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

had recently been slaughtered in any number of grizzly ways. He couldn’t believe so many people bought it.

“As you would expect, no progress has been made in the investigation. The police have no suspects and no leads. None of the cartels has claimed responsibility for it.”

“The police in this country wouldn’t have any suspects or any leads if she was shot right in front of them.”

Sinclair released a half-laugh and resumed his seat. “She was considered a real up-and-coming politician. Before that, she was a heavy favourite in the polls in Hidalgo. Running on a platform of anti-corruption and national pride. The people reclaiming their land from the thieves that run this country.”

James rolled his eyes. “Fascinating. What does this have to do with me?”

“Nothing, I just thought it might be something interesting.”

James remained silent as he polished off the last of his enchiladas. As the cook delivered Sinclair’s meal, she whipped the clean plate away from him. James leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach.

Sinclair stuck his fork into the topmost enchilada when James harrumphed.

“How would you recommend I approach this first?” asked James.

“Really? You waited until my meal arrived to start asking questions?”

James tilted his head like he had no idea what the hypocritical Sinclair meant.

Sinclair sighed and let his cutlery fall back towards the table. “You have two options when dealing with a man like Quezada. The first step is to find him. That can be done from inside the cartel or from his enemies.”

“Well, a white Englishman is hardly going to have much success infiltrating a cartel as a soldier, so I think the best option would be to make friends. If you have any contacts…”

Sinclair leaned forward. “I know one man who can help you. His name is Mario Seco. He works for the La Familia Celaya cartel. His brother is a lieutenant with a direct connection to Enrique Montoya Rodriguez, the leader of their cartel.”

“And this… Mario? Why would he help us?”

“Because we are paying him a lot of money to help us. The only condition of his cooperation is he will not do anything against the interests of his cartel.”

James folded his arms. He didn’t like the sound of this, not with Sinclair’s track record of dropping him into dangerous situations in the past.

“You remember Hong Kong, Scotland, Tunisia?”

Sinclair looked away. Even behind the sunglasses, James could see his eyeballs trying to look at anything but him.

“I apologised for all that,” said Sinclair. “You know in this business nobody is ever one-hundred percent trustworthy. Are you going to name all the times where my contacts were trustworthy and helped you complete a contract?”

“It only takes one serious mistake.”

“The nature of the business.”

James nodded. “Set up a meeting with Mario.”

“Very well. I’ll bring him to Guanajuato City. This is about the only place where there’s no narco activity in this state. Now, can you please let me finish my lunch?”

Chapter Three

James awoke in his rented colonial house. The small two-bedroom home had a chill about it, as it always did before the midday sun penetrated the thick concrete walls. He stared out of the window at the Rubik’s cube of colonial houses twisting along the valley where Guanajuato City lay.

His phone buzzed on the worn bedside table. James grumbled and picked it up as it continued to vibrate in his hand.

“James? Are you awake?” said Sinclair.

“Obviously. Why are you calling me this early?”

“It’s nine in the morning. We need to meet earlier before we meet Mario. Something has happened that I think might be worth knowing. I can’t tell you over the phone. Even in Mexico, you never know who might be listening.”

James sighed. “Where should we meet?”

“Your place.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Now?” James exclaimed. “I’ve only just got out of bed. This can wait until after my coffee.”

“I’m outside. Open the doors, or someone is going to wonder why some gringo is standing in the middle of the street banging on your door.”

James bit his tongue to force down an angry retort. Sinclair had a habit of materialising any time he pleased without a care for what anyone else might be doing.

He quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, before tugging open the reinforced corrugated metal doors that served as his front door. The house he lived in used to be a huge garage that the owner had converted into another apartment. With a heave, the doors scraped along the floor to reveal Sinclair dressed like a normal human being instead of an American retiree. His red hair glinted like fire as the morning sun encroached upon the street.

James frowned. “What do you want?”

“Can I come in, James?”

“No.” James shut the doors behind him and locked them. “We’ll go into the garden.”

James’ house came with a garden one door down. He could only access it from the street, but it served as a place for him to clear his mind and get a full panoramic view of the city below him. He took a small key and snapped open the garden door with a clang.

“Fancy,” said Sinclair.

A set of stone steps led through a little seating area with a low table facing the garden. The stonework and the flowers in bloom were carefully tended to by the obsessive wife of the landlord. They settled into chairs at the wrought iron table. An ashtray rested in the centre, with the remains of James’ stubbed out cigarettes from the night before.

“What a view,” Sinclair declared. “How much do you pay for a place like this?”

“Two-hundred a month.”

“Not bad.”

“Just tell me what you want, Sinclair. You’ve already ruined my morning. Next time, call me before you come.”

“But if I called you before I arrived, you