by James Samuel
“What?” said Juliana.
“Remember, I told you. Your son sent his friends to bring you a message.”
She moved to their sides. “She’s hard of hearing and a little forgetful. Early signs of dementia.”
Diego stepped forward and knelt before the mother, taking her hand and giving it a little kiss. “Juliana, your son has told me so much about you. This is an honour.”
James didn’t see a flicker of recognition in her face. He wondered if she even knew where she was. Her eyes barely left the television screen.
“Why hasn’t he visited me?” asked Juliana.
“He’s been very busy, but I’m sure he’ll come to visit you soon. Trust me on that. Your son just wanted you to know that he hasn’t forgotten about you and he’s going to make some time to come see you in the next few days. He sent me to deliver this message to you personally.”
Juliana appeared to smile, but James couldn’t tell within the masses of drooping wrinkles around her dried lips.
Diego took her hand again and gripped it before she withdrew it and gestured for him to get out of the way of the television.
“Well?” said James.
Diego turned to Juliana’s nurse. “What’s about to happen here has nothing to do with you. I need you to call her son and tell him to come here at once.”
She put her hands on her hips. “What are you talking about?”
“We came here to hold her hostage. Make him come.” Diego jabbed a finger at her face as she opened her mouth. “There’s no need to scream. Let Juliana be. As you said, she’s nearly deaf and she has problems with her memory.”
Her mouth fell open. “She needs to be taken care of.”
“Then take care of her,” said Diego. “All you have to do is act like we’re not here. Now, go, and nobody gets hurt.” He took out his wallet and counted out 10,000 pesos, which he forced into her hand. “For your trouble.”
The nurse took the notes and departed downstairs to relay the message to Vargas.
“Do you think she’s going to do it?” said James.
“Of course. If she doesn’t, Vargas will kill her. Two men have just taken his mother’s house. What do you think Vargas would do to her if she didn’t ask call?”
James clamped his lips together in a grim smile. “Now we wait.”
Chapter Thirty
Guanajuato, Guanajuato, Mexico
Blake liked to patronize the fanciest restaurants in any town he visited. Today, Blake had forced Sinclair to sit at a restaurant in the middle of Plaza Teatro Juarez. Mariachi bands played notes of love as visitors clapped along. Waiters dressed in pristine white shirts and bow ties rushed between tables to change the ashtrays, deliver the food, and take the requests of their customers at a speed which baffled the locals.
“Isn’t it ten times the price of a normal restaurant here?” asked Sinclair. “These are tourist restaurants.”
Blake stared at him through his aviator sunglasses. They’d just polished off the remains of their meals and had leaned back in their chairs to enjoy post-meal cognacs, their elbows propped up on the arms of their chairs. A waiter delivered yet another round of drinks to their table.
“Where is Winchester now?” asked Blake.
“He’s in Pátzcuaro. Holding Vargas’ mother hostage to draw him into the open. Expect him to respond quickly.”
“Good.” Blake took a drag of his cigarette. “Very good. If he can take Vargas alive he should give him the location of Jessi Montoya.”
“And remove one of Quezada’s most ruthless lieutenants.”
“Precisely, it will be a big blow to the cartel.”
Sinclair took a sip of his cognac. It went down smooth, warming his throat just enough to smack his lips. “And if he doesn’t take him alive – which is a strong possibility – should I lead him to Lake Yuriria? Time is running out. We don’t know how far along Quezada is. She might be ready to break already.”
Blake rolled his eyes at that. “Do you really think we would allow that union to take place? We will simply have her or him assassinated at the ceremony should it come to that. Quezada will never succeed.”
“Then why all this? Just kill her now and save all the trouble.”
“No,” Blake hissed. “The plan must proceed as directed. That means Winchester must follow the path chosen for him.”
“But why?”
“The cartels will rip each other apart.” Blake tapped the side of his nose. “Winchester must do it this way because that’s what the client wants. You know I can’t say anything more than that. This is what must be done, even if it puts Winchester’s life at greater risk.”
Sinclair sighed. He felt like James had become something of a sacrificial lamb in all this. Whomever the client was wanted total war among the cartels. He couldn’t allow Quezada’s plan to succeed through either absorbing La Familia or destroying them. Gallagher was using James like a tool, forcing him to do things he never wanted to do. How many thousands would die over this episode?
“And if Vargas doesn’t say anything about Jessi?” asked Sinclair.
“Then what?”
“Can I lead him to Yuriria?”
“No, then he should target Parejo. Those are Quezada’s two top lieutenants. Part of me hopes Vargas says nothing just so we send Winchester after Parejo as well. Those two are the eyes and ears of Quezada. Without them, he will have to take greater risks. Employ less trustworthy men. Show his face for us to take aim at.”
“Fine. But this better be for the greater good.”
“The greater good?” Blake scoffed. “The only greater good is what the client believes is the greater good.”
Sinclair’s mouth folded into a thin line. “Why are you even here? All this working in the shadows. Is this how we operate now? Keeping secrets from the people we are supposed to be working with?”
