Blood of the Assassin

CHAPTER 48





Rauschenbach jerked the Sig Sauer free from its holster and fired at the approaching sniper through the gap in the grill, both rounds catching him squarely in the chest. He didn’t stop to confirm whether or not the officer was dead or had been saved by his Kevlar body armor, and instead pushed himself away from the opening, his mind now on only one thing: escape. Nothing mattered besides getting away clean – he would read about whether or not his last shot had struck home in the evening paper, but now his imperative was thinking faster than his pursuers.

That someone had spotted him was obvious, and it didn’t really matter how – whether it was the crack from his silenced rifle heard by one of the snipers, or the ricochet alerting them to his presence, or the tiny muzzle flash, the damage had been done, and he couldn’t turn back the clock.

At the end of the shaft he spun and pushed himself around a bend in the ducting, and then his hands gripped the familiar shape of the mountain climbing rope he’d fastened to a protruding bolt. He didn’t even bother to listen for the other snipers arriving at the ventilation structure – he knew he would have at least twenty to thirty seconds before they got there, and then another ten to fifteen as they decided how to grapple with the darkened shaft, their foolhardy colleague lying shot only a dozen yards away. Those forty-five seconds would be enough, and would stretch longer as they timidly followed him into the shaft – by which time he would be gone.

He briefly considered donning the light again and then dismissed the idea – might as well put an illuminated bull’s eye on his head. No, he would need to do it by touch, which he was prepared for. He took a deep breath and lowered himself down the shaft. The line vibrated as it took his weight, and then he dropped a story and a half to the next connecting duct, down which he knew he would have to crawl two dozen yards before he came to another junction that would lead him further into the bowels of the airport, to the oversized fans that turned tirelessly at the end of a chute, beyond which was the equipment room, and ultimately, freedom.

~ ~ ~

Briones stomped on the cruiser’s accelerator, tearing the wrong way down the perimeter road, the speedometer soaring through the digits as he pushed the big V-8 to its limits, sirens shrieking like a jilted bride, and Cruz groped for a hold in the passenger seat as he listened while the reports came in.

They had a man down on the roof, and the other officers were demanding instruction – the shooter was inside the ventilation housing, but they didn’t want to endanger themselves further with a reckless pursuit. He listened as Guzman ordered them to go in after him, and then nothing but static came over the channel.

“Guzman. Is the Chinese leader safe?” Cruz barked as they slalomed around the gentle curve at the end of the runway, half the distance to the other terminal covered.

“Yes. He’s on the bird. Everything’s calm there. Nobody’s the wiser.” The captain’s voice sounded strained, but under control.

“We’re going to be at the terminal in another thirty seconds. Have all available units seal it off. He’s in there somewhere. Let’s not let him get away. If he went down the ventilation ducts, we need a plan of the system, stat,” Cruz warned.

“10-4. I’ll get everyone there immediately. And I’m already pulling up plans.”

“Fine. Let me know when you have them – if you can, send them to my phone. And keep some security at Terminal Two, just in case, so the area is still secure. But I could really use some serious muscle backing us up here.”

“You got it.”

The engine throbbed as Briones goosed the car around the final bend and then raced for the front entrance in a screeching roar of rubber and brakes.

“How do you want to do this?” Briones asked as they skidded to a stop.

“We’ll spread out. He’s in the ventilation system. There can’t be too many places he can get out. Dammit. I wish we had the plans,” Cruz complained. “Briones, you stay out here and watch for anyone suspicious. I’ll radio to have the parking level shut off. That way, when he tries to get out, he’ll have to come through here.”

Briones gazed down the long expanse, temporarily empty of cars except for police vehicles and a few army trucks. “It’s a lot of ground to cover. What is it, almost a kilometer?”

“He was on this end, so the likelihood is he’s still here. That’s where we’ll start. Damn. Why didn’t Godoy let me circulate the bastard’s picture?” Cruz stabbed at his phone’s speed dial and then ordered his assistant to get the photo transmitted to all federal police personnel. “It’s a little late now for worrying about letting the cat out of the bag. But this won’t be instant. We’re going to need to rely on you as our last line of defense,” Cruz told Briones.

