Requiem for the Assassin - 06

by Russell Blake

  If bits of his weapon survived, so much the better. Likewise if the tequila bottle residue was found, although Cruz had bought two and left one in the car, still a quarter full, just in case. It told a story of despair and alcohol abuse – not an unfamiliar one among the Federales, just as with most police forces, where officers turned to the bottle to relieve the stress that accumulated over the years, and occasionally one ate his service pistol when the voices of the ghosts from his past made another day in the present unbearable.

  It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was the best they had. The combination of the explosion and the resultant fire would obliterate everything in the cabin, and the likely cursory forensics investigation by the small-town police department would be as superficial as they could hope for, everyone eager to put the unpleasantness behind them, the evidence framing a sad end to a dignified career.

  The pain it would cause Dinah was the one element he couldn’t live with, but the assassin had been adamant. So his wife, the love of his life, would have to believe him dead, hopefully for only a short while as they worked to uncover what was behind the killings.

  Cruz went into the bare-bones kitchen and got a shot glass. He returned to the dining room table, poured it to the rim, and stared at it for a good five minutes before tossing it back with a single swallow, a toast for the dying. He closed his eyes, remembering Dinah’s face when she’d looked at him with surprise and fright as he’d fought with her over nothing, and took a deep breath, the tequila fumes making him want to retch.

  The bottle shattered against the wall. The violent gesture relieved some of the tension that had accumulated like a steel band tightening around his chest, and he felt better for it. The alcohol no longer a temptation, he sat and waited with his eye on his watch for the assassin to arrive, his onetime mortal enemy the one to ease him across the threshold.

  A vision drifted through his consciousness, one that he’d thought banished for good, now vivid as the morning sun in the haze of his memory. His original wife, Rosa, smiling as she pressed his hand against her belly to feel their unborn daughter kick. The corners of his mouth turned up at the image, but then it disintegrated into the stuff of his waking nightmares: Rosa’s and Cassandra’s heads in boxes, slaughtered by psychopaths, delivered to his office for effect.

  The sound of a motor outside shook him out of his grim reverie, and he looked up as headlights brightened the windows. The assassin had arrived. El Rey, an explosives expert, would rig the cabin however he deemed appropriate while Cruz stood by. Then, in the dead of night, a fireball would soar into the heavens, and Capitan Romero Cruz of the Federales would cease to exist.

  When El Rey opened the front door, he was all business, moving like a wraith on soundless feet. If he explained what he was doing, Cruz didn’t register it. Cruz’s last memory of the long night was the sight of the cabin fading in the rearview mirror of the assassin’s car just before El Rey called the cell phone he’d left on the dining table, rigged to create the spark that would obliterate any trace of the cabin and the man trapped inside.

  Chapter 30

  Mexico City, Mexico

  Briones groped for the telephone in the darkened bedroom, fumbling before answering it. “Hello?”

  “Lieutenant Briones. This is Hiliberto at headquarters. Sorry to call you in the middle of the night.”

  Briones switched on the bedside lamp and looked at the clock: 4:18. If Hiliberto, the night supervisor at headquarters, was calling at that hour, it was important.

  “No problem. What’s the emergency?”

  “You wanted me to alert you if there was another high-profile kidnapping.”

  Briones sat up, instantly fully awake. “And?”

  “Isabel Cifuentes was abducted earlier this evening, downtown. Her two bodyguards and the driver were gunned down. All dead.”

  “Christ. Where did it happen?”

  Hiliberto gave him the details. Briones frowned as he finished. “Isabel Cifuentes. That wouldn’t be the daughter of Senator Cifuentes, would it?”

  Hiliberto sighed. “It is.”

  Cifuentes was one of the most influential men in Mexico, representing the interests of some of the wealthiest industrialists in the country. If someone as prominent as he couldn’t keep his offspring safe…

  That there was going to be a firestorm in the wake of the attack was a given. The only positive was that, like most politicians, he had barrels of money, so a ransom wouldn’t be a problem. It was the way the system worked. You went to your job as a humble public servant and wound up with millions sticking to you, and nobody could explain how it happened. Very much like most governments, he supposed.

