They continued speculating about the assault, but Dinah quickly tired. The ordeal had taken a lot out of her, and Cruz gestured with his head to Briones to get the door. He said his goodbyes, and once outside the room, walked slowly with Briones to the elevator.
“Does anyone know about Dinah and I besides you, and the other few people at work? Do you think she’s being targeted because of me?” Cruz asked.
“I haven’t told anyone, and I can’t see the others doing so. Your dating life isn’t a big topic on the job, frankly. I think that’s a longshot. More likely is that she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the shooter is a nutjob, or lost his cool. We’ve all seen enough of these where they kill the victim whether or not the ransom is paid. The line of work appeals to psychos. That’s the likeliest.”
“I still want a patrol car on Dinah, and a guard at the hospital. I agree that the likelihood of the attack being specific to her is probably extremely slim, but I’ll feel better with an officer here. Maybe just having one on the floor would be enough. Please arrange for one round the clock,” Cruz ordered.
Briones complied and was finishing the call by the time the elevator arrived at their floor.
Chapter 16
Don Aranas stormed around the massive great room of his home in Guatemala City, gesticulating as he reacted to the voice on the phone.
“What the hell are you telling me? You not only missed snatching her, but shot up a school? You couldn’t have been more subtle? Maybe stormed into her classroom with machine guns, screaming my name?” He stopped pacing, listening to the explanation. “Don’t you get it? There’s no way to make this work now. We have nothing. Take the shooter out and dispose of him. Better yet, take the whole team out and dispose of them.”
He entertained another few seconds of discussion before cutting in.
“Fine. Then let the driver live. I don’t really care. But the two in charge of making this happen? I want them gone by lunchtime.”
He stabbed the phone off and slammed it down on the coffee table. A young, beautiful brunette woman knocked on the door, worried about disturbing him. He looked up at her, framed by the late morning light so that her sheer robe was translucent, and waved her away. He needed to think. Pouting, she spun professionally on her six inch heels and sashayed back down the hall, long coffee-colored legs gliding as though on precision bearings.
Aranas plopped down in an overstuffed chair and fumed for several minutes before flipping open an elaborately-carved tabletop humidor and selecting a Cohiba cigar, rolling it between his fingers near his ear approvingly before snipping the end off with a cutter and lighting it. He puffed at it distractedly as he considered his options. What should have been an easy snatch had gone horribly wrong, which meant that he wouldn’t get another chance.
He picked up the phone and selected a number from the contacts.
El Rey answered on the third ring.
“Yes?”
“Are you someplace you can talk?” Aranas asked.
“Always.”
“There’s a complication. I’ve gotten some disturbing news about a task force I need to share with you,” Aranas began, and then tersely described the situation, complaining about that morning’s bungled attempt on Dinah.
El Rey took it all in silently. “Nothing has changed,” he finally responded.
“I’m glad you’re so confident. They apparently got wind of the plan. I would have thought that would give you pause.”
“I have always acted as though all facts were known. It changes nothing. The outcome will be the same. That’s what you’re paying for.” El Rey hesitated. “Although I have need of an item or two that will require the greatest discretion and will no doubt be expensive.”
Aranas’ eyebrows rose when he heard the request.
“You’re fucking kidding me. I mean, I’m sure I can get it, but in my experience it’s not that easy. They tend to keep track of it,” the kingpin warned.
“I will need it within a week.”
“You still think you can pull this off?”
“Without a doubt. But tell me more about the girl. Have you received any news on where she is now?” El Rey asked.
Aranas was surprised. “Are you really interested? I can probably find out in seconds. But that opportunity is over. My men blew it,” Aranas admitted bitterly.
“Perhaps. But it would be helpful to me if you could make enquiries. I have an idea.”
Aranas called back after twenty minutes and gave him the information. Three hours later, El Rey left the apartment he was renting and took the elevator down to the parking garage, toting a brown paper grocery bag in his left hand. He made two stops in downtown Mexico City before proceeding to his ultimate destination, humming to himself. Out of every disaster came opportunity, if one knew how to adapt. This was a perfect example. Now he just needed to be patient, and perhaps he’d convert a negative into an opportunity.