“I’ll keep an eye out, sir, and do the best I can.”

El Rey and Cruz got out of the car, and El Rey leaned in to address Briones. “I need a weapon. Give me your sidearm. You have the shotgun. Divide and conquer.”

Briones glanced at Cruz, who nodded impatiently. Briones un-holstered his Glock and handed it to the assassin. “It’s a .40 caliber. Glock 22. Fifteen round magazine.”

“I know it well,” El Rey said, then hesitated. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. You too. Good catch on the muzzle flash.”

El Rey tried to contain a smirk, and then turned to Cruz. “You take one section, I take the other? Or stay together?”

“What do you think?”

“Sticking together hasn’t hurt our chances very much so far, unless you consider the German getting within a hair of killing the target a bad thing.”

“So split up?”

“Probably doesn’t matter at this point. And I need to be with you to get through security with a gun. Just keep your eyes open. He’s got to be around here somewhere. Order all the passengers to be held and screened. It’ll play hell with traffic, but that’s not our problem. If we continue to allow passengers to enter and exit, we’re screwed.”

“What about departing flights?”

“Get a one hour delay while we have your people check all manifests. And put a couple of men on each gate. You don’t want him getting on a plane.”

Cruz relayed the order to Guzman.

“All right. Now he can’t get out. We’ve got him,” Cruz said.

“No, we don’t. This guy is good. Expect the unexpected.”

“Good advice. Based on experience again?”

“I saw it in a movie.”

~ ~ ~

Rauschenbach peeked around the basement corner and then climbed the stairs to the arrivals level. The hall was crowded, thousands of people spreading through the terminal, and the overhead announcement that nobody was going to be permitted to exit had sent everyone into a tailspin, a good portion of the crowd alarmed and the rest angry at being detained. He eased a maintenance access door open and peered out, and then pulled the baseball cap down as far as it would go over his eyes and strode purposefully across the terminal, moving towards the center, away from the side of the building where the ventilation shaft was located.

Everyone got out of his way as he lifted his phone to his ear and pretended to be barking orders. Nobody wanted to cross the tall federal police officer, frowning and agitated, obviously engaged in some sort of crisis control. His footsteps sounded like small arms fire as he stormed along the line of shops, eyes roving over the glass exits for signs of a hole in the gauntlet he knew would be closing around him.

His skin was four shades darker, thanks to a tint he had used on his face and hands, and his hair was now dyed black and he had affixed a mustache that further created an impression of his being Mexican. It wouldn’t pass close scrutiny by a trained eye, but all he needed it to do was get him out one of the doors so he could get to his waiting car, or steal one.

Rauschenbach’s hand moved to his gun as he saw a dozen Federales deployed at the exits, stopping people from leaving, and then he forced himself to relax and dropped his hand, choosing instead to focus on finding an opportunity to escape rather than dying in a gunfight.

~ ~ ~

“There are too many people. We’re wasting our time,” Cruz griped as he studied the sea of moving faces.

“Agreed. You stay here. I’ll try over on the other end. You never know. Maybe one of us will get lucky.”

“Kind of hard to believe based on how things have played so far, isn’t it?”

“Hey, the target’s alive. I’d take that as a win.”

“Not because of anything we did.”

“It still counts as a win,” El Rey pronounced decisively, and then spun and made for the far section of the terminal.

Cruz tried to concentrate, but his mind instantly ran to the logistics involved in trying to catch the German in a crowd this size. Theoretically they would, eventually; but he suspected that sooner or later someone would make a call to a politically connected friend, and then favors would be called in, and soon there would be an outcry over the Gestapo tactics being used at the airport. He knew how the system worked, and if they were lucky, they would get an hour or two, tops. Then Godoy would be on the line, pointing out that everything had turned out fine, and that discretion would carry the day, the assassin having failed.

