Failed State (A James Winchester Thriller Book 1) (James Winchester Series) - James Samuel (top novels of all time .txt) 📗

sculptures. There were people in the garden. Lots of faces only half-lit. He cycled through each of them, confirming their identities.

Then he spotted him. Romero moved through the gathering towards the house. James followed him in his sights. He couldn’t get a clear shot as he moved up the stone steps to the main house.

“Shit,” he said under his breath. “He’s there, but I can’t get a shot on him.”

“Take a chance. You don’t have much time. It won’t take them long to realise their man is dead.”

James tightened his jaw as he followed Romero. He had one chance. A gap between the top of the steps and the door where nobody lingered. James angled the sight in this space, waiting for Romero to enter the crosshairs.

A massive ball of fire threw James back before he could squeeze the trigger. He dropped the rifle in shock. It clanged to the floor. The fire evaporated and so did Romero’s garden in a blaze that sent shockwaves radiating across Billionaire Bunker. James just stared open-mouthed at the scene before him.

“What happened?” asked James. “Sinclair, what happened?”

“Get out of there. This is your chance. Ask questions later.”

James left the rifle where it was and backed away from the window. Part of Romero’s house had also caught fire as the garden smouldered. He wondered how many had perished in the blast. Grabbing Scott’s gun as well, he made his way towards the elevator.

“Is it safe to take the elevator down?” asked James.

“The FBI has already made their way into the building. You can try it, but you’ll give away your position and open yourself up to being cornered.”

“I’ll take the stairs.”

“I won’t be able to help you much from out here. There are no cameras in those stairwells.”

James gazed at the bank of elevators. Both elevators were set on the ground floor. He pressed one button to head to the 29th floor and the other to the 33rd floor. Maybe it would buy him some time to get through the floors before they found him.

He descended the steps, jumping down the last few of each flight. As he got to the lower floors, he heard other footsteps. James strained to listen. It sounded like they were passing him on the office floors.

On each floor he passed he tried to count where he was. It wasn’t until the 11th floor when he heard a door to the stairway open below him. James cursed and ran into the office on the 11th floor. Only the night lights burned. The maze of empty cubicles and thin partitions wouldn’t offer him much protection if they found him here.

“I’m trapped on the 11th floor,” he whispered to Sinclair. “What should I do?”

“There are at least five FBI cars now. A group of agents are outside blocking all the doors. You’re not going to get out unseen.”

“Do you know if there’s another set of steps? They’re coming up.”

“The other side of the floor. There always has to be two because of fire safety regulations.”

James let out a great gust of air. Some luck at last.

“Hurry up,” said Sinclair.

What he wouldn’t give for a cigarette now, he sighed. James pulled his lighter out of his pocket. A thought crept into his mind. It was risky, but it might be the only way to continue his escape.

He seized a sheaf of papers from the nearest cubicle and lit the corner of one of them. Each time the flame burst into life he added more paper. Precious seconds slipped by as the fire grew brighter. Finally, he threw on a great wad of paper and left it next to some folders. He could only pray the fire wouldn’t die out.

James hurtled towards the other door. He threw his shoulder against it as the fire alarm wailed. The great hiss of the fire sprinklers went off as a thin film of water coated each office.

Safe in the stairway, he heard only the muffled sound of both the alarm and the sprinklers. He began throwing himself down each staircase again and again. He’d reached the sixth floor. James looked over the railing and saw the entrance to the ground floor below him.

The door burst open and agents entered the stairway. James froze. He had nowhere to go this time. James levelled his suppressed pistol at the agents running up the steps. At least he could catch them by surprise.

The agents bundled up the steps together. James opened fire. They did too. Cries reverberated through the narrow stairway. He went down as the bullet went straight into his chest plate. Adrenaline drove him on as he kept firing and three agents went down. The other retreated down another flight of steps, calling for backup.

James cried out. His bulletproof vest had protected him from death, but the bullet still hit him like a punch with the end of a lead pipe. He didn’t want to think about how many bones had been cracked.

“What’s happening?” Sinclair said.

“Six floors to go.”

Time was running out. Every agent in the building would be converging on his position. Stumbling to his feet, he never let his gun drop. He used the railing for support as he clambered down the steps and over the bodies of the dead agents. It had all happened so fast he couldn’t even remember how many shots he’d fired.

“Freeze!” Another agent yelled as he came into view again.

James just fired without another word. His shot struck the agent in the arm. The agent fell against the wall clutching his arm. James kicked his gun away and kept making his way down. How quickly could they get to him? How well had his ruses worked?

More agents burst through the bottom door as he made it to the third floor. This time he saw enough to