Blood of the Assassin

CHAPTER 50





The helicopter set down on the parking lot of the Congress building, squarely in the center of the large yellow H painted on the black pavement, and a contingent of Chinese bodyguards rushed beneath the still circling blades and formed a protective shield around the door. After a brief pause it slid open with a crash, and two more security men stepped onto the ground before the Chinese leader poked his head out, and then was assisted from the aircraft as still more bodyguards, these Mexican, lined the area.

Grim-countenanced soldiers stood in their gray camouflage uniforms brandishing assault rifles as he paused to wave at the crowd across the street, some cheering, some toting protest signs, many unsure what all the fuss was about but caught up in the excitement. The delegation moved up the steps to the hulking edifice’s oversized iron and glass doors, where an honor guard waited at stiff attention, in full dress ceremonial splendor, swords held rigidly in time-honored salute, their shoes so highly polished they were blinding in the morning sun.

And then the Chinese delegation was in the building. The hubbub outside lost steam, the show over for at least a time, and the excitement level visibly faded. Once in the assembly hall, the Mexican President stood in greeting from his position at the podium, behind a large rectangular hand-crafted mesquite table with only two chairs, and the room broke into cheering applause as the lawmakers welcomed their honored guest.

Speeches were made, commitments heralded, cameras whirred, and eventually the two men sat down, as fate had destined them to, beneath the iron sculpture of an eagle gripping a snake, and affixed their signatures to the groundbreaking accord that would change the future of Mexico forever. Hands were clasped in symbolic handshakes and yet more speeches were made, and then the procession moved back out of the building, retracing its steps to the waiting helicopter, and within ninety seconds of their reaching it the chopper was lifting into the hazy sky, the party over, the only thing remaining the clean-up.

~ ~ ~

“Damn it. How could this happen? You assured us this was taken care of. Explain yourself. Make it very simple, so even a stupid old man like me can understand.” The speaker was in his mid-sixties, balding, his face creased with the heavy lines of stress and time. He was staring across a conference table in Langley, Virginia, at the headquarters of the Central Intelligence Agency, where he directed the group until God or the president decided that his time had passed. Five somber men sat along either side of the table, all eyes fixed on a younger man in his early forties, standing at the far end like a student being dressed down by the headmaster.

The younger man cleared his throat, aware that his career was effectively over, his high-stakes gambit having failed. And the price for failure would be high. He had known that part of the risk of playing at the big table with the adults was that something would go wrong, and he would be the one held accountable. It was the way things had always worked, and always would. Didn’t matter that he’d had twenty years of successes – one epic failure and he’d be running the bureau that dealt with Latvian militants, banished to servitude in a kind of purgatory. That was his future following this fiasco, after a brilliant run of triumphant operations. One bad one, and he was dog chow.

“Obviously, the contractor failed. The agreement was signed. There’s not a lot else to say, is there? Something went wrong. We don’t know exactly what. We hired the best in the world, and he wasn’t good enough. The end.” The younger man’s tone was conciliatory and apologetic, but also no-nonsense. He knew the drill, and he knew that he would be tarred and feathered by these men, the upper echelon of the intelligence community, who had placed their faith in him. Mistakenly, as it turned out.

“Is it, though? The end? Is there any way anyone could trace even a hint of this back to us?”

“Negative. The German was hired using a cut-out, and the money came from operational accounts that had been left in place from Exodus.” Exodus was one of the operations involving the transportation of heroin from Afghanistan into Russia and the former Soviet satellite countries.

The director nodded. “You know the ramifications. I now have a lot of explaining to do,” he groused, unhappy at the prospect of the meeting that had been scheduled for an hour later with the president – who was not thrilled with the result of the operation, which he officially had no knowledge of, but had been following closely.

“This is completely my fault. One hundred percent. I’m trying to get some intelligence so we understand why it failed, but what’s important is that it did. I take full responsibility, and will accept the consequences, which I’m sure will be severe.”

“John, that’s all well and good, but it doesn’t really save me from getting an ass reaming from the Commander in Chief, does it? And it doesn’t solve our problem. Your throwing yourself on your sword is duly noted, but I need some solutions here, not mea culpas or self-flagellation. This is a disaster, and the president’s associates are not going to be pleased. It changes the balance of power for the oil industry moving forward. The Chinese will now be the entrenched players in Mexico, which will lead other countries to view them as legitimate contenders in the region. A lot of money is going to be lost as a result. Do I need to spell this out?” the director spat.