It was a crappy system sometimes, he knew.

All too well.

~ ~ ~

El Rey began dividing the arrival hall into quadrants and methodically searching for something, anything, that might be a giveaway. He fully expected the German to have changed his appearance, and possibly be in disguise – a maintenance man or a service worker. Because that’s what he would have done. Someone innocuous, whose presence wouldn’t attract undue attention in the airport, who could move around unimpeded.

Movement caught his eye to his left, and then he dismissed it – a little girl had bolted from her mother and was running towards a candy display in one of the convenience stores. He knew the primitive reptilian brain was alert to unexpected movement, and he tried to relax and harness that power. The German would be anxious to get out before the building was completely sealed, and that might make him careless. It was really their only hope – that his nerves might give and he would make a mistake, draw attention to himself.

He registered another movement to his right and looked to see what had attracted his eye. An officer was stalking towards an exit, talking on his phone. But there was something about his gait that made the assassin take another look. He was covering a lot of ground, but seeming to not hurry. That’s what had caught his attention. He knew that rhythm. Like a predatory feline.

El Rey withdrew his phone and dialed Cruz as he began to walk in step with the man, who was about a hundred yards away.

“I think it may be him. He’s making for one of the exits. Warn Briones. By the C section exit.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m closing in on him. Get over here. And have Briones pull up. We can get him in a pincer.”

“A pincer?”

“Never mind. How far away are you?”

“I’ll be there in sixty seconds.”

“Try to make it thirty.”

He picked up his pace as he watched the putative officer approach the two men guarding the exit, and then a strong grip locked on his arm.

“Sir. Slow down. Where are you going in such a hurry? The exits are sealed. Let’s see some identification. Now.” The soldier was eyeing him suspiciously, his partner holding his gun at the ready. El Rey reached to pull the lanyard out from under his shirt, where he’d slid it out of sight so he wouldn’t arouse suspicion, and then the soldier with the rifle yelled a nervous warning.

“Look out. He’s got a gun!” The soldier had spotted the Glock stuck in his waistband at the base of his spine.

“Easy, corporal. I’m with the Federales. I’m now going to pull my badge out and show it to you, all right? Don’t get crazy with the rifle. Everyone just calm down,” El Rey said in his calmest, most reasonable tone.

“No fast moves or you’re dead,” the soldier warned, his expression betraying that he could shoot for almost any reason, his nerves too near the surface for this duty.

“Nice and easy. Here, see? A badge. And an ID. Take a look, and lower your weapon, corporal. Show’s over. We’re on the same side.”

The soldier leaned forward and inspected the badge as his partner fingered the trigger guard of his weapon, and El Rey considered how easy it would be to disable them both before they even realized what had happened, and then stopped that line of thinking. He waited patiently for them to verify his identity, and then both soldiers relaxed.

“Sorry, sir. We’re on high alert. They told us to trust no one. And when I saw the gun...”

“No harm done. Now, I’ve got something to attend to. If you’ll excuse me...”

Cruz came puffing up just then. “Where is he?”

El Rey pointed. “Over by that door. Then Mutt and Jeff here stopped me, and by the time I sorted them out, he was gone.”

“Shit.”

They both jogged to the door, and Cruz moved to the two Federales framing it. “What happened to the man who was just here?”

“Sir? You mean the other officer?”

“Where is he?”

“He was in a hurry. Talking to headquarters. He went that way.” The policeman gestured to the right, out on the sidewalk.

Cruz called Briones and started talking when he heard the line connect.

“He’s outside. By C. We’re coming out. He’s dressed as a federal police officer. Tall. Mustache. Hat.”

“Damn. I think I see–”

Briones was interrupted by the screech of tires as one of the waiting police cruisers wheeled from the curb and accelerated.

“He’s in the car that just took off,” El Rey said, and then they both ran outside to Briones’ cruiser and jumped in.

“Don’t let him get away,” Cruz ordered, buckling up, and Briones floored the Dodge, which leapt forward and took off like a scared rabbit.