The Federal Police officer sat at the far end of the hall, studying the nurses moving around the ward with approval. Some duty was desirable, some not. Watching the floor for threats to Dinah was definitely a plum position, even if some of the staff seemed perturbed by him being there. He’d originally sat in the corridor right by the room, but it wasn’t wide enough to accommodate him as well as the gurneys and carts, and they’d made a position for him at the nurse’s station, forty-five yards away. Over time, some of the cuter, younger nurses had warmed up to him, and by his third hour they were stopping in regularly to chat, there being not much else to do. Unlike intensive care, this was a quiet floor, at least by large hospital standards. A steady hum of physicians and staff buzzed around, doing whatever it was they did, and an occasional patient rolled by.
Around dinner time, a doctor in a white coat moved from room to room, and the officer became alert as he approached the woman’s room. One of the nurses assured him that the physician was fine — he checked on the patients every four to six hours, marking off the forms affixed to clipboards outside every room. Satisfied that he had done his duty, the policeman relaxed again and took up his discussion with Yvette, a pretty petite twenty-four year old from Veracruz.
After another few hours the lights on the floor dimmed, and the ward moved into evening rhythm, with dinner gliding down the passageways on rolling carts. The officer was able to convince one of the orderlies to have the kitchen prepare him a meal, and he was ravenous by the time the tray made it to his position. He dug into the chicken enchiladas with gusto and was done within a few minutes, smacking his lips with satisfaction.
Two hours later he began to experience severe abdominal cramping, and he sprinted for the restroom at the far end of the ward, barely able to keep from vomiting.
A maintenance man moved steadily down the hall, checking the air-conditioning grids with a laser thermometer. He smiled to himself as he watched the guard rush to the facilities and reasoned that he’d be occupied on and off for the rest of the evening. A little Visine in the man’s drink and mixed in with the enchilada sauce had worked miracles — he’d be cramping and vomiting for hours.
He hummed as he verified the temperature of the air coming out of the duct and stopped into every room to ensure there were no anomalies. When he reached the woman’s room, he checked the hallway and verified that the guard had departed once again for the comfort of the restroom before slipping through the door, closing it behind him.
Dinah looked up from the magazine she was reading and then returned to it when the man apologized and checked the airflow. It was only after a few seconds that something caused her to look up — he was standing closer, smiling at her, but with an expression that chilled her blood. He had a beard that obscured most of his lower face, but his eyes were disturbing. The first impression that came to mind was that they were dead.
She saw a flicker of something cross his expression, and he seemed to hesitate, and then spoke.
“Dinah. We don’t have much time, so I’m going to make this short. I am
known as El Rey. I am an assassin. The reason I’m here is because I need your help. If you scream or sound any kind of an alarm, you’ll be dead within seconds. If you know of me, you know I’m not exaggerating,” he said in a reasonable, calm voice.
Her hand crept under the sheet to the nurse call button as she absorbed his statement.
“I thought I just told you that you’ll be dead if you do anything foolish. Calling the nurse would qualify. Now if you want to continue breathing, put both your hands where I can see them and listen carefully to me. I have a proposition for you,” El Rey cautioned.
She froze and then slid her hand where he could see it. The other still clutched the magazine, gripping it automatically.
“Wha…what do you want?” she blurted.
“I want you to live. I want you and your boyfriend — no, fiance — Capitan Cruz, to have a long and healthy life. I want you to be married and happy and have newborn babies you love and care for. All of which I can help you with.”
“I…I don’t understand…”
“I know you live with Cruz. He is running a task force that is devoted to my deeds. I need you to pass me any and all information you can get — and it’d better be good. I’ll know if you’re working with him, or if you’re holding out on me. Trust me on that — just as I knew what room you were in. And there is nowhere you will be safe if you fuck with me.”
