Rage Of The Assassin

by Russell Blake

  Mexico City, Mexico

  Don Aranas, his Gucci loafers soundless on the imported Iranian travertine floor, led his guest through the massive great room at one of the many mansions he owned through a string of untraceable companies. His companion was one of his top capos, the man who ran DF for the Sinaloa Cartel: Sancho Ramirez, more commonly known by his nickname “El Gordo” – The Fat One.

  Ramirez tipped the scales at over three hundred deadly pounds and had been heavy since a child, hence his moniker. He was good-natured about it and even reveled in the name. His colorful silk shirts were the size of small tents and his trousers custom-made to accommodate his girth.

  The men moved into a smaller chamber whose wood-paneled walls held at least a hundred backlit display cases. Aranas smiled as the big man walked slowly around the room, his eyes devouring the artifacts in the cases – pre-Columbian relics Aranas had spent decades accumulating on the black market, most of which weren’t known to even exist.

  “It’s an amazing collection,” El Gordo whispered.

  “Yes. I’m fortunate I was able to find a safe home for them all in Mexico. It would have been tragic if they’d gone elsewhere. They are, after all, part of our heritage.”

  “Aren’t you concerned about theft?”

  Aranas laughed. “Who would be foolish enough to attempt to steal from me?” He shook his head. “No, I have a special alarm system with redundant backups, and armed men patrol the grounds. This is the last home in Polanco that any thief would target – it would be certain death.”

  El Gordo moved closer to a relic in a prominent case on the far wall. “What’s this?”

  “Ah. You have a good eye. It’s Toltec. I’ve themed the collection, you see. This section’s Toltec, that one Mayan, that Aztec, and that Inca. I have other rooms devoted to some of the more obscure pieces and civilizations.”

  “How many pieces in all?”

  “Oh, at least two hundred. Probably more by now. It’s an engaging pastime, and I get somewhat obsessive when I’m on the hunt for a new acquisition. You probably know how that goes with your cars.” El Gordo had dozens of American muscle cars from the sixties that he restored and housed in a warehouse in Toluca.

  “Oh, sure. It’s good to have a hobby to take your mind off the business. And you can only chase so many women and drink so much tequila.”

  “Exactly.”

  They basked appreciatively in the glow of the displays, Aranas pointing out singularities or telling short stories about the history of this piece or that, along with an occasional account of the trouble he’d gone to in order to acquire it. When they’d seen all the treasures, El Gordo shook his head in wonder.

  “This must be priceless. Truly priceless.”

  “Well, whatever it’s worth, it will be a lot more when the archeology museum blows. That will eradicate a huge trove of similar works, and scarcity tends to boost value.”

  El Gordo nodded. “They aren’t making any more of them.” He paused. “But you said when it blows. Are you certain they’re going to make an attempt to disarm that one?”

  Aranas contemplated a nearby statuette. “Did I? Slip of the tongue. No, I meant if. But either way, it’s of no concern to me what the value of my collection is at any given time. I’m not a seller, so even if it increased in value by a factor of ten, it is still without any meaning to me.”

  “Of course. You only care about the price when you’re selling.”

  “Or buying. I want to pay as little as possible. But as you can see, I have quite a bit already. I’ve been blessed.”

  “Any further word on how the president is going to respond?”

  “No, but I didn’t leave him much room to maneuver. I bet he’ll go along with it, maybe make a try for one of the bombs. If that happens, it will be the museum. There are far too many people at the other locations, whereas the museum wasn’t open when I sent the video. It’s a simple equation.”

  “And how will you react?”

  “Oh, I think outrage would be in order, don’t you? They have to believe I’m on the hairy edge of losing it completely. A madman with his finger on the trigger. That’s how I’ll play it.”

  El Gordo smiled. “Few could pull this off.”

