He’d had to ship in all of the materials for his seven-thousand-foot home to the island, preferring a concrete and cinder block structure rather than the ramshackle wood houses the locals preferred. One of Guadalajara’s top architects had contrived the design, with his crack team of engineers overseeing the construction, which had drawn skepticism from the few locals who had ventured past it in skiffs while it was being built. The end result was world class and had survived storms that had flattened many of the surrounding dwellings, so his prudence had paid off.
His cousin Domingo stepped onto the covered terrace, where Aranas was savoring chilled fruit juice as he checked his investment portfolio online.
“Yes?” Aranas asked.
“We have confirmation from our contacts in the police in Culiacán.”
“And? Spit it out.”
“Paolo is dead. They are trying to keep a lid on it, but it looks like a raid got everyone in the compound. I’ll know more in another few hours.”
Aranas flipped the screen on his laptop closed with a snap.
“What? How can that be? He had an army there…”
“My sources say that it has the stink of Los Zetas on it. Too soon to know for sure, but that’s the rumor going around the station. The Federales are keeping everyone away, but you know how that works. People talk.”
Aranas gazed into the azure distance as he absorbed the news. “If this is true, I want the earth scorched. I don’t care what it takes. Find me a target – no, find me a captain of equal standing, and I want him taken out. See what we have on Isidro Lucio. If this was Los Zetas’ work, he had a hand in it, so that’s as good a place as any to start. I want him dead. Him, his family, his workers, everyone he knows. I want his head on a pike and his body left in the middle of a street, where it will be found like a dog.”
“It won’t be easy to locate him.”
“I didn’t say pick the easiest target, did I? If they are going to come into my backyard and kill one of my top men, then it’s an eye for an eye. Pay whatever. Someone will know something. But this is personal. Treat it as such.”
“Of course, Jefe. But should we wait until we have confirmation?”
Aranas sighed. “Yes. But I have a bad feeling about this. It couldn’t be anyone but them. Nobody else has the ability to take on a force like Paolo’s. He was extremely careful, and they were some of the best. No, I smell Zetas all over this.”
“Could it be a double-cross by the government?” Raul speculated.
“What would killing Paolo accomplish – and isn’t it more their style to trumpet a successful strike against a major cartel figure? We’ve seen none of that. No, my sense is that with the girl in our possession, we own them. They’ve already begun moving against Los Zetas – you saw the news about the explosion at the suspected meth lab in Mexico City. That would have never gotten off the ground two months ago.” Aranas grunted. “Don’t get me wrong. We should trust no one, but so far, to me it looks like the government tide has turned against our enemies. We’ve seen no raids or shipments intercepted in the last three or four days. If that continues, and I expect it will, then actions will show that we’ve forced the president to honor his commitment.”
“There’s another problem. One of succession to Paolo’s position. There are three potential candidates, and they’ll start killing each other if you don’t make your wishes known.”
“I know. I’m thinking Jose Antonio would be the best. He’s the most mature, and Paolo trusted him implicitly.”
“Should I make that official? Put out the word?”
“Bring me the cell phone and I’ll call him first, as well as the other two contenders. I don’t want a bloody turf war over pecking order at this point. I think I can nip that in the bud with a few well-chosen words.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“As do I, Domingo, as do I. Now get the phone, and then go see what you can find out and start putting out feelers on Isidro. Paolo will be avenged, one way or another.”
Aranas reached to the little table in front of him and snatched a piece of banana off the fruit plate, popping the small slice into his mouth.
The ocean was gorgeous this morning, and even with the devastating news, Don Aranas found the gentle breeze and the warm sun relaxing. He decided then and there that he would stay the week before heading back to Mexico. His empire could be run from anywhere in the world, so there was no point in making himself a target in a time of turmoil. He’d appoint another captain to take over Paolo’s duties and wait for any dust to settle before heading to Culiacán.
~
Briones was in plainclothes, meeting with one of his civilian contacts, a former federal police officer who had started a private detective and security firm in Mexico City.
Carlos Teparez was in his early forties and had already started going to fat, but still had a certain authority to his bearing that was a throwback to his days on the force. They were seated at one of the hundreds of bustling coffee shops in the downtown business district, a half hour from headquarters.
“So this guy – you think he’s dirty? We can do a search on his bank accounts and see if there have been any unusual deposits. You’d be surprised how many get caught that way,” Carlos explained.
“I don’t think it would hurt, although as we both know, cash under a bed can’t be traced, so the absence of anything doesn’t mean he’s clean,” Briones said.
“Huh. He’s been with the force for seventeen years. A lifer. No hint of any corruption in that entire time,” Carlos said, reading the file notes Briones had brought.
“Yeah, I have to admit that he doesn’t look like a bent cop. But these days, you never know. With the amount of money in play with the cartels, virtually anybody could be bought.”
“When did you become so jaded?” Carlos asked in mock surprise.
“Occupational hazard.”