“I…there’s no way I can do that. I can’t betray him, and we don’t discuss business.” Dinah sounded stronger now. Defiant.
“Start.” He studied her. “You seem very brave, so I can imagine that you don’t fear that much for yourself. I mean, I will kill you as well, but before I do, your lover will die an agonizing death. I will make sure of it. I trust you know my reputation. I don’t threaten, and I don’t bluff. If you want Cruz to live, and not be tortured in the most horrible manner you can imagine, you’ll do as I ask. If you don’t, he’ll die, and so will you. It’s a simple proposal, really. Oh, and if you’re thinking that he can protect himself, and you, consider the long list of extremely rich and powerful men who were wrong about their ability to be protected from me. It’s not an option.”
Dinah shook her head in anguished conflict. She couldn’t.
“I know you’re thinking that you can’t do this, that it’s wrong, and that some things are more important than remaining alive. But I can assure you that you’re mistaken. I’m in the death business, and I can promise you that when you’ve seen as many die as I have, you realize that nothing is more important than what remains of your life.” He seemed to grow impatient. “It’s a choice of either ensuring your man lives, or dies. You get to decide that. Do you kill him with your pride, your arrogant vanity, or do you do what you must so he can live. That is the true test of love. I hope you make the right decision — if you don’t help me, it won’t change anything, except for you, and him. I’ll still do what I do, the world will still turn, but he’ll have been maimed and tortured before drowning in his own blood, as will you.” He allowed that to sink in. “But that doesn’t have to be the future. So decide, Dinah. Choose wisely.”
She followed his words and saw the truth in his eyes. He wasn’t threatening. He meant every word, and it wouldn’t bother him in the least to snuff their lives out.
It was an impossible choice.
He raised his eyebrows.
“You have five seconds, and then I make the decision for you.” He smiled. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Dinah,” he said and reached into his pocket.
“Wait. What…how do I know I can trust you?”
“Dinah, every day that you breathe from this moment on will be because I have kept my word to you. Every breath will be proof of my trust. And most importantly, nobody is paying me to kill you. This is merely a means to an end — a way to make my life easier. As I said, I’ll still do my job, but it would be better for me if I knew what your boyfriend was up to. And I can guarantee that nobody else tries to kidnap you. If you’re helping me, however reluctantly, they don’t need to kidnap you to get his cooperation. This is a win-win, Dinah. You get what you want — a life with Cruz — he gets what he wants — life with you — and I get what I want. Everybody wins.”
Her face collapsed, and her shoulders hunched in humiliated resignation. She’d chosen. Now she would need to live with herself.
“How do I contact you?”
El Rey exited the room and walked to the next air-conditioning vent, dutifully measuring the temperature. The guard took no notice of him, being otherwise occupied trying to contend with his cramps, and within thirty seconds the maintenance man had finished his duties and moved through the doors to the emergency stairs.
El Rey was a little shaken by the similarity between Dinah and his first and only love, Jasmine. They could have been twins, separated at birth. It was uncanny. He’d never seen anything like it. She was older, maybe four or five years, but still — the resemblance was more than striking.
Perhaps it was some sort of an omen? Not that he believed in such things, but the odds against two people looking so…exact…were astronomical. If there were a deeper meaning, what could it be? Was he meant to meet her for some reason?
He quickly dismissed the speculations. They were foolishness and would do nothing but distract him. And he needed to stay focused. The clock was ticking, and his date with the president was rapidly approaching. A date that wouldn’t be denied.
Whatever the case with Dinah, who he was and what he did wouldn’t change.
He was the reaper, the bringer of death.
And he would be victorious.
Chapter 17
The small cargo ship was tied to the long concrete wharf next to the massive dry dock boatyard in Tampico. The oil refinery next door dwarfed everything else on the ugly waterfront, and huge tankers rested at their berths as they on-loaded oil. It was a muggy evening, one of many for the town, and the river mouth that was the entrance to the port was redolent of decay and pollution, raw sewage and chemicals combining to create a toxic stew. Rust streaked the burgundy steel hull of the hundred and eighty foot ship, from which a Panamanian flag hung limply off the stern. The name was barely legible for the decay. Toledo.