Blake shrugged. “That’s what Gallagher wants. Those are my orders.”
“Orders… Gallagher could have called himself, rather than sending you. If this puts James in –”
“This won’t put Winchester in harm’s way. No more harm than he usually finds himself in, at least.” Blake leaned forwards on his elbows. “Sinclair, this is how it has to be. Gallagher has ordered it done this way because, in his eyes, Winchester is one of the best people we have.”
“What about your eyes?”
“He’s always desperate to do good. If he wanted that, he should have been a missionary.”
“I agree that James has strong moral convictions. I will even go as far as to agree that they can get in the way. Sometimes it’s necessary to not tell him the full story, from a business standpoint, but what’s wrong with caring about the local people?”
“These people? Look at them, they’ve barely started wearing shoes.”
Sinclair swallowed his irritation. “You still hate each other, don’t you?”
Blake took a long guzzle of his cognac. “Winchester needs to know his place. Someday, Gallagher will see him for the liability he is. Until that time, I’ll carry out my orders to the letter.”
Sinclair let the subject drop. He didn’t like the tone in Blake’s voice. He sometimes wondered whether James’ brilliance was the only thing keeping him from being liquidated by his own side.
Chapter Thirty-One
Pátzcuaro, Michoacán, Mexico
Two days passed as they waited for Vargas’ arrival. James and Diego took four-hour shifts watching from the little bedroom overlooking the driveway. The room they chose to keep watch from appeared like the only neglected room of the home. The original wooden beams remained, and the walls had been whitewashed, but all the furniture seemed tattered and rundown.
On the morning of the third day, Diego entered the bedroom to relieve James. Diego wore an irritated scowl on his face.
“From what you told me about Mexican men,” James said in disgust, “I never thought Vargas would allow his mother to rot like this.”
Die
go stalked to the open window and spat outside. “This is getting ridiculous. We should just kill the old woman and come up with another plan. Vargas is laughing at us.”
“No.” James turned away from the window. “I’m not killing an old woman for the crime of giving birth to the wrong son. She has nothing to do with this. All we have to do is keep waiting. Sooner or later, he’ll respond.”
Diego growled under his breath. “You have too much faith in these narcos. Most of them are nothing but narco juniors.”
“You’ll need to explain that one to me.”
“Narco juniors. The sons and daughters of the older narcos. Those old men had a sense of honour. They kept it strictly business. What you see today are their children. They never knew poverty and they never had the need to get into this business. They grew up in high-class neighbourhoods smoking, drinking, and snorting their parents’ money away.”
“Glad to see your optimistic views on society.” James got up from the chair they’d dragged in front of the window. “Give it time. He’ll come. Let me go talk to Martina and see if I can get her to do anything about it.”
Diego replaced James at the window and propped his elbows upon the sill.
Martina was the nurse who diligently cared for Juliana throughout the day and night. James marvelled at her work ethic. She constantly cared for her every need and never complained once.
James found her lapping from a mug of coffee at the kitchen island. She didn’t make eye contact with him when he entered.
“Are you okay?” asked James in Spanish.
“Okay? Okay? You two hold me hostage, here at my work, and you ask if I’m okay. Gringo, you dragged me into this. It was never my business.”
James lifted his chin in defiance. She didn’t know the whole story, and he didn’t care to explain it to her.
“How long are we supposed to stay here? We are running out of food.”
“Until Vargas decides that his mother is worth something to him. You did send the message as you were told, didn’t you?”
“Of course, I did. What, were you thinking I was going to yell and scream down the phone like a little girl?”
James shrugged. “If you did, it might have helped. Vargas isn’t taking this seriously enough. You can help yourself and his mother by giving him a reason to come down here as soon as possible. As we told you from the beginning, this is nothing against you, or her.”
“Mexican women have too much pride for that.”
He sighed and moved around the opposite side of the island. James balanced himself on a stool. “You are not making this easy for any of us. But you could make life easier for you and her if you cooperate with me.”
“What do you want me to do?” Martina gestured frantically. “Cry? Scream? Throw this cup on the floor?”
“No, no, we just need to make her son believe that this is an emergency and that we’re serious. I want you to send another message to him.”
“Like what?” she snapped.
“Tell him his mother is hurt. Tell him that she’s fallen over or tell him we pushed her over and she broke her leg. It doesn’t matter to us what you blame us for. If her son believes she’s in serious danger, he’ll come, and then we can be free of this.”
Martina cradled her coffee cup between her hands, her grim expression displaying the battle between pride and pragmatism.
“It’ll be better for everyone.”
“Fine.” Martina slipped off her stool. “Have it your way, but when Vargas kills you, it’ll be your fault.”
Martina went to make the call. Her bravado showed she had no fear of Vargas. James sensed she knew enough to understand that even a ruthless narco was still made of flesh and bone. If he could bleed, he could be killed.