“All right. There are a number of ways we can deal with this. We can run a forensic audit of all his accounts, which I think is the first step. See if he’s bought a boat or owns a vacation home someplace, or is paying the rent on his mistress’s condo. That will take a day for a cursory pass, which will usually show up any shenanigans. Even if he’s been paid in cash, if he bought something with it, like new cars, they’ll show up. What we’re looking for are anomalies that are inconsistent with his pay grade.”
“Makes sense,” Briones agreed.
“Next, assuming that comes up clean, we can establish surveillance on him and see if he does anything odd. We can also bug his home and his office, or his car, if that’s where he spends most of his time. The only barrier is time and money.” Carlos peered over his cup of dark roast. “And much of this might not be technically legal.”
“I’m not a technical guy.”
“Ah, so a pragmatist. Very well. Do you want to go for the full treatment?”
“How much are we talking?” Briones had access to a few thousand dollars of a discretionary fund he could sideline without comment, but anything larger would leave a trail.
“As with most things, there are two ways to pay, my friend. Money, or favors. If you can free up a couple of thousand dollars that should cover my basics, and then you’ll owe me a favor or two. You’re good for it, and I figure I can always use a favor from an up-and-comer on the force,” Carlos said and winked.
“Consider it done. One question, though. When you say surveillance, what exactly are we talking?”
“We’ll bug everything that we can think of, and I’ll put a guy on him for a few days. Follow him around, see if he’s up to anything unusual. Says here he’s married, two kids. Maybe he’s a choirboy, or maybe he likes the strip clubs and has a girlfriend or three on the side. It’s all to get to know our boy here. If nothing pans out on the record check or the surveillance, then he’s probably clean. Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it in a few days, hmm?” Carlos suggested.
“Okay. When and where for the money?”
“Yes. Those are copies. They’re yours.”
“All right, my friend. I’ll call you when I know something. Take care of yourself,” Carlos said as he rose to shake hands with Briones. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he quipped, then disappeared through the glass doors into the mass of pedestrians moving along the downtown sidewalk.
Chapter 15
El Rey sat patiently in the lobby of the laboratory, his arm sore from the blood draw half an hour earlier. The protein screening protocol had come in from Hector, and he’d printed it out. After a few phone calls and false starts, he found a lab that could do the protein test. The assay had been printed on a doctor’s stationary, so getting the study done was a simple matter with a minimum of fuss.
The technician had read the description of the requested panel and raised an eyebrow, to which El Rey had responded with a shrug. Who knew why his physician wanted whatever he wanted?
He thumbed through a dog-eared copy of an entertainment magazine describing the latest romances and pregnancies of celebrities he’d never heard of, and exhaled a sigh of relief when the small desktop bell sounded and the woman behind the desk called his number. She handed him an envelope after he paid her two thousand pesos, and he slid it into his shirt pocket as he walked down the hall, looking for a bathroom.
Once inside the empty restroom he withdrew the results and studied the numbers. Sure enough, the key protein marker was triple the top acceptable range. Hector hadn’t been lying. El Rey hadn’t expected him to be bluffing, but you could never be sure of anything unless you checked.
He slid the report into his back pocket and groped in his pants for the BlackBerry. When Hector answered he sounded out of breath.
“Have the syringe waiting for me when I get to Chiapas. And rent me a hotel room there – I’ll be arriving in the late afternoon and will want to get some sleep before I make my move. Have the ATV and the equipment ready, along with a truck to transport it all closer to the border. Put the syringe with the gear, and leave any directions and keys in an envelope with the hotel,” El Rey said.
“Got it. We’ll find someplace private to store everything for you.”
“And, Hector? I don’t want to meet anyone or see anyone. I have an aversion to new people when I’m in operations mode. Call it a superstition. So just instructions in an envelope and the reservation. I’ll take it from there. I’ll call an hour before I’m ready to leave for the border so you can pull the army patrols.”
“All right. Do you need any help getting to Chiapas? I can arrange for a helicopter, or whatever else you want.”
“I presume I still have the jet, right? I’ll fly into the airport at Tuxtla Gutiérrez and fend for myself. Have it ready to go in two hours. I’ll make my way to Comitán by tomorrow evening.”
Hector paused to take that in. “Mind if I ask what you’ll be doing between tonight and tomorrow night?”
“Visiting a sick relative. If I don’t make it out of Guatemala, I’d hate to think I didn’t say my goodbyes.”
“Look, there’s a limit to wha–”
“I got my blood results. Personally, I would tread very lightly right now if I were you. I’m a little agitated by the circumstances you’ve engineered. I’ll be at the hotel tomorrow night. E-mail me the name and address.”
El Rey hung up.
That would give the smug prick something to think about. Position himself as a little unbalanced, upset, and therefore to be handled with kid gloves.
He left the lab and stopped at a clothing store, where he bought a pair of new jeans and a western-style shirt that would be at home in the southernmost state of Mexico. Once back in his hotel room, he carefully packed his new clothes and then activated a black box he’d secured earlier from one of his loyal local contacts. He carefully passed it over the rucksack, and when the small LED on the device blinked red, he smiled and set it aside.
