Blood of the Assassin

CHAPTER 12





Cruz started awake with a jolt, momentarily disoriented, then remembered where he was, and why. Home, in bed, a long siesta having purged most of the effects of the tequila. He glanced at his watch and groaned. Almost four o’clock. He rolled over and tried to think of a reason to put off calling Godoy, and couldn’t think of one.

Cruz waited another few minutes, then swung his legs from beneath the sheets and set his feet on the cool travertine floor. After a brief trip to the bathroom, he punched his cell phone to life and selected Godoy’s number. The receptionist connected him almost immediately, and then, after answering, Godoy told him to hang on, and put him on hold. For five minutes.

Typical.

When he came back on the line, Cruz told him that he would agree to head up the Iron Eagle task force, and he could almost hear the smirk of triumph in Godoy’s voice.

“I need you to jump right into this, Capitan. It’s the highest priority, as I indicated. I’ll make a call and see if I can get CISEN to have you meet with their people today.”

“It’s too late today. I’ll need time to assemble a team on my end and brief them before I’m ready for that,” Cruz protested.

“Much as I appreciate your logistical concerns, I’m afraid I need to insist. I’ll call you back as soon as I have confirmation. The clock is ticking, Capitan. No time for dallying,” Godoy said, and Cruz wondered whether he was just trying to get even with him for making him wait most of the day for an answer. The line clicked and went dead, and Cruz was left staring at his phone. Godoy had hung up on him.

Ten minutes later the receptionist was on the line, instructing him that he needed to be at CISEN headquarters by six p.m. With rush hour traffic being what it was, he would be lucky to make it. He called his office and told them to have his car and driver ready in five minutes, and then pulled a uniform out of the closet and hurriedly dressed. Cruz was buttoning his shirt when he heard the front door open.

Dinah appeared in the doorway a moment later, surprised. “You’re home! What, did they legalize drug running and money laundering today? Are you out of work?” she teased.

“I wish. No, I needed to change into uniform before I go to a big meeting this evening. I’m sorry, mi amor, but I expect it to last a while. I’m not sure what time I’ll be home,” he apologized as he belted his holstered Glock in place. “I’ve got to run. I’m already behind, and it’s not the kind of meeting I can be late for...”

“So...I’m on my own tonight for dinner?” Dinah asked, stepping aside.

“I’ll call you as soon as it’s over. I’m hoping maybe I can get back by nine.”

She kissed him on the cheek as he brushed past. “No problem. Go keep the world safe. I suppose having a husband who’s overworked is better than having to worry about him running off with his secretary.”

“Right. Who’s got the time?” he agreed, and then was moving towards the foyer. “Like I said, I’ll call. I’m sorry...,” he called out.

“Go on. Get out of here. Shoo.”

Cruz closed the front door softly behind him, the beginnings of a smile warming his usually-serious expression. Dinah was one in a million, and he was always amazed that, with a life like his, visited with more hardship and heartbreak than most would ever dream of, something as wonderful as their relationship had landed in his lap at the most unexpected time.

He would have to tread carefully with his current predicament, though. El Rey had butchered her father, and no matter what duty Cruz had been forced into honoring, she would never forgive the assassin. That would make Cruz’s working with him, even at gunpoint, a slap in the face for her.

As he walked down the hall, he turned over in his mind how he would explain the operation to Dinah in a way that would be palatable. It occurred to him to just not tell her about El Rey’s involvement, but he discarded the idea. Whenever he tried to be stealthy, it wound up blowing up on him. Dinah seemed to be able to tell without effort when he was only sharing partial truths, and he knew himself well enough to know he’d never be able to keep something that big from her.

He waited for the elevator and adjusted his pistol, reassured by its comforting bulk. The next few hours were going to be as ugly as any he’d ever spent, but he would get through them somehow, no matter how unpleasant the task. Cruz was pragmatic, and he’d gotten his marching orders – and whatever his feelings, he was a creature of the law, and had to respect the very same law he was sworn to uphold. El Rey was now forgiven for any wrongdoing by the system, the sins of the past pardoned by the highest authority in the land. Cruz might not like it, but it was official, and he needed to remember that even if he didn’t agree with it.

The elevator arrived, and he entered and jabbed the button for the parking garage level beneath the lobby.

It was a lousy situation all around. Nobody was going to be happy about it – he could just imagine how his staff would react to the news that they were going to have to work with the most notorious assassin in the country’s history. Yet another reason to keep the circle of those who knew about it as small as possible. If the press got any wind of what was afoot with the Chinese it would be disastrous, but if somehow it leaked out that the Federales were working with El Rey...

There could be no way of explaining that, no rationalization that would make sense. It would destroy the nation’s credibility, as well as that of his office. The outrage would be almost as devastating as if the assassination attempt was successful.

For a fleeting second he wished he’d kept drinking instead of sleeping it off.

Then the doors opened and Cruz strode to his waiting car – another perk of being Mexico’s most visible cop. Whatever his misgivings, he now had a job to do, and he would have to lead his team with assurance. But there was no part of him that was looking forward to the coming meeting, and as he slipped into the back seat of the sedan, he had a sinking feeling in his gut.

He’d been saddled with yet another impossible assignment, where the odds of success were slim, and blame for failure would fall squarely on him. He glanced at the back of his driver’s head and groaned, then caught himself and choked it off.

“Where to, Capitan?” the driver asked, eyeing him in the mirror.

He hesitated for a moment, and then cleared his throat.

“CISEN. And use the siren.”