Three SUVs swung into the dark parking lot, their headlights off but moving at high speed, and fifteen heavily-armed men leapt from the vehicles once they pulled to a stop, running in a crouch the remaining twenty yards from the lot to the gangplank entrance. After a few moments the barking report of assault rifles greeted them from the vessel, and several of the men uttered distressed grunts as the slugs found home. The attackers returned fire, and soon there was a full-fledged gun battle underway, with bursts of shooting angrily punctuating the dark of night. The bodies of fallen men lay scattered near the trucks, with the ten remaining assailants having taken cover behind several dumpsters on the periphery of the dock.
The whoomp of a grenade exploding on the boat was quickly followed by another. The two men clutching M203 grenade launchers affixed to their M4 rifles peered determinedly from their shelter nearby, surveying the damage they’d inflicted. All but two of the dozen guns firing from the ship had been silenced, and the grenade launchers sighted carefully at either end of the ship, where the remaining defenders were ensconced. Two detonations sounded nearly simultaneously, momentarily blinding them, and then the old ship fell silent, straining against its lines from the tow of the current.
The surviving attackers approached the gangplank with grim determination, wary of another salvo from the boat. Just as they were moving up the ramp, two pickup trucks filled with armed men screeched into the lot and sped towards them, the standing men in the truck beds firing into the attackers. A swath of death rattled the sides of the hull, denting the aged metal while leaving trails of blood and flesh on the paint. The fully exposed assailants never stood a chance and were cut down by the new arrivals in a hail of lead. Two of the SUVs peeled off and tore for the road, hoping to escape the newly-arrived attackers. One made it,
but the other exploded in a brilliant orange fireball as a slug ignited its gas tank, bathing the lot in a fiery glow.
As sirens sounded far in the distance, the men jumped from the trucks and ran for the ship. Within a few minutes they descended again, the leader shaking his head, helping one wounded man to the dock. Two more gunmen started down the gangplank carrying another man from the vessel, who was moaning and bleeding from shrapnel wounds. They were loading the two survivors onto the vehicles when a small convoy of military trucks approached from the road — Humvees with fifty caliber machine guns mounted on turrets, plus four armed personnel carriers followed by three large trucks filled with soldiers.
The army weapons opened up, shredding the bodies of the second group of armed men as they futilely returned fire at the military trucks. The heavy army guns sounded like anti-aircraft artillery as they boomed across the water. The leader of the men who’d taken the ship by storm sprinted for the nearest vehicle, but he was seconds too late. The driver’s head tore apart while he was frantically trying to get the vehicle in gear, and the leader was shredded into a bloody pulp by the relentless shards of death.
Rounds from the ship’s defenders tore into the soldiers as the deadly convoy rolled to a stop, and one of the combatants with the grenade launchers successfully drew a bead on the lead Humvee. The vehicle exploded in a burst of debris, the men inside vaporized by the warhead. The second grenade launcher operator prepared to fire his round, but was cut down by a lucky burst from one of the soldiers’ M16 rifles, his chest riddled with smoking bullet holes. His finger reflexively jerked the trigger of the launcher as he went down, sending the projectile in a smoking arc through the air in the direction of the refinery and the shipyard.
The explosion from the grenade’s impact created a minor firestorm in the dry dock when it landed and ignited a pool of oil in the concrete work area. Flames danced in the darkness, illuminating the corpses of the dead and dying lying on the pavement, creating a panorama straight out of hell. The soldiers made quick work of mopping up the rest of the resistance, and within five minutes, silence pervaded the killing field. A total of forty-seven cartel fighters had been slaughtered, with no survivors. Military casualties were six wounded, twenty-one dead.
Revenge of the Assassin a-2 Page 13