Blood of the Assassin

CHAPTER 20





It was eight-thirty by the time Cruz had finished walking the grounds with El Rey, and he had his driver stop at a torta restaurant on the way home, pulling to the curb twenty yards from the busy café, a line of hungry commuters spilling onto the sidewalk, waiting to pick up their dinner. Most took it to go, wrapped in white paper, each sandwich the size of a small football. Cruz stood patiently amidst the throng – everything from laborers to pickpockets to businessmen on their way home from a long day in the office – and felt the last of his energy drain from him. It had been another long one, and tomorrow would be even worse, as the countdown to the event ticked away and the pressure mounted.

When he got to the counter he ordered his sandwich, and then, after momentary consideration, ordered one for Dinah, too. She hadn’t answered the phone the two times he had called, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything – she was probably still angry; but she, like he, was a sucker for a good torta, and the gesture would hopefully win him points. His stomach growled audibly as he stood, patiently waiting for the cooks to finish their culinary ministrations, the rich aroma of cooking meat enveloping him as he salivated like a dog.

A portly older man in an indifferently cut gray business suit sidled up next to him and nodded a greeting, one of the courteous-yet-standoffish ways that residents of densely populated areas conveyed politeness without inviting conversation. That was just as well to Cruz, and he returned the nod. His mind was a million miles away, going over threat vectors, perimeter weaknesses, and the logistics of keeping the target alive for his stay.

Fortunately, the Chinese leader was scheduled to fly in, go straight to the Congress for the signing ceremony, then fly out, with a meeting and dinner already scheduled to take place in Washington with the U.S. President. He would arrive in the morning, and with any luck at all, leave, alive, a few hours later – just a quick stop on a diplomatic junket that would take him to twelve countries in a week.

El Rey, as much as Cruz hated to admit it, was as sharp as they came. He’d analyzed the surroundings with a professional eye and found countless weak spots that could be exploited by the German. Cruz had phoned in instructions to the security detail about changing the signing ceremony location to the interior of the Congress building, and was awaiting a formal approval. It was lunacy, given what they now knew, to have it take place as planned outside on the steps. His only problem was that the new president was an attention sponge, and would likely put up a fight to keep the photo opportunity outdoors, where he could be framed with the Congressional mural in the background, shaking hands with the Chinese leader and making a speech about new vistas and progress for tomorrow.

Cruz sincerely hoped that it wouldn’t turn into a battle. He had enough on his hands without that. Although, when all was said and done, he served at the pleasure of the king, and if the president was adamant about holding the ceremony on the steps, there was little he could do except remind him about the El Rey assassination attempt and how close he’d come to being executed. Hopefully that would still be fresh in his mind. With the Iron Eagle on the loose, conducting the ceremony outside would be akin to suicide.

A three-hundred-pound woman with mahogany skin waddled to her customary position behind the counter with a plastic bag and called his number, and he pushed through the crowd to claim his meal. Out on the curb, he peered into the bag with satisfaction, then strode to his waiting vehicle, where the driver leapt out and opened his door. Cruz felt a twinge of embarrassment at having a federal policeman in full regalia chauffeuring him, as he always did when he was in public places, and then dismissed the sentiment, choosing instead to focus on some of his very real problems.

El Rey was an enigma, but Cruz had to concede that perhaps CISEN had made a good call bringing him into the case. Cruz had developed a grudging respect for his approach as he had run through his mental list and issued tersely worded suggestions for Cruz to convey to the appropriate parties. No, truthfully, they had been instructions, not suggestions. Matter-of-fact and completely dispassionate, but orders nonetheless. The young man was definitely among the most arrogant Cruz had ever met, but it was more than that – his sense of assurance, the conviction that he was completely right, wasn’t puffery. He was, in fact, right, about everything they’d discussed. He radiated a quiet confidence that was unnerving, and Cruz had found himself, by the end of their promenade, glad El Rey was on his side.

Not that Cruz was any slouch himself. But event security wasn’t his forte – the truth was that if he hadn’t gotten involved in the original assassination attempt in Cabo, he wouldn’t have been dragged into the next one, and now this train wreck. That was how bureaucracies worked – you became an acknowledged expert in something even if the totality of your contribution was simply showing up enough times. Like it or not, Cruz had become the El Rey expert, and since his capture, obviously had been bumped up the hierarchy to the de facto resident assassination authority in general. A position he felt completely unqualified for – he was a career cop who specialized in the drug cartels that were tearing the nation apart, not a super-sleuth who could stop contract killers cold. But no matter. He had the title now, whether he liked it or not, which had resulted in him being blackmailed into running this show. Any protestations that he was unqualified to do so would just be met with smiles, the clueless wonks who made the decisions mistaking his legitimate protests for humility.

As they wove their way through the still-dense traffic, Cruz’s thoughts turned to Dinah and the fight that his revelation had precipitated. She was usually logical, but he could understand what a shock El Rey’s re-emergence in their life was, and he knew it would take some time for her to adjust and realize that he really had no choice. Much as he might have wanted to give the power structure the middle finger and walk away from it all, it wasn’t practical. Perhaps in the old days, ten years younger, he might have thrown caution to the wind and refused the assignment; but now, as he aged, he had developed what might have passed for budding wisdom.

That all of it was unfair was a given. And while the threat of withholding his pension had crossed important lines that might have stoked his moral outrage, it hadn’t completely surprised him. He was a leaf on a stream, and when the men who ran the country wanted something from him, they would use whatever means they needed to in order to force him into compliance. It was a valuable lesson he would remember and use in the future – assuming he was successful. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t need any bargaining chips. He would be the man who had allowed the unthinkable to happen on his watch. A man with a suddenly terminated career.