Martina made the call and delivered an impassioned speech that shocked even James. He spied from the kitchen door. It became clear from the voice screaming down the other end of the line she’d managed to connect directly to Vargas. By throwing away her pride Martina had lit the touchpaper.
“He will come tomorrow morning,” Martina announced.
“Tomorrow morning?” James repeated.
“That’s what he said.”
“I won’t let our guard down. If he thinks that’s going to work on us, he’s got another thing coming.”
Martina remained framed by the kitchen door, a determined expression on her face.
“Yes?” asked James.
“What about her?”
“What about her?” A sneering Diego came downstairs. “You think we’re going to let her go.”
“If Vargas attacks this house, it’ll be a massacre. I don’t want her at risk. She’s done nothing to you.”
James looked at Diego, who didn’t seem to be in a merciful mood after waiting in the house for this long with nothing but tortillas and beans.
“We’ll move her to the safest part of the house,” said James. “We don’t want anything to happen to her either if we can help it.”
“Thank you,” said Martina stiffly.
Diego puffed out his cheeks. “Why do you care what happens to the old woman? She gave birth to a monster. If anything, she would deserve to die.”
“She’s not responsible for the actions of her son.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You believe what you want, but I’m going to make sure she’s as safe as possible when Vargas turns up. I’m not watching another innocent die because of this.”
Diego tutted and stamped back upstairs to continue his vigil. James shook his head as he watched him go. Just a few hours of counting until Vargas arrived. This would be a fight to the death unlike any other.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Washington D.C., District of Colombia, United States of America
The American capital after the witching hour lifted a curtain not seen by the tourists and the well-to-do locals of the Nation’s Capital. It brought to life the slimy hive of drug dealers, the junkies, and the seditious plotters.
Harrison Phelps IV, a man who resembled his father in almost every way, bowed his head across from the Capitol Building. The enormous dome glowed white at night, casting a perfect reflection on the still water of the Capitol Reflecting Pool. Phelps had never thought the disappearance of his father would hit him in this way. Then again, who could prepare for the death of one’s parent?
“Mr. Phelps,” said a voice.
Senator George Black approached him out of the darkness. Betraying his age, he wore a brown fedora shadowing most of his face. George gripped the outstretched hands of Phelps, the men outlined in the halo of the Capitol Building’s light.
“I was terribly sorry to hear about the disappearance of your father. I am sure that he will be found good and well soon. You know how some people need a holiday from time to time.”
“He’s dead,” said Phelps with no hesitation.
“You don’t know that. It might be hard to take in, but –”
“He’s dead. I’m certain of it. It’s why I asked to meet you tonight. The media’s banging down my door and those god damn ingrates on social media are blowing up with their conspiracy theories. There’s no way we can meet at any other time in any other place. Right now, they’ll be sitting on my doorstep in Virginia looking for a statement.”
George looked stunned. “But… how do you know?”
“Because he left suddenly without a security detail to go to Miami. You’re the senator of that state, right?”
George nodded. “You’re not suggesting I had anything to do with this, are you?”
“Of course not. You would never stoop so low, and if I remember correctly you were a good friend of my father’s.”
“That’s right. I was there when you were christened all those years ago. Your father invited me personally and said it was a great honour to have me there.”
“Exactly. And if you could do something about it, would you avenge his death?”
“I would do anything.”
<
br /> “Good, because I know exactly who killed my father.”
George lifted his head in anticipation.
“Roberto Romero. He lives in Billionaire Bunker.”
Phelps detected the sharp intake of breath from George. He knew he had him right where he wanted him. His father always knew his friend’s associates. They’d shared everything together about politics.
“You know Romero,” said Phelps. “My father always knew you were acquainted with him. And Romero killed him because he went there in good faith to talk business. He told me himself, sent me a message when he landed in Miami. Now he’s gone. Strange coincidence, isn’t it?”
The power of speech deserted George.
“Now, of course, it’ll be almost impossible to prove it in court. Romero would probably leave the country the second he heard about any charges. Then what would we do? My father would have died and the man responsible wouldn’t have gotten the punishment due.”
“Harrison, now, these are really serious accusations to level at anyone.”
“Can you disagree with me?”
George shook his head. “No, no I can’t. I know what Romero is. But I’ll do everything in my power to make sure the matter is fully investigated.”
“Oh, stop it,” Phelps snapped. “You think I came here to accuse you and to demand justice? I’ve got a better plan. Walk with me.”
Phelps and George skulked away from the ever-glowing eye of the Capitol. They followed the pool until they came to a tree far from the accusing eyes of passers-by.
“Now, I know you have deals with Romero. There were investigations. Investigations you don’t know about. Sealed indictments that were going to be torn open when the FBI was sure they had you in an impossible position.”
George’s mouth dropped open.
“I can make all that go away.”
“You… you can? Well,” George continued to stutter. “Well, I have to admit that Romero has been something of a thorn in my side recently. He’s been trying to work around me. There have been some rumours. So maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea after all.”