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

all angles shouted about Castro in Spanish as he waved his arms around for willing listeners.

“Over here,” said Sinclair. “Go up the stairs.”

Sinclair led him to a shop selling tacky tourist tat. At the side of the shop, a set of steps led up to what James assumed was the owner’s home.

Sinclair reached around him and knocked on one of the sea blue doors. “It’s actually a motel, but most of the people living here have been here for months. Let me do the talking.”

James nodded.

A shirtless old man wearing a pair of long linen shorts answered the door. A rumpled scar ran down his bronzed belly.

“Sinclair?” said the old man in a half-American, half-Cuban accent.

“A long time.” Sinclair gripped the man’s hand. “Three years.”

“Yes. You look whiter than ever.”

He grinned at his friend as he awkwardly hugged him with one arm draped over the man’s mole-encrusted shoulders.

“This must be your friend. Come in, a drink? I have some rum if you’d like.”

“We’re on the clock, Raul,” said Sinclair. “This is James Winchester, by the way. We need you to get us everything we need as I told you on the phone.”

“I see. Come in.”

The old man hiked up his shorts and limped inside. A large double bed dominated most of the room. The furniture seemed as worn as its occupant. The TV played a rolling, repeating newsreel of NFL highlights. A small bathroom offered little more than crawling mildew and rust.

“I’ve got everything you need in those bags.” Raul pointed at three black duffel bags on the floor next to the bed. “Everything you had on your list is there.”

Raul took out a cigarette and perched himself on the edge of the bed. His swollen feet glowed purple beneath the tanned skin.

“James, go and look through it. It’s mainly for you, after all,” said Sinclair.

Sinclair sat on the bed and accepted a cigarette from Raul. James rooted through the three duffel bags. Raul’s haul impressed him. He found a couple of high-end laptops, together with the hardware he would need to take on Romero and whatever he could throw at him.

James reached down and picked up a long metal cone. He smiled as he discovered Raul had even managed to come up with a suppressor for his pistol. For a man who lived in a crappy motel room, he’d far surpassed expectations.

“Everything there?” asked Sinclair.

“Everything for me at least.”

Sinclair sighed and pulled the duffel bag with the computer equipment onto the bed. “You really don’t understand a thing about computers, do you?” He pulled out the computers and gave them a cursory glance. “Yes, these are the models I wanted.”

Raul cleared his throat. “You boys better get out of here, then.”

James threw the duffel bags over his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Wait, wait.” Sinclair struggled to zip up his duffel bag. “I wanted to ask you if you had any intel on Roberto Romero. Remember, that was another request of mine.”

Raul smirked. “What do you want to know? He lives in a big mansion. That’s no secret.”

“That’s all you got?”

“That’s all I got, for now.”

Sinclair’s face dropped in disappointment. He gestured to James and they said goodbye to Raul, who closed the door behind them the moment they stepped over the threshold.

When they reached the bottom of the steps, James pulled Sinclair back by his free arm. Sinclair spun around.

“That’s not enough to go on. Can’t you do better than that? At least I need to know the layout of the mansion and something about his habits. I can hardly drive up to the gates and start shooting, can I?”

Sinclair sighed. “Look, I wasn’t asking about where he lived. Raul was being coy about what he knew. There was something I didn’t tell you about Romero.” He looked from side to side. “Look, let’s talk about it in the car. You never know who’s listening.”

They threw their new set of toys onto the backseat of the Mazda and clambered out of the scorching heat. James cursed as the searing interior hit him. The hot leather upholstery felt like it would burn through the seat of his trousers at any moment.

Sinclair fumbled with the air conditioning system, releasing a cool blast of air into their faces. “Look, Romero won’t be in his mansion for long. We need to make a choice. The FBI is planning to swoop on Romero. They haven’t moved yet, but they will soon.”

James shrugged. “What? How do you know that?”

“I have lots of friends.”

“Mystery man now, are you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Great.”

Sinclair drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “There’s no need to go through with this. We can let Romero go down without lifting a finger.”

“No,” James snapped. “Think about it. Romero has how many millions? He’ll be out of the country before they can touch him. Even if they do get him, he’ll have the best lawyers in the country. Plus, I made a promise to Quezada. He let Jessi go in exchange for me killing Romero.”

“Are your promises that important to you?” asked Sinclair. “Jessi is safe. Who cares about Quezada? If Romero is in prison, it still makes Blake look stupid.”

“I do. I’m a man of my word. Besides, Jessi might not be safe for long. Quezada still has powerful friends. I’m not going to risk her life or break my word by not doing what I said I would. Romero dies, FBI or not.”

Sinclair gulped and turned the ignition on. The shiny Mazda hummed as it pulled away from the curb and back into the busy South Beach traffic. James’ mind had nothing but Romero swimming around it.

For Mexico, for America, for Jessi, and for himself. Romero had to die.

Chapter Fifty-Six

James and Sinclair set themselves