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

“What do you see?”

“It’s completed but nothing has been decorated yet. Just an empty space. I’ll see what the shot’s like from here. If the guard was telling the truth, I won’t find anyone on these floors at this time of night.”

“Never assume anything.”

James began his search of the floor. The various office partitions had already been erected and hastily painted in white. He found no furniture to speak of. Exposed cables snaked along the ground. Like every floor in buildings like these, the windows stretched from floor to ceiling. He gazed through the window. There was indeed a clear view of Romero’s house but for a stubborn couple of palm trees separating his marina from his home.

“I can’t get a shot here,” said James. “But there are lights on in the garden. You were right. Romero must be there, or at least close by.”

“Keep going.”

James resisted the temptation to use the elevator and, instead, made his way to the staircase. Through the heavy metal door, he entered the isolated stairwell. He took a second to peer down the centre of the stairs to the nearest landing ten or fifteen stories below.

Through the shadows, he decided to go all the way to the 30th floor. Every minute he allowed to pass would only make it more likely he would miss his opportunity. His thighs burned by the time he’d vaulted the last couple of steps and burst through the door.

The 30th floor had much the same look as the previous floor, only the walls hadn’t been painted and still had large numbers scrawled across them. The cables were less ordered, and James smelt paint fumes.

He went to the window and squinted at the view. He’d managed to clear the palm trees. Something about the shot didn’t feel right, though. He wanted to do better.

“I’m going to go a floor higher,” said James.

“Hurry up or we are going to run out of time. The temperature is already starting to drop out here. If it gets too cold, the chances of Romero going out into the garden are small.”

James wasted no time in heading for floor 31. This time he found what he wanted. Like every floor he ascended, he found a little less care taken. He even found toolboxes pushed up against the wall, with the body of a crane on either side of his view into Romero’s garden.

“This will be fine. I can feel a draught coming in from somewhere.”

“Walk me through everything you’re doing. I’ll report if I see anything suspicious.”

James finally put the weighty case down on the ground. He unclicked the locks and revealed the kit Sinclair had prepared for him. Firstly, he removed the glass cutter, polished in gold plating, and set to work setting the suction cup in the centre of the window. It adhered cleanly.

“I’m making the incision now.”

The cutter sliced apart the glass like butter. When he finished making the opening, he moved the suction cup gently. The circle he’d created moved and James eased the portion of glass outwards. A rush of cold air hit him in the face. He squinted through the icy blast of air.

“Alright, it’s open. Putting together the rifle now.”

In the dim light, James took the various pieces of the rifle out of the case. They fitted together with simple clicks. The final part, the suppressor, increased the size of the deadly sniper rifle by almost double. He started loading the rifle.

“Freeze!”

A shock went through James’s solar plexus at the new voice behind him. He turned to find a man pointing a pistol at him. The whiter than white American didn’t appear like someone from Romero’s crew. In fact, he dressed smartly, like he could hold down a job with the Secret Service.

“What’s going on?” Sinclair said into his ear from his position in the rental car across the street.

James hissed and switched Sinclair off.

“Put the rifle down.”

James paused for a moment. The man held his gun with two hands like a trained professional, rather than a gangster. He finally put the sniper rifle on the ground, all thoughts of Romero banished.

“Who are you?” asked James.

“I’m the one asking the questions. Who are you and what are you doing here, as if I didn’t know already?”

“Then you already know the answer.”

The man reset his grip on his gun and took a couple of steps forward. James noticed he had the correct stance. He’d been trained in combat.

“I was stationed here because it overlooks the back of Romero’s house. The only real place you can get a clear shot of it. It turns out we were right.”

James nodded. “Then you know already that I came to kill Romero. Are you one of his men?”

“FBI.”

He drew in a deep gulp of oxygen. Blackwind preferred to avoid organisations like the FBI as much as possible. It only caused problems that could well expose the rest of their activities worldwide.

“State your name. Your real name.”

“James Winchester. And your name?”

“Enough,” the man snapped. “I’m asking the questions.”

“If you’re really an FBI agent, you’re supposed to tell me who you are if I ask, whether I’m under arrest or not.”

The man’s lip curled upwards in disgust. “Agent Scott May.”

“Nice to meet you.” James stayed on the ground on one knee. “You’re going to protect a man like Romero. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which side you’re on.”

“Why do you want to kill Romero, Winchester?”

“Private business. Before you ask, no, I don’t work for the Mexican drug cartels.”

“I’m going to have to take you in, you understand that, right?”

“If you must.”

Scott clicked a button on the top of his vest. The radio crackled into life. “We have an intruder.” James didn’t hear the response. “No, I’ve got