Return of the Assassin (Assassin Series 3)

by Blake, Russell

  “Agreed. I’ll be back in touch with you shortly. Thank you for coming to me,” he said.

  The two men walked together to the end of the hall, and then the chief of staff shook Cruz’s hand again as he escorted him to the outer lobby.

  “I’ll call as soon as we know more,” he promised, watching as Cruz made his way towards security to reclaim his weapon.

  Back in his office, he sat heavily behind his desk, staring at the sheaf of paper Cruz had brought him like it was a bomb. Eventually he picked up his phone and made a single call.

  “We have a real problem.”

  Chapter 26

  The following morning, El Rey felt much improved. As promised, the symptoms had abated, and the fluids and food he’d received had fortified him to the point that he felt human again. No coughing, no twitching, no shooting pains.

  The doctor had stopped in at eight a.m. to inspect him and had been pleased with the results.

  “I was uncertain that, given how far along you were, the antidote would have the desired effect. With any of these experimental substances, there are unknowns. But you look like it’s working as hoped, so I’m confident that your blood will show radically lower proteins.” The doctor handed him a tri-folded piece of plain white paper with two rows of numbers on it. “These were your levels yesterday. The column on the left are the normal ranges.”

  El Rey studied them. “That one looks high,” he commented.

  “Ah, an appreciation for understatement. So rare these days. Yes, it was high. I’ve never seen the level that elevated in anyone still alive.”

  “Then presumably it’s lower today.”

  “Yes.” He shifted to looking over the bullet wounds. “The stitches will need to come out in three or four days. It doesn’t look like your healing process was affected by the toxin, so you’re lucky there.”

  El Rey said nothing.

  The doctor finished his examination and moved to the door.

  “We’ll get you off the IV. It’s done its job,” he said and then left.

  Hector entered a few minutes later with the nurse, who quickly removed the cannula and taped a cotton ball in place, instructing him to keep pressure on the spot for a few minutes.

  “We can go to the laboratory of your choosing. I’ll get you some clothes.”

  “Isn’t it a little early? Don’t you want to wait a few more hours?” El Rey asked.

  “The Americans said that the proteins should be low enough eighteen hours after administration to see most of the difference. So there’s no point to delaying it.”

  “I prefer black.”

  Hector looked at him, momentarily confused.

  “For my clothes. Black works best for me.”

  “You better pray that Maria is still fine.”

  “I usually pray for world peace. But you’re the boss.”

  Hector exited without any further comment. The assassin was obviously baiting him, but he wouldn’t give him the pleasure of generating a reaction.

  An hour later, one of the beefy guards entered with a small bag and set it on the only chair in the room.

  “Your shoes are under the bed,” he said and walked out.

  El Rey dressed – tan Dockers and a blue button-up long-sleeved shirt, he noted with a smile – and was lacing up his Doc Martens when Hector returned with three serious-looking security men.

  “Lift your shirt,” he ordered, and with a shrug, El Rey complied. One of the men affixed a Velcro strap with a small bump in the center around his abdomen. The man pulled the oddly contrived strap tight to verify it was secure and then slid a small padlock into the clasp’s eyelet and closed it with a snap.

  “What’s this? An obedience collar?”

  “Good guess. In a manner of speaking, it is. If you get more than twenty yards from me, the explosive charge now sitting just below your heart will detonate, and there won’t be any more El Rey to worry about.”

  “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble. Chocolates would have won me over.”

  Hector ignored him. “Pick a lab. The president is anxious to get his daughter back.”

  They were in the waiting area of the laboratory El Rey had selected ninety minutes later, the blood draw having gone uneventfully. A technician came from the rear of the facility, and after looking quizzically at the entourage of somber security men, handed El Rey the results.

  He nodded as he read them. Proteins still elevated, but within five percent of the upper bounds of the normal range. Yesterday’s numbers were six hundred percent higher.

  “You have your results. It’s time to deliver,” Hector said.

  El Rey nodded. “I need to make a call. Do you have my cell phone?”

  Hector was momentarily flustered. “It’s back at the clinic.”

  El Rey stood. “Then let’s go for a ride.”

  ~

  “Everything went well. You can stand down,” El Rey said quietly into the BlackBerry before hanging up.

  “You know we can trace that,” Hector threatened.

  “Yes, and you’ll find a single use cell phone discarded on a bus. I call this phone, and the person I just spoke with calls someone else. It’s a relay.” El Rey glanced at him quizzically. “You don’t really do a lot of this cloak and dagger thing, do you?”

  “Where is the girl?” Hector demanded.

  “I need to give my contacts half an hour to get clear of the city, and then I’ll give you exact coordinates.”

  “No. You’ll give me the coordinates now. I’ve had enough of your bullshit.”

  “Honestly, Hector, is all this bluster necessary? What will you do if I refuse? You’re not playing this very smart. Wait the thirty minutes, I give you the coordinates, and you go in and get her. Very simple. No need for puffery or posturing. Everyone gets what they want.” El Rey walked over to the hospital bed and sat on it, then swung his legs up and laid back. He fiddled with the controls and raised the section behind his head, then checked the time and closed his eyes.

