Blood of the Assassin

CHAPTER 7





Mexico City traffic was a perennial snarl, cars honking as they brooded in the morning haze, gridlocked on the overcrowded roads. El Rey stared blankly through the tinted windows of the Suburban at the crowds of well-dressed pedestrians milling in the downtown area, trumpeting the city’s prosperity with their expensive clothing and designer handbags, a far cry from the wretched poor lining the streets only a few blocks away. The city was a study in contradictions: fabulous wealth lived side by side with squalor, the less fortunate gazing at the wealthy with envy and bitterness and a certain quiet acceptance that was unique to Latin America. Unlike their more fortunate neighbors to the north, the impoverished in Mexico had no hope of ever being anything but poor. It was just the way things were, and it was considered largely pointless to fret over the natural order.

A somber man in his mid-thirties sat in the passenger seat, his crisp blue suit tailored to hide the pistol he wore in a shoulder holster, his gleaming black hair conservatively cut, shining against his olive skin, the white of his oxford shirt in deep contrast with the dark bronze of his complexion. He hadn’t said a word since El Rey had gotten into the big SUV, which was just as well – the assassin wasn’t looking for a new friend.

When the Suburban pulled to a stop at CISEN headquarters, two armed guards peered into the vehicle before waving them through the gate into a parking lot with twelve-foot-high surrounding walls that ensured nobody would be seen coming or going from the modern four-story building. They rolled into a stall near a side entrance, and the silent man in the passenger seat stepped out and spoke his first words of the trip.

“This way.”

El Rey slid from the rear seat, backpack in tow, and followed his guide to the entry door, which opened as if by magic, pulled wide by another suited man. They entered the building, and two security guards bracketed El Rey front and back as they made their way to a ground floor conference room, their footsteps the only sound in the marble hallway.

Once he was seated they left him alone. El Rey studied his fingernails, confident that there was a hidden camera somewhere in the room and unwilling to give the observers any more information than they already had.

Five minutes later the door opened and Rodriguez entered, trailed by three men, none of whom El Rey recognized. They took seats across from him, and then Rodriguez cleared his throat and slid a manila folder across the table.

“That’s the file of a man named Werner Rauschenbach. He’s in the same line of work you used to be in. German. There are two pages of summary on his exploits and history. Take a few moments to read them,” Rodriguez instructed.

El Rey flipped the folder open and glanced at the photos inside, and then studied the documents. When he was done, he took a closer look at the top photograph, then dropped it onto the table and leaned back.

“So?”

“We want you to find him.”

El Rey’s expression betrayed nothing. “And wish him happy birthday?”

“Obviously not.”

“You want me to kill him.”

“That would be ideal. But it won’t be that simple, I’m afraid.” Rodriguez glanced at the picture. “He’s coming to Mexico. Might already be here.”

El Rey nodded. “And it’s safe to presume he’s not coming for the beaches?”

“Yes. We’ve gotten word that he’s been hired to carry out a sanction,” Rodriguez confirmed, irritated by the assassin’s tone.

“Why am I required?”

“Because you’re the best at that business.”

“Right. But you’re not asking me to take a contract, are you?”

“No. We need you to stop him. He can’t be allowed to carry out his plan.”

“Which is?”

Rodriguez nodded at the other men. The shortest, wearing a pale blue shirt and a retro tie, leaned forward.

“He’s going to try to execute a dignitary. A very important figure. If he’s successful, it would be disastrous.”

“Do you have any information on when and where?”

“Negative. But we can guess.”

“So guess.”

“We believe he’ll make his attempt in ten days. Here, in Mexico City.”

El Rey’s eyes narrowed. “So why drag me off the side of the mountain? This seems like a routine security task. Am I missing something?”

Rodriguez dropped the pen he was toying with on the table. “We need you to find him before he can carry out the hit.”

“Who’s the target?”

“The Chinese paramount leader. The de facto ruler of China.”

El Rey blinked twice. “And why would an assassin come to Mexico to kill him?”

“Because he’ll be vulnerable here – much more so than in China.”

“What’s he going to be doing here? The paramount leader?”

“He’s supposed to sign an agreement with the president to transition our oil industry into Chinese hands – or rather, have them partner with us to get it out of the ground and refined. It would be a terminal blow to the agreement if an assassination attempt took place while he was here. Worse yet, if it succeeded.”

“Can I have some water?” El Rey asked.

Rodriguez leaned over and murmured to one of the men, who rose and exited the room.

El Rey and Rodriguez stared at each other in silence for a few moments. Rodriguez finally spoke.

“That’s it? You’re told that the number one man in China is the target of an assassination plot by one of the world’s most dangerous assassins, and all you can muster is a request for something to drink?”

El Rey shrugged. “I’m parched.”

The door opened and the man returned carrying several plastic water bottles, which he set on the table. El Rey grabbed one, twisted the top off, and downed it. He set the empty container back on the table and regarded Rodriguez with dead black eyes.

“I specialize in killing people. Not in security assignments.”

“I understand that. But it takes a thief to catch one. And you’re our pet assassin, so it was decided to put you to some use. We need you to stop the German before he can carry out his plan. That’s the assignment.”

“I’m the wrong man for that job.”

“Perhaps. But you’re our best shot. And the clock is ticking. You’ve done these types of sanctions before. You’re a specialist. So you know how one would think – what he would look for in the precautions, how he’s likely to respond to events, how he would plan on carrying it out. We need that expertise. And I hate to remind you, but you owe us. Remember our deal...”

“How can I forget?”

“Good. Then it’s agreed. I’ll get you everything we have on Rauschenbach by tomorrow morning. And I’m making an office available for you...”

“Absolutely not. I’ll take care of my own arrangements. I’m not going to work out of this building. That’s not my style.”

Rodriguez frowned. “I don’t care what your style is. You’ll work out of here if I say you will.”

El Rey smiled. “If you want me to be effective, you won’t push your luck, Señor Rodriguez. And a word of warning – men have died for speaking to me more politely. I understand I need to cooperate with you in order to get my shots. But there’s a limit to how much I’ll tolerate. You don’t want to discover the limits of my patience.”

Rodriguez glared at him, but El Rey saw the telltale bob of his Adam’s apple as he dry swallowed.

“There’s another condition, and this one you’re really not going to like. But it’s not negotiable,” Rodriguez said, eyeing him with hesitation.

“Everything’s negotiable.”

“Not this.”