  “Have you reached Cruz?”

  “No. I tried calling, but his cell says he’s out of service range.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “Then I called his landline, and his wife said he’d taken tomorrow off and had gone to the mountains to relax. So that makes you the top dog until he gets back.”

  “Damn. All right, I’m on my way. I should be able to make it to the crime scene in half an hour.” Briones paused. “Has anyone been in touch with the senator yet?”

  “No, sir. I thought it would be best for either you or Capitan Cruz to handle that.”

  “I should do it in person. I’ll add that to the list. Poor bastard probably doesn’t even know yet. If the bodyguards were all killed, there’s nobody to alert him except us…or the ransom call.”

  “Let’s hope it isn’t the same gang that killed the last one.”

  “I’ll second the thought. Call me if anything else comes up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Briones hung up, his stomach churning. How could this get any worse? No Cruz, one of the top men in the government in the firing line of kidnappers after a sensationally brutal kidnapping-turned-murder only days before…

  There was no point in belaboring his bad luck. Best to do what he could until his boss got back. Although he couldn’t remember a time when Cruz had just taken off without telling anyone. He hadn’t mentioned going to the mountains at the bar, and he’d given no indication he wouldn’t be in on Monday – his staff meeting had still been posted on the board when Briones left the office on Saturday.

  Maybe the pressure buildup had finally been too much for him and he’d snapped? God knew he had every right to. He worked Herculean hours, and now with the additional responsibility of high-profile kidnappings added to his already overflowing cartel task force plate, was it any wonder?

  The streets were deserted, except for garbage trucks laboring along, emptying the heaping bins overflowing with the weekend’s detritus. When he turned the corner onto the crime scene street, the darkness was transformed by the glare of portable work lights. A pair of forensics technicians worked on the bullet holes in the Cadillac while several others knelt by the dead bodyguards. Yellow tape draped the area. The doorman had retreated to the interior of the building after giving his statement and was herding departing partygoers out the building’s rear exit so they wouldn’t disturb the scene.

  Briones parked in the middle of the street behind a line of Metropolitan police cars and approached the dark blue Federales van near the entrance. A muscular sergeant that Briones knew stood by the rear doors watching the technicians, a cup of coffee in one hand and his cell phone in the other.

  “What have we got?” Briones asked.

  “Three dead, one kidnapped. Looks like over thirty shots fired. But nothing indiscriminate, looking at the groupings. They were using automatic weapons, but they placed their shots carefully.”

  “So, professional.”

  “Absolutely. I’d say ex-military. These guys were organized, efficient, and from what the doorman says, were in and out within seconds. They knew exactly what they were doing.”

  “Any descriptions?” Briones asked halfheartedly.

  “Two vehicles we already have an APB on, which we both know will turn up stripped in the barrios by tomorrow, if we
find them at all. As to the shooters, they were wearing balaclavas.”

  “Just like we do.”

  “Exactly. Oh, and I should mention that they obviously knew that the victim was coming to this party, and probably followed her vehicle from the hotel where it picked her up. Which could mean an inside job.”

  “Maybe. Although these kids’ entire lives are online to anyone with a computer.”

  The sergeant shook his head. “I’ve never understood that. Can you imagine? I mean, to make your info public and let people know what you’re doing and where you are…it’s insane.”

  “Still, we can’t discount that they had advance notice from someone connected to the club or the party preparations. Plan on questioning everyone.”

  The sergeant lowered his eyes glumly. It was going to be a very long night. “I’ll need backup.”

  “That’s why I’m telling you. Call whoever you need in. Get a list. I don’t want any of the staff leaving today until you’re done.”

  “What about the party people? We’ve probably lost at least fifty of them already.”