  ~

  Three helicopters set down in one of the fields adjacent to the little home in Tapachula, Chiapas, and a contingent of GAFE commandos disembarked, in full combat gear and armed to the teeth. The leader pointed to the house and they ran to the little structure, encircling it. Two men jogged to the front porch with a portable battering ram and drove the door inwards with a crash, tearing it off its hinges.

  Soldiers swarmed into the interior, weapons sweeping the area, red laser dots bouncing giddily on the walls. The leader pointed at the closed bedroom door and made a signal with his gloved hand, and the two soldiers with the ram repeated the process of slamming the door to pieces.

  Inside, a diminutive figure sat on the bed, her hands bound together with a plastic tie wrap and a black hood over her head. The leader approached her and gently pulled it off.

  Maria looked up at him with relieved eyes.

  “I think the door was open.”

  ~

  Hector marched into El Rey’s room, where the three guards were standing, weapons at the ready, as if he was going to leap from the bed like a tiger and eviscerate them before they could shoot him. The assassin cracked one eye open and, seeing Hector, sat up.

  “She’s okay,” Hector said.

  “I know.”

  “The room wasn’t airtight. She was bound, but judging by what the soldiers tell me, it wasn’t much of a restraint system.”

  “I exaggerated. Dramatic effect. To get your attention.”

  “You were drugging her. The syringes were on the table.”

  “It was necessary. The cartel had been shooting her up with heroin. You can’t just stop the drug or she’ll fall apart. She needs a controlled setting so she can be weaned off of it gradually.” El Rey watched Hector’s expression. “You can ask her. I’m not in the rehab game, so it’s your problem now that she’s safe.” He looked at the security guards. “You want to get this harness off me now? I did as instructed. I found and rescued
the girl. It’s time to keep your part of the bargain.”

  Hector nodded, and one of the men handed his partner his weapon and then reached into his pants pocket for the padlock key. El Rey held his shirt up obligingly as the explosive device was removed.

  “I’ll need my cash back before I leave. Don’t worry about the cell phone. I can get another one if you’ve grown attached to mine. It’s of no consequence to me…” El Rey said.

  “Come with me. There are some people who want to talk to you.”

  El Rey nodded. He’d been expecting some sort of a double-cross. This was probably the start of it. He idly contemplated the back of Hector’s neck and considered what he could use to sever the spinal cord before anyone could react. Instead, he followed him down the hall to a meeting room.

  Inside, the head of CISEN waited, along with the doctor who had been attending to him, and two more armed men. Hector took a seat near the head of the rectangular table and stared at El Rey. The assassin took a seat where indicated by the doctor and offered the assembly a blank look, giving nothing away.

  The doctor spoke first, as if uncomfortable with the tense silence.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve been shot twice, spent a few days in the jungle, and was injected with poison. Other than that…”

  “You present us with a problem,” the head of CISEN said in a matter-of-fact voice.

  “I suspected we would wind up having this talk,” El Rey confirmed. “But I have the president’s word I wouldn’t be imprisoned if I carried out this mission for him. I did, and I expect him to keep his word.”

  As if on cue, the door opened, and the president entered. Everyone stood. Except El Rey.

  “I want to personally thank you for saving her,” he began, approaching the assassin, offering him his hand.

  “That was the deal.” El Rey shook it. Too bad there was nobody memorializing the odd encounter with a photo.

  “Yes, but she says that you saved her life a number of times, even after you broke her out of the villa.”

  “Hard to collect if she’s dead, no?” El Rey shrugged.

  “Yes. Well, you have my gratitude.”

  “We were just discussing the problem that he represents,” Hector offered.

  “Ahh, then I’ll let you get back to it,” the president said, obviously anxious to avoid the topic.

  “I was just reminding your people that I have your word I won’t be imprisoned. As well as a written pardon – everyone remembers the pardon, right? I can get you a copy of it if it’s slipped anyone’s mind.” He studied the faces of the men in the room before returning his eyes to the president.

  “And so you do. I intend to keep my word. You’ll see. You are pardoned and a free man.” He looked at the wall clock. “Unfortunately, I must get going. I have a daughter arriving in a short while who I need to greet. I just wanted to express my gratitude in person.” The president nodded at the men and then left. The door closed softly behind him before anyone spoke.

  “You’re a cold blooded killer,” Hector spat.

  “It’s true.”

  “We can’t have you out on the streets plying your trade.”

  “I understand. I’m retired. Effective immediately.” He placed his hands on the table and made as if to stand.

  “You might want to stay for the rest of the discussion,” the head of CISEN observed.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Well, let’s start with the most important part, then – see if it gets your interest. Just as you exaggerated about the airtight chamber and Maria, I’m afraid we didn’t tell you everything about the neurotoxin.”

  El Rey fixed each man in turn with a cold glare. “If I’m still dying and you lied, each of you will be dead in a week. Nothing will save you. Nothing. Your families, your children–”

  “You see? That’s what I’m talking about. Most people don’t greet a disagreement by threatening to butcher the other party,” the CISEN chief said, palms raised to emphasize his point.