He dug his phone out one last time and called home, but just got ringing that went to voicemail. Same as all day. He next called Dinah’s cell, but met the same response. He punched the call off and shook his head. This was worse than he thought. She’d never gone completely dark on him before. Maybe he’d underestimated how upset she was. He tried to put himself into her shoes – father killed by El Rey, blackmailed and forced to betray Cruz by El Rey, watching everything she valued almost destroyed by El Rey...

The security gate of the condo’s underground parking entrance slid open, the motor straining to shift the iron barrier, and Cruz rehearsed what he was going to say to her. A plea for consideration. An assurance that it would all be over in a few more days. Perhaps even a promise to quit the force after it was finished and pursue the corporate security work she’d been pressing him about. All he knew was that he loved Dinah and didn’t want her to be distressed, and the job had now strained their relationship beyond what it could reasonably bear. She’d been understanding of so much – having to live a transient lifestyle, moving constantly. Bodyguards. Most wouldn’t have been willing to make the sacrifices she had. But it looked like she’d finally reached her limit.

He wasn’t looking forward to the conversation to come.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the elevator. The driver waited until it arrived and Cruz stepped in before pulling off to the assigned parking space, where the night shift driver would take over in case Cruz needed to go somewhere in an emergency. That would be one of the two guards on permanent rotation in the lobby – a fixture of his living situation.

When the elevator slowed and stopped at his floor, he stepped into the hall and moved slowly to the condo, dreading what was to come. Some days he felt about a hundred years old, and this was one of them.

“Honey? I’m sorry I’m so late. I brought dinner,” he called as he pushed open the front door. Silence greeted him, and the condo was dark. He flipped the lights on and walked to the kitchen, then set the bag with the sandwiches in it on the counter and listened for any signs of life. Again, nothing.

Cruz strode to the bedroom and peered inside, and his breath caught in his throat. A note lay on the dresser, folded neatly, as was Dinah’s way. He approached it with trepidation, then picked it up like it was a poisonous snake and moved to the bedside lamp and flicked it into life. The writing was precise, the message short.

My darling husband,

I love you more than you will ever know, so this is the hardest letter I will ever write. I know you have your reasons for agreeing to work with that murderer, but I can’t go along with it. You know how much misery he has brought to my family and the unforgivable things he’s done, and I can’t bring myself to wish anything but death upon him. For you to choose to cooperate with this travesty is a betrayal of everything we have, and I can’t look at you knowing you would choose that over us – the relationship we’ve built. So I’m leaving. Maybe I will feel differently in time, maybe not, but for now, I can’t go on. Just as with infidelity, there are some things that are too big to ignore. This is a deal breaker. I’m sorry, my love, but it is, and I can’t be with a man who would do this to me. I wish you well, and hope you’ll be safe and cautious. No good can come of this. Don’t bother me at work – I don’t want to hear from you. Please respect my wishes.

Your wife, Dinah.

Cruz numbly re-read the missive, unable to believe his eyes, and then his whole form seemed to collapse in on itself, as though the pressure of the unbearable atmosphere had crushed him like an empty beer can. He felt for the edge of the bed with a trembling hand, his eyes unfocused, searching his cognitive resources for where he had made a mistake understanding the meaning of the words. Dinah, gone? Left him? Impossible. He had gotten something wrong, misread some key indicator, misinterpreted some important bit of information.

The mattress pushed against the backs of his knees and he sat down numbly on the bedspread, which was neatly tucked in, probably one of Dinah’s last acts in leaving a tidy vacuum in which Cruz would spend an eternity without her. He wasn’t sure how long he sat, gazing into space with the thousand-yard stare of a chain gang prisoner, but eventually he was back in the moment and forced himself up. He approached the wide dresser and pulled open the top drawer of Dinah’s side, and didn’t need to look down to confirm what its weight already had. Empty: her clothes gone, only the faint smell of her perfume lingering in the wooden rectangle.

He turned and moved to the closet and swung the doors open, and saw what he expected – her luggage missing, her side of the space empty. He stared at the empty clothes rod, the barren shelves, and the enormity of the situation hit home.

She was gone.

Dinah was gone.

Like an automaton, Cruz selected a speed dial number on his phone and pressed send. Two rings, and a deep male voice answered.

“Yes, sir. Is there a problem?”

“You tell me. Did you see Dinah today? My wife?” Cruz asked one of the men on duty downstairs in the lobby.

“No, sir. But I only came on duty at eight tonight. Why? Is something wrong?”

Cruz ignored the question. “Who was working the day shift?”

“Diego Vasquez and his partner. Do you want me to try to reach him?”

“Yes, please. My wife may have left...on vacation. I’d just like to confirm that someone saw her.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll call and then get back in touch with you.”

Cruz disconnected, and then sat down again, staring at the closet’s maw, the emptiness like a shrine to his failure as a husband and a man.

He knew what the call would say.

When it came a few minutes later, it was as he thought.

“Sir, she took several suitcases down to her car and then left. There was no foul play. Do you...is there something we should do? Something we need to know?”

Cruz thought about it for a moment, then sighed. “No, that’s fine. I just wanted to verify that she got out of here okay. That’s all.”

When he hung up, he tossed the phone onto the bed and lay back, everything redolent of Dinah – the pillows, the sheets, the air itself. Twenty minutes later he was fast asleep, snoring gently, fully clothed, his body having finally succumbed to its requirement for rest.