“This was a few days ago. Why wasn’t I notified?” he demanded.
“The army came across the card following the complete destruction of a house outside Ciudad Juarez from a rocket attack. The cartel chieftain Chacho Morenos was in the house. The army brought us the information, unsure of how to treat it. As soon as we got it, we called you.”
Cruz regarded Rodriguez, sensing there was more.
“We also have picked up some disturbing news. There is an unconfirmed rumor from one of our assets that El Rey is back on the scene because he plans to assassinate the president,” Rodriguez stated.
“Unconfirmed rumor? From where? I need more specifics than an unconfirmed rumor. You know that,” Cruz admonished him.
‘Hector’ leaned forward. “Capitan Cruz, the asset in question is involved with the affairs of a group you’re more than familiar with. The Sinaloa cartel. For his ongoing safety we have to keep the asset’s identity confidential, even from you. But I can say that he is well placed in that organization, and we consider his intel to be of the highest quality,” he said officiously.
“Can someone tell me why CISEN is involved with the Sinaloa cartel? Perhaps we can start there. I’m especially interested since I’m the head of the task force chartered with dealing with the cartels, and this is the first I’ve heard about any involvement,” Cruz demanded.
Rodriguez shrugged again. “As you know, we have operations and investigations that are international in scope. This came about as a tangent to one of those operations. It’s wholly unconnected to your efforts involving the cartels. I can’t say anything more — it’s classified. The important thing is that we’re here, at this table, sharing intelligence about a suspected plot to assassinate the president, to be carried out by the man you are purported to be the expert on.”
It came to Cruz in a flash. This was turnaround. Revenge for causing the disastrous reorganization in CISEN. They were saddling Cruz with a formal report of a plot to kill the president, exactly as he had done with them. If it turned out to be true, and he was unsuccessful at stopping it, Cruz would be in the crosshairs as having neglected his duty, not CISEN. It was perfect. Provide virtually no evidence other than a rumor, refuse to corroborate it due to national security concerns, then pass the whole pile off to Cruz, noting scrupulously that he, and only he, was responsible for following up. Cruz had survived countless bureaucratic battles, and he understood instinctively what was being done, as well as why.
Payback.
“I will need everything you have on this. If it’s classified, I will need to get an appropriate clearance. I can’t operate without all the information, so whatever needs to be done, let’s do it.”
Rodriguez shook his head. “I’m afraid it isn’t that simple, Capitan Cruz. We can’t hand out top secret clearances to just anyone — not that you are just anyone, or in any way suspect. It’s just that our procedure is-”
“I don’t care what your procedure is. You invented it, so you can make an exception to it. If you don’t feel like doing that, I can just go directly to the president and have him instruct you to do so. Either way, to protect him, I need all the information, so we can do this the civil way, or the adversarial way.” Cruz paused. “Considering CISEN’s performance on the last presidential assassination attempt, I would have thought that you would have figured as much by now. But it’s immaterial to me how we get it done. I’ve told you what I need.”
Rodriguez scowled and leaned to Stefan, murmuring for a few moments. Stefan whispered back to him. Rodriguez straightened up, and then addressed Cruz.
“I’ll see what we can do. This is highly irregular, and I can’t make a call on it without speaking with the director.”
“Either get him on the phone, now, or I will be calling my superior, who will be calling the president’s people. I don’t want to waste any more time. For all we know, this could be taking place today. Which reminds me — I’ll need a complete list of all the president’s scheduled appearances. If you can’t get that for me, I can get it from him myself. Frankly, it would look better from your end if you got it, because right now, to me it appears that you’re handing me a hot potato with the bare minimum of information — and that’s what my report will say. I’ve gone up against El Rey before, and I can assure you that if he’s in the country and gunning for the president, that’s as real and imminent a threat as if we just found a bomb under the president’s bed. Maybe more so. Now make the call, or I will,” Cruz demanded.
He’d had about enough of their ploy and didn’t have any reason to be nice. He also wanted to let them know he was onto their game and knew how to play it as well or better than they did.
More murmuring ensued, and then Rodriguez stood and excused himself for a minute while he made the call. Cruz stared at the two remaining men, who busied themselves scribbling cryptic notes. Five minutes later, Rodriguez returned with a sheaf of papers and a pen.
“You’ll need to read all of this, and then sign. It is our official secrets act, which will subject you to prosecution if you divulge the top secret information we give you to anyone. It’s mandatory, I’m afraid. Take your time going through it and feel free to ask me any questions that come up. But it can’t be modified, so you either sign it, or I can’t divulge the info you want. Sorry,” Rodriguez said in a tone that clearly suggested he wasn’t, and that he hoped Cruz wouldn’t sign.
Cruz took the pages and spent the next fifteen minutes poring over them. Finally, he signed.
“All right. Now who did you get this information from, and why do you believe it’s credible?” he asked.
“I will have it typed out for you so you have it in writing, and so you can acknowledge receipt of it. Once you’ve done so by signing a copy, you can ask any questions that come up.” Rodriguez nodded at Hector, who left the room.
A few minutes later he returned with two pieces of paper. Cruz signed one, and then read it. Three sentences.