“I suppose we can always invade. Worked when we annexed California and Texas,” one of the other men joked – the director’s oldest friend, and an assistant director.

“Yeah, and look how that turned out,” the director said, deadpan.

The gathering laughed, the tension broken, and the younger man saw a glimmer of hope for his prospects.

“It’s never over till it’s over. They still have to execute. And playing in Latin America can be difficult. Especially in a country that’s riddled with corruption and cartel violence. I could envision chronic sabotage. Pipelines blown up. Profits siphoned off. Refineries destroyed. It’s a rough world,” he suggested.

“That’s true. But it’s a longer term play. We were all hoping for a quicker fix.”

“Why didn’t we just shoot the bastard’s plane out of the sky? Do a TWA on his ass?” the assistant director demanded.

“We looked at that, but the risks were too great. It sets a bad precedent to eliminate a head of state in that public a manner,” the younger man explained reasonably. “This was deemed to be our best option.”

“And tell me again why we couldn’t get our first choice? The Mexican contractor?”

“He’s out of the business. No longer accepting contract work. He’s now CISEN’s asset, and we couldn’t very well go to them for this, now could we? I mean, they’re as broad-minded as any of us, but sanctioning a hit that runs directly against their national interests...that wasn’t an option. Frankly, that’s a shame, because his abilities were as good as anything we’ve seen. They don’t build them like that every day. Made Carlos the Jackal look like a piker. But the German was always a reliable and skilled operator for us.”

“Until he wasn’t. Your report says he’s dead?”

“Correct. At the airport. Fireball. Not much left but some dental records, and barely enough to fit in an ashtray.”

“On the sabotage end, can we use our cartel partner there to help with it?” the director asked in a thoughtful tone.

“There are positives and negatives to that. I’d recommend that we farm it out, create a new ‘insurgent’ movement that’s anti-Chinese or pro-Mexican or whatever the hell plays best. Keep the trafficking thing completely separate. Besides which, our man has lost ground this year against a rival. Los Zetas.”

“Why the hell aren’t we dealing with them, then? If they’re kicking his ass, aren’t we betting on the wrong horse?” the assistant director asked.

“They’re too volatile. Our man is old school, and he’s stable. These guys are cowboys. Way too violent. And we’re not sure they’d even be willing to play ball. Frankly, they don’t need us. They’re expanding all over the world and doing just fine without our help.”

“I hear what you’re saying. But maybe there’s a play there. Maybe they can be used against the Chinese. Think about it. I want creativity on this. We need to scramble and put something in place – at least something tentative I can float today so I don’t get corn-holed by our glorious leader. His buddies are going to be righteously pissed – he made promises. And you don’t want them angry. They’re large supporters. Significant players.”

The meeting went on for another half hour, and by the time it ended they’d cobbled together a rough plan. It needed refinement, but it was as good as any they’d fielded, and the agency had certainly backed worse ones. The Chavez screw-up was still fresh in many of their minds. They’d backed the leaders of the failed Venezuelan coup d’état, and the president had jumped the shark and come out supporting the new government before it had actually taken power – a mistake, given that Chavez repelled the attempt and emerged victorious, proving to the international community that the U.S. was still meddling in Latin America’s affairs through government overthrows and assassinations. It had been a classic blunder, and no matter how much spin the U.S. had put on it and how compliant the media had been in spinning the story, most everyone other than the American public had seen the operation for what it was.

The younger man breathed a sigh of relief when the meeting broke up and the attendees rose and hurried off to issue instructions to their staff. He wasn’t out of the woods yet by any means, and it might take years to live this one down, but everyone seemed willing to let him have another inning; and with that, he was still in the game and could turn it around.

He closed the red file marked Top Secret and stood at the foot of the table, studying the walls for a few moments, considering his next move, and then nodded to himself.

Time to put together a good destabilization plan for our neighbors to the south.

It had worked before elsewhere, and it could certainly work again.

Now he just needed to tweak it and sell it.

His specialty.