  “In this building, a private party would be attended by some of the richest kids in the city. They’re unlikely to be suspects, Sergeant.”

  Briones went inside to find the doorman. After twenty minutes of questioning him, Briones hadn’t gleaned any new information, and any suspicion he’d harbored that the man had been involved in the kidnapping had been put to rest. He returned to the crime scene, where the techs were finishing up with the corpses as the coroner’s van pulled alongside the Escalade. He spoke with the local cops for a few minutes, who knew about as much as the corner fire hydrant. When he approached the sergeant again, he felt five years older.

  “Get any traffic camera footage and have it analyzed. It’s a long shot that they didn’t think of that, but every now and then we get lucky, so it’s worth running it.” Even as Briones spoke, a familiar sensation of futility washed over him. There would be no careless mistakes on this one, he was sure. The shooters had been disciplined and precise, every eventuality covered. Most criminals chose their careers because they were stupid. Whoever this was didn’t fit that description.

  That left the Federales with nothing but body bags and holding news conferences where hollow assurances of bringing the offenders to justice were offered by insincere spokespeople.

  Briones left the scene and pulled onto the large boulevard that led to headquarters as the first faint trace of dawn brightened the eastern sky. Huddles of workers were already standing at the bus stops along the way, many making connections from the colectivos they’d caught hours earlier in the slums at the fringes of the city, their plodding reality one of four-hour commutes to clean toilets or scrub floors for ten dollars a day.

  His cell jingled as he neared headquarters, so he slid the phone from his pocket as he slowed to enter the employee parking lot. The guard peered at him and then thumbed the barrier open as Briones held the cell to his ear.

  “Briones.”

  “Lieutenant?” Hiliberto’s voice sounded strained.

  “Of course. Who else would answer my phone with my name?” Briones snapped.

  “Where are you, sir?”

  “Arriving at headquarters. I want to file a preliminary report before I go to see the senator.”

  “Oh, good. Then you’ll be here shortly?”

  “That’s what I just said, isn’t it? What’s wrong, Hiliberto? You sound…odd.”

  “I…we just received a call from the local police in Cuernavaca.”

  “Cuernavaca? What do they want?”

  “It’s Capitan Cruz, sir.”

  Briones pulled into a slot near the building entrance and put the transmission into park. “What about him?”

  “There was an explosion at a cabin in Tres Marías. They found his cruiser in the drive. There’s…there’s apparently not much left. They suggested we send someone down there to liaise with them.”

  The world seemed to tilt. Briones had the sensation of free-falling from a great height, disoriented by vertigo as his rational mind tried to process the words. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, there’s not much left? Liaise? Liaise what?”

  “It was the propane tank, sir. Took the house with it.” Hiliberto’s voice cracked on the last words. “Capitan Cruz is dead.”

  Chapter 31

  Mazatlán, Mexico

  Two pangas streaked from the harbor toward the leeward beach on Isla de Venados, kicking up gentle turquoise swells in the late morning. Indalecio Arellano walked down the beachfront road in the Golden Zone past the Hotel Emporio, his new jeans and dress shirt stiff, his crisp white Stetson hat unsoiled. When he arrived at a two-story commercial plaza, he climbed the stairs to the second level, pausing at the landing to look over the half-full parking lot, and then proceeded to the law offices at the end of the building.

  Inside he was greeted by a twenty-something receptionist with a shy smile, almond skin and mahogany eyes, who took his name and lifted the telephone handset to her ear. She announced his arrival, and two minutes later another young woman emerged from the back and invited him to follow her.

  Emilio Navarro rose from his executive chair and rounded his oversized desk, hand extended, a lawyer’s smile on his debauched face.

  “Indalecio, it’s been too long. Let me get you something. Coffee? Water? Soda?” he asked, shaking the farmer’s calloused hand.

  “For me? No. I’m fine. Thank you,” Indalecio said, eyeing the woman’s trim dress and the way her pumps flattered her calves.

