Blood of the Assassin

CHAPTER 42





The mood in the room was bleak as Cruz announced that their only lead had turned up skewered with a writing implement. One wag ventured a morbid joke about pens being mightier than swords, but the laughter was forced.

“Gentlemen, I know we’ve all been putting in a hundred and twenty percent, but we’re getting down to the clinch now, and we can’t let up. We got this lead by following up on every detail, no matter how seemingly random, so we need to stay focused and not lose steam. He’s out there somewhere, and we need to keep turning over rocks until we find him.”

Briones raised his hand. “Why don’t we release his photo to the press? Plaster it all over the TV and the newspapers? It can’t help but stir the pot. Offer a reward. It’s worth a shot.”

Cruz couldn’t tell him that he’d floated that very idea past Godoy that morning, and it had been shot down. CISEN and the president’s team were obviously playing a game with the Chinese, where they didn’t want to alarm them. That was the only reason for not distributing it on every street corner.

“I ran that up the flagpole. Still waiting for a response. Good suggestion, though,” Cruz said.

“How about circulating the photo to every cop in D.F.? That would be a good start. Maybe we’ll get lucky?” Briones suggested.

El Rey was sitting quietly in a corner at the back of the room, studying his fingernails, and when he heard the suggestion, he looked up. “Has that ever worked? You did that with me. Did it help?”

Briones flushed at being called out in front of his peers, but Cruz interrupted.

“It’s a good idea and a necessary step.”

“Well, I suppose it can’t hurt, but those photos are ancient history, and the likelihood that he still looks even vaguely like them are slim to none. Take my word on this. You don’t become the highest paid assassin in Europe by not taking simple precautions like changing your appearance regularly. That’s kind of Hit Man 101, if you get my drift. I think you need to stop relying on this man behaving like a moron and start preparing for reality. Unless you get a miracle, you’re not going to find him in time,” El Rey said, then returned to his examination of his cuticles.

“Well, then what do you suggest?” Briones countered. The officers on either side of him nodded with raised eyebrows, and one threw his pencil down on the table in disgust.

“Circulate the photo to the media. Why? Because it’ll put him on notice that the risk just increased. At this point, psychology is all you have. Your best bet is to make his chances so poor that he gives up, and being all over the TV, even if he no longer looks anything like the photo, will have an effect on him. Assassins are a paranoid bunch. They have to be, to survive for any length of time in this business. Seeing an image of yourself is never good news, especially if it’s out in the open. That signals that the stakes were just raised and the odds of a clean getaway went down.”

Cruz held up a hand as the room exploded in conversation, the men talking over each other, and gave it twenty seconds to settle.

“Noted. As I said before, it’s in the works. What else?”

“Everyone in this room should go to the site and walk it, and then walk the neighborhood around it, and study the layout. If an idea comes up, no matter how outlandish, bring it up. If you see anything that seems off, bring it up. If someone looks at you crosswise, bring it up. Preparation is your best defense right now. Because you’re not going to catch him in time. I agree with you on that point.”

More muttering and angry exclamations sounded from men who had poured their souls into the investigation. El Rey seemed impervious to it all, not an iota of concern disturbing his matinée idol-smooth features.

The meeting continued for another twenty minutes and then broke up in disarray, the reality of the situation settling in. Cruz gestured to El Rey as he moved towards the door.

“Can I see you in my office for a moment?” he asked, more a demand than a request.

El Rey nodded, once, and then waited for Cruz to lead the way.

When they were both seated at the meeting table, Cruz leaned forward, both palms on the smooth wood-look vinyl surface. “They’re not going to release the photo to the media.”

“I kind of figured that. And there’s only one reason not to. They haven’t told the Chinese, have they?”

“I don’t think they have. I was told it was above my level of need to know.”

“That’s rich. They want you to stop this, but they’re holding out on you. So they’re hedging their bets – they don’t want to alert the media and have a photo out there, even if it’s on some invented charge, because if he’s successful they don’t want any proof that they knew about this in advance and didn’t say anything. And they’ve set you up to take the fall if that happens. You’re a better man than I to be able to put up with this shit,” El Rey said.

“Believe me, this wasn’t my first choice of responsibilities. The cartels were keeping me more than busy.”

“Then why? Why take this on? It’s career suicide. You’re smarter than that,” the assassin observed.

