Blood of the Assassin

CHAPTER 24





The office was filled with activity when Cruz and Briones finally made it in, and after catching the sidelong glances from the gathered officers both men knew that word had already circulated about the botched attempt on Cruz’s life. That wasn’t surprising – the Federales, like all law enforcement agencies, were a tight-knit group, and when something as shocking as an execution attempt against the ranking member of the elite anti-cartel task force took place, the news would spread like wildfire.

Cruz was in no mood for lengthy explanations, but he needed to get everyone’s minds back on the job, so he stood near his office door and called for everyone’s attention. The common area grew still, all eyes on him, and when one of the phones rang, an officer snatched it up, and after listening for a few seconds, told the caller in a hushed voice that he would get back to him.

“By now it’s obvious that everyone’s heard about the morning’s events. Let’s address it so we can move on. Three cartel members tried to ambush me outside my building today. Two are dead for their efforts, and the third probably won’t make it – and if by some miracle he does, he’ll be walking on sticks for the rest of his life. I’ve called for additional security for these offices, which is now in place, so there’s nothing to worry about. But it seems that I angered someone important, and they wanted to express their displeasure in an unmistakable way. I don’t want to overdramatize this or have it divert attention from our work, so that’s all I’m going to say about it. An investigation is ongoing,” Cruz said, hoping that would end the matter.

One of the men in the back raised his hand and spoke. “Any idea which cartel?”

Cruz had expected it, and had decided to hedge after swearing Briones to secrecy. “We’re not sure, but it has all the earmarks of Los Zetas. Specialized automatic weapons, ex-military personnel, the works. They were good. Just not good enough. That’s confidential, by the way, for your ears only. I don’t want any discussion outside of this room. Are there any other questions?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course. It takes more than a few punks with pea shooters to take me down.”

Cruz studied the assembled men with an expression that didn’t invite further inquiry, and after a few moments of silence, he wrapped it up.

“That’s it for the drama. Everyone get back to work. We’re running out of time.”

The men broke into murmured conversation as they returned to their tasks, and Cruz spun and moved towards his office, then looked over his shoulder at Briones.

“Come in, sit down, and close the door,” he ordered, then strode to his desk and sat behind it. He slid open a drawer as Briones took a seat and withdrew a box of bullets, then ejected the magazine from his Glock and reloaded it.

“I need a new condo. It’s pretty obvious that location is blown. Please arrange for it. By tonight, if possible – send the crew in and have them pack everything. There’s some cash in my nightstand and some personal papers in the desk. I’ll want a signed inventory from whoever’s in charge. If a new place can’t be arranged by tonight, I’ll need a hotel room and security,” Cruz rattled off with precise, practiced efficiency.

“I’ll get right on it,” Briones assured him.

“I also want regular reports on the condition of the shooter, and whether he’ll make it. It’s possible we can get more out of him.”

Briones nodded, nothing to add.

“Get a full listing of all suspected Los Zetas we know about in D.F., as well as any rumored associates. I want to know who directed this. We need to respond.”

“I’ll put a team on it at headquarters.”

“Launch a full investigation into the affairs of every person who knew the condo’s location. That’s a very small group of people. Maybe we’ll get lucky and there will be some trace of unusual financial activity – big cash deposits or some lavish purchases. I doubt it, but you never know.”

“Yes, sir. It had to be someone in the inner circle. Your living arrangements are as close to a state secret as we have.”

“Somebody sold me out. I hate to believe it, but that’s the only thing that makes sense. That means nobody can know about the new place, except for you, me, the person in charge of leasing it, and God. And I’m pretty sure I don’t want Him to have the exact address if it isn’t absolutely necessary.”

“Consider it done, sir.”

Cruz hesitated, and seemed to fight an internal battle before continuing. He issued instructions for another five minutes, as Briones scribbled frantic notes. When Cruz had covered everything he could think of, he again cautioned the younger man about confidentiality before he dismissed him. Briones assured him that he understood, then exited the office and went to his workstation to begin making calls.

Cruz held his right hand out and studied it. A slight tremor, almost imperceptible, the by-product of the massive adrenaline rush from the morning’s excitement. He’d had worse.

He rose and strode to the coffee machine to prepare a new pot, taking his time with the task, a sort of therapy, a ritual that calmed his nerves. Once done, he returned to his seat and placed his cell phone on the desk in front of him, and then, nodding to himself, pressed a speed dial key and lifted it to his ear. The line rang, then forwarded to voicemail. Dinah still wasn’t answering. He glanced at his watch and realized that she would be in class now, and probably had the phone off. Cruz pressed another key and waited.

When the secretary answered, Cruz was polite but firm.

“Yes, good morning. I need to speak to Dinah Lobredor. She teaches second grade. This is Captain Romero Cruz of the Federales. It’s an emergency.”

The woman seemed flustered, but quickly recovered. “Of course. Let me take a look at the class schedules. I’m going to have to put you on hold for a few minutes. Stay on the line, please.”

Saccharine pop music, a female singer who sounded like a cat in heat, played in his ear, and Cruz found himself growing impatient as one minute stretched into five. He was about to call back and read the woman the riot act when the music stopped and a male voice came on the line.

“Capitan Cruz? This is the principal, Eduardo Navarez. You’re trying to reach Señora Lobredor?”

“That’s correct. It’s a matter of considerable urgency.”

“I’m afraid she isn’t in today.”

“What? What do you mean, she’s not in? Did something happen?” Cruz asked, now agitated, his heart rate climbing as butterflies danced a tarantella in his stomach.

“Not that I know of. Says here that she requested and received two sick days. There’s a temp instructing her class. Perhaps you should try her at home? I presume you have the number...”

“When did she do this?” Cruz snapped, then reined in the worry in his voice. No point in alarming the man.

“Yesterday, early. We haven’t heard from her, but expect her to be back tomorrow.”

“I see. Thank you for your efforts. We have her home number.”

“Let me know if there’s anything else you require, Capitan Cruz.”

“Of course.”

Cruz couldn’t disconnect fast enough. Damn Dinah for her stubborn streak. He should have anticipated that she wouldn’t go in, but still, it had caught him off guard. He needed to start thinking more clearly. If this was any indication of how he was processing, both he and the Chinese leader were as good as dead. He’d gotten extremely lucky this morning with the Los Zetas hit team, but he couldn’t rely on good fortune indefinitely. He needed to be smarter and faster, not just luckier. And he hadn’t seen Dinah’s move coming, although in hindsight it made sense.

Shit.

The hotel search.

He’d been so involved with the shooting and the ensuing pandemonium he had completely forgotten to get back to his assistant with the written authorization. He quickly jotted out a note on his computer and e-mailed it to her on the secure server, then fumed at his carelessness. He’d lost another three hours – time that could have been used to find Dinah.

Annoyed at himself, he called Dinah’s cell phone one more time and left a message. Maybe she was still not taking his calls, but she would listen to her voicemail. He knew her that well.

“Sweetheart. It’s me. You need to call me as soon as you get this message. There was an attempt on me this morning. Three gunmen. I’m okay, but I need to talk to you immediately. This isn’t some ruse to get you to contact me. I’m serious. Call me the second you get this message. I...I love you, and I’m sorry about the other night. Please, amor. Call.”

He disconnected with a sense of futility. He needed to talk to her now, not whenever she got around to checking her messages. The attack had changed everything. She would have to be in protective custody at all times until he could deal with the threat. Her decision to go off on her own had probably made perfect sense to her at the time, but it could wind up being disastrous.

A chime sounded and he looked up, an expression of abject hopelessness flashing across his face before he got his emotions back under rigid control.

The coffee was ready.