  Aranas returned the grin. “Well, it’s not over yet, but I’d say that we’ve never been closer. I don’t see how it can fail. They just might require a little convincing. That’s why I put the bomb in the museum – it’s a site that’s acceptable collateral damage if I need to prove the point. They’ll believe I hadn’t accounted for there being nobody inside at that hour of the morning, and I won’t argue it.” He reached out and flicked a piece of lint from the glass of the display case in front of him. “In all battles, the most important thing is to always allow your adversary a clear way out. Why? Simple: cornered rats fight harder. And the point to any confrontation is to win.”

  They spent another twenty minutes discussing logistics, and then El Gordo departed, leaving Aranas to himself except for the housekeeping staff and the small army of virtually invisible guards. Aranas lit one of his Cuban cigars and climbed the stairs to the third floor, where he’d lowered the hatch that led to the attic in preparation for his forty-eight-hour vigil.

  He ascended the ladder and edged to a small table he’d set up. On it sat a rectangular box with three glowing lights, below which were three buttons. A cable led from the back of the box to a power amplifier and antenna. El Maquino had explained how it operated, as though Aranas couldn’t figure out three buttons, each marked with the location they would trigger. All Aranas would need to do in order to detonate one, or all, of the devices was flip up the safety cover and press the button.

  His hand brushed the box in an almost loving gesture. “You were always a bright boy, my son. But this time I believe you’ve outdone yourself,” he said, and took a puff on his cigar. It didn’t bother him that the entire mansion stank of his habit – one of the benefits of having endless money was that you could behave as you liked and not care what anyone else thought.

  The next two days would change the balance of power in Mexico – not only for his cartel but for the government. The idea that a youth from humble Sinaloa peasant stock could grow up to determine the fate of his country seemed like an impossibility to him, yet here he was, doing exactly that.

  He was engaged in the game of kings, playing chess against worthy adversaries, with the prize ultimate power over all he surveyed. If he was successful, he’d own the president and his entire administration, pocket an easy billion, and have renegotiated essential relationships while annihilating his enemies.

  If it got any better than that, Aranas couldn’t think how.

  “Now all I have to do is be patient. The rest will fall into place,” he murmured, and then lowered himself from the attic, taking care to leave no trace of his visit in the highly unlikely event the house was raided. He didn’t think it would be – the only ones who knew he was there were loyal to him and above suspicion – but he always had a contingency plan, and this time was no different.

  “Let them look for me all they like. The die is cast,” he said to the walls, and then retraced his steps to the ornate stairway that led back to the main living areas for a third, and probably unwise, cup of coffee with the remainder of his cigar.

  Chapter 28

  Cruz was finishing up a phone call when Briones entered his office, carrying a folder. Cruz pointed to the conference table and waved him over to it before continuing.

  “I’ve also gotten reports of the deployments. As soon as you have a straight answer, get back to me. If there’s a big operation in play, it might overlap mine, so I need to know,” Cruz snapped, obviously annoyed. He listened for several seconds. “Fine. That’s all I can ask. Gracias.”

  He hung up and fixed the lieutenant with a hard stare. “Tell me you have something substantial for me.”

  “I do. One of the informants said the driver has been spotted a number of times in a different
car. Apparently he sits in the thing for hours.”

  “Sits in it? Where?”

  Briones gave him an address.

  “Any idea what he’s doing there?” Cruz inquired.

  “No. But if you find him, maybe you can ask.”

  Cruz smiled and nodded. “I might just do that.” He glanced around the office. “I told Godoy’s secretary to call me whenever he arrives so we can have our daily status meeting, but apparently he isn’t in yet, so I have nothing to do. The warden’s also not in his office. Seems like this morning we’re the only ones working.” Cruz thought for a moment. “I’ll take a few men over and see if I can locate the driver. If Godoy wants to meet, he can call me.”

  Briones bit his lip and considered his next question. “You’ve heard the reports about some of downtown being closed?”

  “Of course. But nobody’s talking.”

  “I have a buddy who’s on the ground at the federal building. He said that the army officers are saying it’s a terrorist threat.”

  Cruz frowned. “Terrorists? We don’t have any terrorists. Are you sure?”