“This is Aranas’ main arms dealer! We’ve been trying to nail him for years. He’s working for you?” Cruz asked incredulously.
“I wouldn’t say he’s working for us. He exchanges information when it is advantageous for him to do so. This was a particularly interesting piece, I think you’ll agree. He sourced the rockets used in the Juarez attack, and apparently he’s secured a few other items for Aranas that he believed were for the same contractor — El Rey. Aranas has known the arms dealer for over twenty years, and apparently let slip that the new president’s ongoing persecution of Sinaloa would soon be coming to an end. He believes it’s because of the assassin.”
“So this is an inference. He’s inferred that Aranas has hired El Rey to kill the president? He wasn’t told that he was…” Cruz clarified.
“It is an inference. Aranas didn’t come right out and say, ‘I’ve hired El Rey to take out the president’. But the arms dealer felt that was a very distinct possibility based on the discussions they’d had,” Rodriguez affirmed.
“Do you see the problem here? You have a snitch, who is trying to curry favor with you, who passes on a speculation that is highly suspect. I agree that it bears looking into, but it’s a far cry from confirmation of a legitimate threat. And what were the ‘items’? I came to you with far more compelling information than this, and you ignored it…” Cruz pointed out.
“Yes. And we were wrong to do so. That’s why the gentlemen who ran this operation are no longer in charge. As to the items, besides the three Russian rocket launchers, he got several radio-transmitter triggering devices, two types of plastic explosive, several fragmentation grenades, and a silenced pistol.”
“Hmm. The plastique and the radio-transmitters are ominous.” He pushed back from the table. “All right. When can I get the president’s schedule?” Cruz asked.
“I can e-mail it to you before the end of the day. It will take a few hours for the president’s staff to send it over. But you will have it just as soon as I do,” Rodriguez promised.
&
nbsp; “Let me ask you a personal question. Why are you working with an arms dealer who is supplying weapons to the cartel thugs, when you know they’re going to use them to kill police, soldiers and innocent civilians? Help me understand that,” Cruz asked Rodriguez.
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that — it’s not part of your need to know. But if it’s any consolation, I find it as repugnant as you do,” Rodriguez said.
“I’m sure that’s a consolation to the families of those who get killed by the cartels, as well as the innocents who are slaughtered whole cloth.” Cruz glared at him. “One last question, and then I’m finished. Did the arms dealer have any idea of timing?”
“No, but based on what he was sensing, Aranas was behaving as though the crackdown on his cartel wouldn’t last much longer. I would consider that it is likely to happen sooner than later.”
“Have you briefed the president’s staff yet?”
“We felt you would be the best person to do so, seeing as your credibility on El Rey is high…” Rodriguez admitted.
Cruz folded the classified summary and put it into his shirt pocket, then stood and shook hands. He was still irritated by these spy types’ arrogant superiority, but he had to admit these three were better than the last bunch.
His car picked him up outside, and he sat in the back seat, lost in thought. If El Rey was gunning for the president, he knew that there was practically nothing on earth that would stop him. He still remembered his failure at the financial summit, and the quirk of fate that had saved the day. He didn’t think they’d be that lucky again.
Which meant that Cruz needed to begin a manhunt for El Rey and focus on protecting the president at all costs.
His day had just gone from lousy to miserable.
El Rey, back in action, going after the nation’s newly elected leader. And only Cruz standing in his way.
It didn’t get any worse than that.
Chapter 14
“Lieutenant, what do you have for me?” Cruz called to Briones.
“We’ll be ready for you in the conference room in five minutes, sir,” Briones responded.
“All right.”
Cruz had called for daily staff meetings at the end of each day since starting the El Rey working group within his task force. He stood up, stretching. It had been a long afternoon, and for every step forward it seemed like they encountered another obstacle. Cruz moved to the coffee pot near the entrance of his office, and after pouring his fifth cup, walked through the maze of cubicles to the meeting room. When he entered, a dozen faces swiveled to greet him with worried looks. He didn’t waste any time with preamble.
“Have we narrowed down the possible public appearances? Which looks the most likely to be our man’s ideal scenario?” Cruz asked the room in general.
Briones cleared his throat. “For the last four days, we’ve been working with the president’s staff, and there are only two appearances that look good for El Rey. The first is a public speech on the steps of congress in two weeks, and the second is Easter Mass at the Mexico City Cathedral in three weeks. Obviously, the congress speech presents far greater danger due to it being open air for a fair amount of time, so that’s the one we’re focusing on.”
“Have we picked up on any buzz on the streets?” Cruz asked.
They had returned to shaking down every snitch they knew, hoping for a lead. It was a long shot, but they had to turn over every stone. There was no way of knowing which seemingly inconsequential bit of information would prove to be the one that led them to him. That’s how it had been the last time they’d been on El Rey’s trail, although then, as now, whiffs of him were few and far between.
Eldiarez, a chief in the plainclothes team, shook his head. “Not really. We’ve been circulating his photo in the hopes that something triggers, but for now, nobody knows anything,” he announced glumly.