“Not that smart, obviously,” Cruz deflected, a trace of bitterness in his tone. “I could ask the same question. What does CISEN hold over your head that has you working with them? You’re young, rich, smart...and yet you’re here, with me, on the crappiest duty I can imagine.”

“Are you hoping to get lucky with me?”

Cruz waited a beat. “You made a joke.”

“I have a richly evolved sense of humor,” El Rey said, deadpan.

“I never got that before.”

“I take back everything I said about you being smart.”

Cruz shook his head as if to clear it. “We have two more days. That’s forty-eight hours to stop him.”

“You won’t. I already told you. Best you can do is have a hell of a punt strategy and disincentivize him. Make it his worst nightmare going in. I know from personal experience that the worse my exit from a sanction looked, the less likely I was to do the job. I’d rather return the money. Let some other guy die trying. I wanted sanctions I could live through. Everyone does. Remember that this isn’t personal for him. It’s a gig, nothing more.”

“What do you think they’re paying him?”

“Good question. Millions. This will have to be his last hurrah. After this, he’ll want to get off the board, so it has to be enough to last the rest of his life. I’d guess three to five million, minimum.”

“Who would pay that to knock off the Chinese leader, on Mexican soil? And why here?”

El Rey’s face could have been chiseled from marble. “Now you’re asking the right questions. Follow the money and you’ll learn enough to be dangerous.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that someone really wants to send a message to the Chinese. Don’t come into our sandbox. So figure out who has the most to lose by this deal getting signed, and there’s your motive. But my intuition says that’s a dangerous line of inquiry.”

“Dangerous, how?”

“Think about it. There are a lot of moving parts to this. The Mexicans playing cagey with information they should have shared a week ago. A foreign hit man and a dramatic execution. Economically disastrous consequences, not only for the country, but specifically for the new ruling party. Those are deep waters. I’d just as soon stay on shore.”

They stared at each other, the assassin’s eyes unreadable.

“You never answered my question,” Cruz said after a pause.

“What was it again?”

“Why are you here?”

“Are you getting all existentialist on me?”

“See? You keep deflecting the question.”

“Huh. Almost like I don’t want to answer it.”

“Come on. Your secret’s safe. We’ve been through a lot.”

“How is she, anyway?” El Rey asked, his tone softening. “Your wife.”

“As well as can be expected. And don’t think I’m not noticing that you’re changing the subject again.”

“You’re a razor-sharp mind.”

“So what’s the story?”

El Rey hesitated, and then told Cruz about how CISEN had blackmailed him – injecting him with a neurotoxin that would kill him without a shot of antidote every six months for at least a year and a half. And then forcing him to become a CISEN asset in order to get the remaining two injections.

“That’s unbelievable. How can they do that?” Cruz was actually shocked, an unfamiliar emotion for him.

“Because they can, and will, do whatever they want. What it comes down to is that they have the power. So we do as they say. Believe me, I feel screwed. They made me a deal, I did the job, and they reneged. But that’s how the world works. It always has.” He stood. “Tomorrow, let’s plan on walking through the sewer system. I want to see every place he could use to gain entry to the Congress, no matter how unlikely. I also want to review all the plans for anti-rocket defenses, and every other counter-measure we haven’t discussed yet. Call me. You know the number.”

Cruz watched him leave, and thought about the story he’d been told. Guaranteed death if he didn’t receive at least the two antidote shots over the eighteen months following the initial shot. And the lingering, unspoken doubt that they would actually allow him to live through it all anyway. Because if they did, and El Rey held a grudge...

For the first time in days, Cruz didn’t feel like he had it all that bad. Some had it worse.

He didn’t think it was possible, but a tiny part of him actually felt sorry for the most dangerous killer in Mexican history.

He pressed a button on the coffee machine and listened to the hypnotic sound of water percolating, then rose and made his way back to his desk.

What an odd journey this had been so far.

Cruz was momentarily overcome by an impulse so powerful it felt like a physical need, and he reached for his phone and dialed a number. When Dinah answered, she was surprised to hear his voice.

“Why are you calling? What’s wrong, mi amor?” she asked, concern obvious in her strained tone.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to say...I just wanted to tell you I love you.”

Silence greeted the declaration for a pregnant moment.

“Why, Romero, I love you too,” she said in a tiny voice, a quaver in her words. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

A pause, a momentary hesitation filled with an ocean of things unsaid.

“I am now. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I love you, my big strong warrior.”

He swallowed hard, and then sighed.

“That’s all I needed to hear.”