  “That’s what he said he’d heard.”

  Cruz frowned. “You know how the rumor mill works. I’d discount that until we hear an official explanation. They can’t seal off large areas of the capital and not provide one. I’ve got my feelers out, too.” He shifted in his chair. “At any rate, it’s not cartel related, or we would have been notified, so it’s none of our business. Have you been able to ID all the shooters from your operation this morning?”

  “Yes. The Millennium Cartel, relatively low level, and the local gang that operated the brothel. The club owner is nowhere to be found, but we’re checking, and it appears that he’s in debt up to his eyeballs on it, so he’ll probably vanish and stick the banks with the mortgage.”

  “Fairly sophisticated for them, you have to admit. They operate illegally, no doubt laundering millions, and all the real risk of loss is with whoever loaned them the money – which might be a cartel-affiliated bank, for all we know.” Cruz sighed. “At least the girls won’t be living in hell any longer. That’s your good deed for the day. How are the other investigations going?”

  Briones gave him a rundown and at the end offered to accompany him to the Land Rover.

  Cruz shook his head. “No, I already saddled you with my twelve-hour-a-day workload. I’ll run down the vehicle. Like I said, until Godoy pokes his head in or the warden calls me back, I’ve got nothing on my plate.”

  Cruz rose and moved to where his uniform jacket hung from his door hook. “I’ll be on my cell if you need anything.”

  Briones stood and paused. “Oh. That’s the other thing I heard. There’s no phone coverage in large areas of the metro area. Part of this mystery operation.”

  “Great. Okay, then I’ll be on the radio. I’ll round up a few of the lads and go for a drive.” Cruz gave Briones a small smile. “Good work on tracking down the driver. That’s twice I’ve had to congratulate you today, and it’s not quite eleven o’clock yet.”

  “You know where to reach me if you have any questions,” Briones said, uncomfortable with the praise. “Good luck, Capitan.”

  “Thanks. You too.”

  Briones left and Cruz slid his desk drawer open to retrieve a radio. His landline rang as he was closing it. He answered it on the third ring, puzzled by the caller ID.

  “Cruz,” he said.

  “Romero? Thank God you’re there.” It was Dinah.

  “Where else would I be?” he asked, and stopped, registering her tone. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m at the doctor’s, remember?”

  That’s right. He’d totally forgotten, fatigued as he was. “Are you all right?”

  “Hardly. Haven’t you heard the news? The government just held a press conference. We listened to it on the radio. Apparently there’s a terrorist threat to the building I’m in. At the main hospital.”

  “What? No, I haven’t heard anything. Listen, you need to get out of there, Dinah. If there’s any kind of danger, don’t wait for the doctor, just leave. Now.”

  “I wish I could. They won’t let anyone go. We’re being held against our will. We’re basically prisoners.”

  Cruz digested the impossible information and a rush of anxiety bile burned the back of his throat. “They can’t do that. They have no right.”

  “Apparently they do.”

  “Did they say why?”

  “No. Maybe they think the terrorists are in the hospital or the other buildings?”

  “Others?”

  “The Federal building and the anthropology museum.”

  Cruz’s mind worked furiously as he set the radio onto his desk and sat heavily in his chair. “What phone are you using?”

  “The hospital’s landline. Cell phones don’t work in here.”

  “Give me the number. I’ll see what can be done to get you out of there.”

  Dinah gave him the information, and then her voice softened. “Romero, are you sitting down?”

  “Why? I mean, yes, I am, but what is it? Is it the doctor? What did he tell you?” Cruz demanded, his words tripping over themselves in his haste to get them out. He tried to keep his tone calm, but he sounded agitated to his ear.

  “You’re going to be a daddy, Romero. I’m pregnant.”

  Cruz’s pulse pounded in his ears like a kettle drum, and he shook his head as though trying to clear it. “Pregnant – are you serious?”

  Dinah’s voice was flat. “Do I sound like I’m joking?”

  “God…I mean, how did that happen?” Cruz blurted, and immediately regretted it.