“What about leaning on our contacts on the periphery of the Sinaloa cartel?”
“Not a whisper,” Eldiarez told him. “If Sinaloa is behind an attempt on the president, it’s the best kept secret they’ve got. Which isn’t surprising given that it would have come straight from Aranas, who probably wouldn’t have broadcast the fact. Every time we arrest one of their men, we give them the third degree, but so far there’s not much to report. That isn’t surprising considering that anyone rolling on Aranas would be a dead man. Even if someone did know something, it’s unlikely they’d volunteer it.”
“We’re also watching every airport and bus station,” Briones offered, “with the photograph being widely circulated, but you know how that goes…”
Cruz did indeed. The likelihood of a professional of El Rey’s caliber slipping up and getting caught through the rookie mistake of not altering his appearance so that it didn’t match the known photo of him was exceedingly slim, but they didn’t have much else to go on, so it was another checklist item. The whole thing smacked of going through the motions, though. Unless they got some kind of a break, all they were doing was taking the predictable steps El Rey would expect, bringing their possible success chances close to zero.
Cruz scowled at the room. “We need to do better than this. We’re going on five days since the tip came in from CISEN, and we’re no further along than we were then. I know you’re all doing everything you have been asked to do, but we need to push the envelope and be more aggressive. I’m not sure how to move this along, but my sense is that we’re currently dead in the water. Am I wrong?”
Briones tilted his head. “What about the original lead? Can’t we put pressure there? That seems to be our only viable option at the moment.”
“I’m meeting with some people this evening to discuss exactly that, but for now, consider it a dead end. It was picked up as chatter, so there’s nowhere to push. We just have to wait and see if we get anything more,” Cruz warned.
He couldn’t tell anyone about the true nature of the source, or the identity — hell, he couldn’t even hint that there was a source. But Briones had it right — for all CISEN’s reticence, they needed to lean on the arms dealer if they were going to get anywhere. Cruz had a six p.m. meeting scheduled to broach that very topic, although he wasn’t expecting much to come out of it. Still, it couldn’t hurt to tighten the screw on CISEN.
“All right. I need everyone to get creative. If the president gets killed, it will be because we didn’t do enough. That’s the bottom line. I have our friends at CISEN looking at financial transactions involving known Sinaloa entities on the off chance there’s some sort of a money trail, and I have to believe that if we focus enough energy on the two events, we’ll figure out how he’s planning to make his attempt. Bring me anything, no matter how seemingly inconsequential. Even if it’s a gut feel or a hunch. Because, as of now, we’ve only got a few weeks. That’s all I have,” Cruz concluded.
He had a sinking feeling as he scanned the resigned faces of his subordinates. He remembered the last time they’d been hunting El Rey — it had been a needle in a haystack, regardless that they’d been sure he was going to make his move at the financial summit. This time, they didn’t even know when, or even if, he would act.
Cruz shook off the sense of despondency, squaring his shoulders as he stood up. It wouldn’t do for his men to see him in despair. A good leader always projected strength and confidence, even he didn’t feel it.
Briones joined him as he walked back to his office. “Not much, huh? Is there any chance you’ll be able to get CISEN more involved?” he asked.
Cruz shook his head. “I’ve been on the line with the president’s people twice a day, and they feel like they have a good handle on the security aspect, which means nothing to me. And CISEN is being their usual self. They act like we don’t matter, which maybe in their universe we don’t. Cross your fingers because I’m not expecting a lot of further cooperation,” Cruz admitted.
His limp was a little more pronounced today. Even after the physical therapy, when the weather changed it could hurt.
“Agreed. It seems like this week is going to be a write-off. I’ll let you know if anything positive happens.” Cruz slurped the now-cold coffee he had been nursing and retreated into his office, dreading the meeting that evening with the state’s intelligence service.
Lush fields of coffee plants rolled over the grass-topped hills, their full, leafy finery swaying in gentle time to the caress of the light breeze. Workers dotted the green-hued expanse, harvesting the beans. A smear of white clouds lingered over the mountain top, offering welcome shade for the laborers toiling in the field.
This was one of Aranas’ hideaways, in the mountains on the outskirts of San Salvador — a working coffee plantation well away from prying eyes, in a country distant enough from Mexico for the cartel chief to be safe from attack or capture. He paid off all the local law enforcement groups, including the government functionaries, so El Salvador, as well as Guatemala and Honduras, were safe havens.
The colonial home had breathtaking views, and only one winding approach road, which was heavily guarded by hardened sentries under orders to shoot first and ask questions later — and the locals stayed well away, making it one of the most private areas in the region.
Aranas sat on the expansive patio, watching the laborers go about their backbreaking tasks as he sipped rich brew from a Delft china cup. It was a miraculously beautiful day, and he felt strangely at peace — as he always did when at this home.
A man cautiously approached from inside the house, taking care to close the wooden French doors behind him to keep any bugs out as he stepped onto the veranda. “Don Aranas, we have more information on the task force that has been set up to hunt El Rey. It’s being headed up by Romero Cruz, and it has committed significant resources to finding our operative. Photos are everywhere, and they’ve stepped up activity.”
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