  “You sure? Please. Sit. I’ll have some coffee, Elma. The usual.”

  The woman left, closing the door behind her, and Indalecio seated himself in one of the overstuffed chocolate leather chairs while Navarro returned to his throne. The attorney studied the farmer’s weathered features and deep tan, his newly trimmed hair and his close shave, and smiled again. He leaned forward as if sharing a secret with a friend, his expression earnest.

  “I’m sorry about the farm and your man. Savages.”

  “Is there any news?”

  “The police are investigating, but you can imagine how that’s going. I don’t think there are many that aren’t in the cartel’s pocket.”

  They were interrupted by Elma’s return with a porcelain cup filled with rich brew. She set it down in front of Navarro, affording Indalecio another chance to admire her, and then slipped wordlessly away.

  “Then there’s nothing new? These men tortured and executed my hand, and the police are powerless to do anything about it?”

  “I won’t say powerless so much as not particularly motivated to rock the boat. I took the liberty of hiring a detective out of Culiacán – one of the few honest investigators there – and he says that while nobody will talk on the record for fear of reprisals, the rumor is that it was the cartel.”

  “That’s hardly fresh information. I could have told you that from the guns they had.”

  “He also has discovered there’s a price on your head. A hundred thousand pesos for any leads on your whereabouts. Apparently it’s been circulated all over Sinaloa.”

  Indalecio’s eyes narrowed. “Am I safe here? I mean, you’re on record as my attorney…”

  “Of course – I represent hundreds of clients, not just you. But if you have any doubts, I can have Elma drive you wherever you want to go once our business is concluded. She’s an expert in personal security.”

  “Why do I think you’re exaggerating?”

  Navarro spread his hands apart, palms up, and shrugged. “Perhaps a little. But she will be happy to drive you wherever you like. You can take the rear stairs when you leave.”

  “It’s disturbing that there’s a contract on me.” He paused. “Did your man say why?”

  Navarro shook his head. “It’s a mystery. Again, nobody’s talking.”

  “It must be something related to our suit. That’s the only thing I can think of.”

  “Speculation. It
’s not like you’re far from the action up in the hills. You must be surrounded by drug farms, no? Maybe it’s as simple as they want your land, and because of your reputation, they know you’ll never sell it.”

  The farmer considered Navarro’s words as the lawyer tasted his coffee. “Where does that leave us?”

  “I’ll continue to dig around to see what I can discover. In the meantime, get as far from Sinaloa as you can. Or more importantly, as far from the influence of the Sinaloa cartel as possible.”

  “I can’t hide forever.”

  “I’m not suggesting that you do. I’m simply advising you to take the most prudent course of action until I get a handle on what we’re up against. If they want to buy your land, that’s a different problem than if it’s something more…complex.”

  “The farm’s been in my family for six generations. They’re right that I’ll never sell.”

  “Unfortunately, if they’re willing to kill you on sight to get it, holding onto it could be a fatal gesture.”

  “I understand.” Indalecio paused. “Do you have the money?”

  Navarro nodded. “Of course. Ten thousand American dollars and fifty thousand pesos, as you requested.”

  “I’m still in good shape financially, then?”

  “The accounts have never been better.” Navarro handled the farmer’s finances in exchange for a small fee every year. It amounted to cutting a few dozen checks and rolling over the bulk of the money into a mutual fund that averaged five percent annual interest.

  “At least that’s something. Any suggestions on where I should go?”

  “I’d say go east. Maybe Veracruz. Or the Yucatán. Someplace with a high turnover, like Cancún, which is rumored to be Los Zetas territory these days. It’s pretty safe to assume there won’t be any Sinaloa influence in one of their cities.”

  Indalecio thought about it as Navarro slid one of his drawers open and removed a small nylon laptop bag. “Here’s your money. Just call when you need more. I can have it wired wherever you like.”