  El Rey remained quiet, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  The doctor leaned forward, his hands folded on the table. “It’s not like that. The Americans warned us that the antidote works, but its initial curative effect is short lived. They estimate that it will take at least two more shots for the toxin to be fully neutralized.”

  “Two more shots. Fine. Let’s do it.”

  Hector smiled humorlessly.

  “You still don’t understand. Not two more shots today. Or tomorrow. Two more spread out over a year. One every six months, mas o menos,” he recited dryly.

  And there it was. The double-cross.

  He waited for more.

  “You’ll need to come back in every six months to get another shot. In a year, we’ll monitor your levels and scan for any further trace of the toxin. If at eighteen months your protein levels are still normal on their own, you’re fine. If not, one more shot will do it,” the doctor explained.

  “Eighteen months.” El Rey bit off each syllable with precision, managing to make the words sound obscene.

  “Correct. And seeing as you will need us to get your next shots, we have a proposition for you,” the CISEN man said.

  “Proposition? You mean an ultimatum.”

  “Whatever. Here’s the proposal. You’re a killer. It’s what you do. You are also extremely good at it. Better than anyone we’ve ever seen.”

  “Get to the point,” El Rey said.

  “The point is that you will be working for us. Doing what you do. No more cartel work. Only for us, on a few operations, as needed. We may not have to call on you, in which case, the deal stands – every six months you come in and we give you the shot, no strings attached. But if we have something that requires your special services…”

  El Rey considered his words. They had lied to him. Not lied, but rather omitted critical information – a very lawyerly way of lying, perfected by politicians and bureaucrats since time immemorial. But it was what it was. They had him by the balls. And was the offer really so much worse than what he had been doing to amass his fortune?

  He smirked at the thought.

  “So I’m a menace when I’m working against you, but a prized asset when I’m on your side of the table?”

  “Welcome to the real world. For the record, I am against this. I’d just as soon see you rot in hell as take one step as a free man,” Hector said.

  “Your sentiment is touching.”

  “But it’s not my call.”

  “No. It doesn’t sound like it is,” El Rey said. “We finally agree on something.”

  The assassin leaned back in his chair, thinking. Nobody spoke. Finally, he leaned forward and steepled his fingers.

  “I reserve the right to refuse an assignment for whatever reason. I won’t be thrown into suicide missions so you can kill me off that way,” he said.

  The CISEN chief sat back. Now it was a negotiation. “That’s not unreasonable, but it won’t work. If we have to call on you, it’s because there is no other choice.”

  El Rey shook his head, then stopped. “Then you can’t omit anything about the sanction. No little missing pieces, like with the antidote timeline. I find out that you have, it’s automatically aborted, and I still get my shot. I want that in writing, signed by the president. And I get to live wherever I like, with no conditions, other than my professional arrangement with you.”

  The CISEN chief nodded. “Provided it is in Mexico. We can’t have you prowling the streets of other countries if you’re in our employ…”

  “Fair enough. So Mexico, but no strings other than I am available to you for occasional…errands.”

  The discussion lasted another twenty minutes.

  Three hours later, El Rey walked out the clinic door into the welcoming blaze of Mexico City sunshine, the signed presidential agreement safely in his pocket.

  Chapter 27

  Cruz passed through security at the compound, surrendering his sidea
rm and emptying his pockets for scrutiny. Formalities completed, he approached the lobby of the executive offices, where the chief of staff’s assistant was waiting for him.

  “Right this way. He’s expecting you,” the officious young man said, gesturing for Cruz to follow.

  His shoes echoed off the marble as they walked to the conference room adjacent to the chief of staff’s offices, and Cruz was taken aback when he entered. The chief of staff was sitting at the oval table, chatting with the head of CISEN. Both men looked up as he entered.

  “Capitan Cruz. Thank you for joining us on such short notice. Have you met Benicio Salazar, the Director General of CISEN?” Hector asked, introducing him obliquely.

  Cruz was momentarily speechless, but he quickly regained his composure.

  “I recognize the name and the face from photographs,” Cruz stammered, shaking both men’s hands.

  “Please. Have a seat,” Hector invited, indicating the third chair.

  Cruz obliged, looking uncertain.

  “Captain Cruz. You’ll recognize these documents. They are required for receiving classified clearance – in this case, top secret – on a topic of national security. I’ll need you to review them and sign where indicated before anything can be discussed,” Hector said, sliding a folder to him along with a pen.

  Cruz read the papers, then signed. “Now what is all this about?”

  Benicio leaned forward. “It begins with a story – of a willful girl in a nightclub, trying to live as though there was no evil world outside its walls…” he began. Five minutes later, he stopped talking. Both men stared at Cruz, waiting for his reaction.

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Hector shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “The government broke the most evil killer ever known out of prison to take on his former cartel employers, and he now works for CISEN, after receiving a full pardon from the president? The man who tried to kill that same president, as well as the one before?” Cruz was flabbergasted. “And this doesn’t seem like a bad idea to anyone?”