan by people who think a turban and a helmet are the same thing.”

Sinclair rolled his eyes and looked away.

“There’s no point arguing about this,” said James. “The point is they have Montoya, and if we don’t find her, we won’t have the help on the ground we need to get to Quezada. We’re not going to find Quezada eating at Casa Ofelia, are we?”

“Why not?” Diego smirked. “The food is good.”

James guffawed at that.

“Diego, do you have anyone high up we could contact? You’re a big man in Mexico, you must know someone,” said Sinclair.

Diego narrowed his eyes at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, come on, you know what I mean. Don’t tell me you don’t know a politician or two.”

“Maybe I do, but how would that help us?”

“It might or it might not. Most of the long-serving politicians are linked with the narcos in some way. If we talk to the right man, you never know.”

Diego’s expression darkened. James knew what it meant. Sinclair wanted to push into Diego’s private businesses in Mexico, the very reason why Blackwind wouldn’t give him any official assignments within the country.

“What’s in it for me?” asked Diego.

“Whatever happened to comrades in arms, Diego?” Sinclair teased.

He gave the two Englishmen a look of defiance. “I won’t jeopardise my business here for any mission. This has nothing to do with me. I’m doing this as a favour.”

James twiddled his thumbs as he held his cigarette between his teeth. “Asking one of your contacts isn’t going to cost you your businesses. If you do us a favour, I’m sure we can do something for you, off the record, of course.”

Diego leaned back in his chair in deep thought. It took a few seconds for him to gaze between the two men.

“Off the record,” James repeated.

“Fine, but you owe me and when I ask you to do something, you do it no questions asked, understand?”

“No problem.”

Diego drained the last of his rum. “I’ll make a call.”

As Diego moved out of the garden to make his business call, James sat in silence. What had happened today unnerved him. His role was to shoot to kill, but torture always made him uneasy. Even if narcos were a cancer bringing nothing but death and misery, did that give him the right to do what he did?

He swirled the remainder of the Cuba Libre and drained the rest of it. James’ eyes hung heavy with fatigue. His limbs felt emptied of all their strength.

Diego returned with wildfire in his eyes. “James, come. We go.”

“Go where?”

“Get in the car.”

James looked to Sinclair for support, but his intelligence agent only shrugged.

He didn’t like the murderous look on Diego’s face. That psychotic expression he’d noticed when waterboarding the narco. James thought it better not to argue and followed Diego to the Land Rover.

Diego drove into town without offering an explanation. Mexicans already crowded the streets on their way to work. The Land Rover buffeted