The chip wasn’t hard to find once he knew its position.
He carefully extracted it from the seam and held it between two fingers. A GPS transmitter.
He repeated the scanning process over the clothes Hector had supplied and found two more.
They really weren’t taking any chances.
Amazingly, the watch they’d gotten him was clean.
He dropped all three chips into his pants pocket and finished packing, taking care to shave before he stowed his hygiene kit. The government had underestimated him. As it had so many times before. That would make what he needed to do over the next day that much easier.
El Rey studied the oversized luminescent hands of his Panerai Submariner wristwatch and did a quick mental calculation. He just had time for a quick bite at one of the restaurants down the block before heading to the airport.
He shouldered his bag and glanced around the room.
Time to hit the road.
~
The wheels of the Gulfstream III jet swept down the tarmac until the plane was airborne, hurtling west for a few minutes before making a long, gentle bank south. El Rey watched the skyline of Culiacán disappear and noted a small weather front was moving in over Mazatlán, on the coast.
He had calculated that the trip from Sinaloa to Chiapas would take an hour and a half, and once the plane made it through the bumpy surface air and hit its cruising altitude he pulled down the window shade and closed his eyes.
He had the butter-soft leather interior to himself, having stipulated that he would only travel alone. On the trip from Mexico City, he’d remarked to himself how the government bureaucrats who enjoyed the use of the plane had spared no expense for their comfort. He pulled a pair of foam earplugs from his pocket and inserted them to dampen the flight noise, shifting in the double-wide reclining seat to get more comfortable.
El Rey awoke as his stomach signaled a descent. He ran through a mental checklist so he’d be ready to hit the ground running. It was still light out, the summer sun at least another hour from setting, and as they dropped towards the airport, he could easily make out the impoverished city’s outline. Chiapas was the poorest state in Mexico – the state capital was a modest affair, even when viewed from the air.
Once they landed, the jet taxied to the far end of the runway, turning to approach the industrial buildings and hangars. The plane rolled to a stop, and within moments the fuselage door opened and the stairs descended to the tarmac.
El Rey stepped out, immediately assaulted by scorching humidity and exhaust fumes. Even as the day ground to an end, the heat was almost unbearable – far worse than Culiacán, which had been in the low nineties. The sweltering hills surrounding the town were covered with jungle that simmered beneath huge storm clouds brooding over the mountains to the north-east. He descended the stairs, carrying his bag, and he was immediately covered with a thin sheen of perspiration as he walked to the line of hangars. The pilots watched as he moved between the two nearest, and one of them made a hurried phone call, reporting on his position.
El Rey spotted the surveillance even before he made it to the street. There weren’t a lot of cars out, so the one with two men sweating inside of it sixty yards away was conspicuous, at least to him. He strode in the direction of the terminal instead of making for one of the two waiting taxis, both of which were undoubtedly plants, and abruptly slipped into the crowd of arriving passengers.
Once in the throng he moved into the terminal and made straight for the bathrooms. Within a minute he’d changed his shirt, and when he emerged from the facilities he’d donned a black baseball hat and knock-off Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses.
A young woman ran to him and threw her arms around his neck in a warm hug and then took his bag as she slipped her hand into his, to all the world a pair of lovers reconnected after an extended absence. She was at
tractive, but not overly so – nothing that would attract attention.
“I have a car waiting outside, as requested,” she murmured to him.
“Lead the way. I have a tail. Two men in a blue Dodge.”
“I already made them. I’ll take care of everything.”
They moved to a silver Toyota Yaris illegally parked at the curb, and he slipped into the back seat while the woman got behind the wheel. The engine started with a purr, and with a glance in her rearview mirror, she pulled into traffic, executing an illegal U-turn once she was sure the followers were behind her. The pursuit car was caught unawares and couldn’t follow her without being obvious, so she accelerated and then pulled into a side street bracketed by a shabby section of row houses.
She gunned the gas like a Formula One driver, taking several corners on two wheels before pulling to a stop alongside a white Volkswagen Jetta. She offered El Rey the keys. He handed her a small paper bag with the three GPS chips and the BlackBerry in it.
“See that this gets to Comitán by tomorrow evening. I’ll call Rudolfo with the instructions on where to drop it,” El Rey instructed and then hopped out of the back seat and sprinted for the Jetta, his bag in tow.
The Yaris took off down the street, and within twenty seconds he had the Jetta accelerating in the opposite direction. He flipped the black hat off his head and pulled on a green and white soccer cap that had been sitting on the passenger seat. Inspecting himself in the mirror, he slowed and carefully adhered a moustache to his upper lip – Rudolfo was good at following directions, which had included the hat and disguise, as well as the getaway vehicles.
Ten minutes later he was pulling onto the highway at the southern end of town, his pursuers long gone.
Return of the Assassin (Assassin Series 3) Page 13