  “I thought you knew how that worked. There’s a stork…”

  “No…I’m sorry, amor. I’m not firing on all cylinders today. Pregnant! That explains a lot, right? The dizziness, the fatigue, the mood swings, the tenderness…do they know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

  “Not yet. It’s too soon.” Dinah hesitated. “How do you feel about that, Romero? About us having a baby?”

  “Feel? I feel…I feel excited. And amazed. And proud, and happy, and fifty different kinds of joyful, Dinah. But I’m also worried. I mean, you tell me you’re having a baby, but you’re being held prisoner, and we have no idea–”

  Dinah cut him off. “I know.”

  He took her hint. “Dinah, I love you more than anything, and I’ll love our child just as much. This is amazing. It’s just so unexpected, and with the other news…”

  “I know you’ll do whatever you can to get me out of here, Romero. Get us out of here,” she corrected. “I need to get used to thinking of me as two, not just one. It’ll take a little time.”

  “Don’t worry, Dinah. I’ll make some calls right now. I’ll fix this.”

  A voice in the background said something, and Dinah covered the phone as she spoke, and then returned to Cruz. “I have to get off the line. It was an act of war just to use the phone.”

  “Okay. Let me get to work,” Cruz said, but he was talking to a dial tone. “Damn,” he exploded, slamming down the handset. He sat back and glowered at the phone like it had bitten him, and then lifted it back to his ear and dialed Godoy’s extension. His assistant answered and told Cruz that he still hadn’t arrived.

  “That’s not good enough. I need to talk to him. Now. What’s his cell number?”

  The woman gave it to Cruz. “I haven’t heard from him yet today, Capitan, or I’d have passed your earlier message on,” she said, her voice uncertain.

  “I’ll try his cell,” Cruz said, and hung up. He dialed the number, which went straight to voice mail. “Godoy, this is Cruz. We need to talk immediately. My wife is being held at the general hospital against her will, and I need you to intercede. It’s part of some terrorist thing – I don’t have all the details. But we need to get her out.”

  Cruz disconnected and began calling everyone else he could think of.

  He was going to be a father.

  But wha
t kind of father couldn’t help his wife and unborn child in an emergency?

  Memories of his last family flooded his mind as he listened to the phone ring, and he closed his eyes at the recollection of the last time he had been powerless to help his loved ones. His throat tightened, and he stabbed the line off as he fought to get control over himself. He’d be of no use to anyone if he was lashing out blindly, and remembering his wife and daughter’s heads showing up at his office in boxes wasn’t going to do anything to help Dinah.

  Or his baby.

  He inhaled deeply and gritted his teeth. No matter what happened, he wasn’t going to fail his family again.

  He’d die before that happened.

  Chapter 29

  Manhattan, New York

  Horns honked from Park Avenue, the nearly constant tooting providing an arrhythmic backdrop of unlikely musicality as El Rey walked the final blocks toward FDR Drive and the nearby brownstone that was his target. It was a blustery late New York morning, the wind warm and humid off the Harlem River. The women around him were long-legged and pretty in their late summer skirts and too-serious looks – the tough expressions of city girls warning admirers not to mess with them.

  He slowed at a corner where an old man was selling roasted chestnuts and bought a bag, curious as to why anyone might want to eat them. He tried a bite and was surprised by the steaming soft texture. Even though he’d only been on the island for a half hour, he already felt like he blended in, the other pedestrians a cosmopolitan smorgasbord of ethnicities. In just the last block he’d heard English, Spanish, French, Russian, and Arabic spoken, and any fear he’d had that his accent might set him apart quickly faded.

  The city was teeming and reminded him of Mexico City or Buenos Aires – large, highly concentrated metropolises with the haves and have-nots living in close proximity. Only in New York, poverty took on a whole different meaning from the Latin American variety, and most of the shambling homeless people he spotted appeared to be either mentally ill or substance abusers, rather than down-on-their-luck lower classes like in his home country.