Blood of the Assassin

by Russell Blake

  “That never really did you any good when you were hunting me,” El Rey observed. “Why would you think it would make any difference now?”

  Rodriguez frowned. “That’s exactly why you’re part of this group. We need your expertise. You have considerable depth in areas where we might be lacking. The expectation is that you’ll be looking in places that would be second-nature for a professional, but that we might overlook.”

  “I know. We covered all that. Somehow I’m supposed to second-guess a hitter from the other side of the planet and stop him, with exactly zero experience ever doing that before. My position is pretty clear on this. You’re deluded,” El Rey said matter-of-factly.

  “All right. Here’s the list,” Cruz interrupted, pushing the pad to Rodriguez, who picked it up and studied it while Cruz turned his attention to the file contents.

  “We’ll have it set up by tomorrow, six a.m.,” Rodriguez assured him.

  “Fine. But you haven’t got anything more recent for a photo of the German? You’re telling me that for over a decade, the man hasn’t had his picture taken?” Cruz snapped.

  “I gave you what we have. We’re pulling out all the stops, but we have to be careful about what we ask for in Germany. There’s a strong likelihood he’s plugged in over there, and will hear something the moment we really start probing.”

  “That’s all well and good, but I’m not sure that I really care if he knows we’re after him or not. We have to assume he’s expecting to be tracked.”

  El Rey shook his head. “I disagree. If he gets a warning, he’ll be even more careful than usual, and I don’t have to tell anyone in this room that a motivated assassin can elude even the most carefully crafted security. I’ve proved that enough times. You’ll need every edge you can get.”

  Cruz studied him with seeming disinterest. “You didn’t elude me the last time, did you?”

  “Was that the time that I successfully detonated the helicopter on the president’s head, or the time I penetrated the G-20 and placed a bomb that would have turned it into a slaughterhouse?” El Rey shot back.

  “I guess you probably get them confused when you’ve failed that often,” Cruz sneered, tossing the pen onto the table with a clatter.

  “Gentlemen. May I remind you that we don’t have the luxury of the mutual admiration society? I need you to work together.”

  “Where are these offices? I want to swing by and inspect them tonight, after this meeting,” Cruz said, changing the subject. Sparring with the assassin wouldn’t get them closer to their objective, and Cruz knew it was childish to taunt him. Besides which, the bastard exuded exactly zero emotion, so his efforts probably weren’t working.

  “Claudio will accompany you there once we’re done,” Rodriguez said.

  El Rey stood after glancing through the file and checking the time. “Which we are. There’s nothing that sitting around here any longer is going to accomplish,” he declared in a mild tone. “And I’m getting hungry.”

  Rodriguez pushed back his chair and also stood. “As discussed, you will cooperate with Capitan Cruz for the duration of this operation. How you do so is up to the two of you, but I’d strongly suggest that you coordinate your schedules and commit to making this work.” Rodriguez turned his attention to Cruz. “Capitan, in that file is the cell phone number for our friend here, as well as my private cell number. If you have any problems, call me. I expect you to hit the ground running tomorrow.”

  “Rodriguez, with all due respect, that’s going to be hard, given the paucity of information you’ve given me. We have nothing. I repeat. Nothing. A tip – really, nothing more than a rumor. I’m not sure what you’re expecting, but I’m not a magician. Nothing ever happens fast, and in one of these cases, when we do make progress it’s inevitably because of patient, methodical police work, not wild hunches by ex-killers. I’ll play along with this because I’ve been ordered to, but don’t expect much. You’ve provided me almost nothing to go on, and it’ll be a miracle if we can catch this man before he acts,” Cruz groused.

  “Well, there’s a winning attitude that should pump you full of enthusiasm,” El Rey said to the CISEN staff. “Looks like I’ll have to do this by myself.”

  Rodriguez ignored El Rey. “I understand what you’re saying, but we need a miracle here. That’s why we’ve teamed you together. This unorthodox approach is our best shot. The German has successfully evaded the best security in the world for years. I have no doubt that he’ll put ours to the test if we don’t try something out of the box.”

  “This is about as unusual as it gets, I’ll grant you that,” Cruz conceded, and then moved around the table.

  “Carlos, would you like to accompany the Capitan to look over the offices?” Claudio asked as the meeting broke up, addressing El Rey.

  He shrugged. “Not really. I’ll leave the paper clip counting to the methodical assassin hunter, if you don’t mind. I’m going to get something to eat.”

  Cruz threw him a black look, but he ignored it.

  “We’ll open for business at nine tomorrow morning. Please be there at ten so I can coordinate my efforts with whatever you have to offer,” Cruz said in a tone that indicated very clearly that he didn’t think El Rey could provide anything of value.

  “Fine. Call me and confirm the address when you’ve confirmed you’ll take that space,” El Rey said, and then pushed his way through the door and was gone.

  Rodriguez and Cruz exchanged glances, and Rodriguez extended his hand to shake. Cruz took it reluctantly.

  “Nobody said this was going to be easy. I hope you two can work out your differences and make it work.”

  Cruz stared down the corridor at where the assassin had disappeared from view.

  “Me too.”

  Chapter 15

  When Cruz finally made it back to the condo it was already ten o’clock, and he could hear the drone of the television from the living room. He closed the door gently behind him and twisted the deadbolt, then walked towards the clamor of a studio audience applauding the latest contestant in a singing contest. Dinah was lying on the couch in sweats and a T-shirt, one leg swinging off the edge. She looked up when he stepped into the room, and a warm smile broke across her face.

  “Hola, amor! You’re back! There’s a plate of food in the refrigerator with your name on it. Enchiladas. Just pop them in the microwave for two minutes,” Dinah said, rising to greet him.

  “Perfect. Let me get out of my monkey suit and I’ll be right back,” he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

  Cruz emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later wearing his favorite jeans and a sweatshirt. The aroma of enchiladas filled the air, and Dinah placed the warmed-up meal on the table in front of him, along with a cold beer. Cruz looked at her gratefully and dug in, the rich sauce reviving him as he shoveled heaping forkfuls into his mouth. She sat across from him, watching him eat, and sipped her soda, waiting for him to finish. He made short work of it, and soon was patting his stomach appreciatively.

  “You’re the best cook in the world, my love.”

  “Is that the only reason you married me?” she teased.

  “That, and other obvious reasons. Which I’m looking forward to exploring later...”

  She lifted his plate and slid past him into the kitchen, then turned to study his face. He looked fatigued and worried. Tense.

  “Why the long hours? What’s going on? Is it something you’d like to talk about?” she asked.

  Cruz closed his eyes. Here it was – the moment of truth. He’d agonized about how to break the news to her on the way home, but hadn’t come up with anything that he was happy with. Still, he couldn’t lie to her. Maybe not tell her the complete truth, but he couldn’t flat out lie, much as that had appeal just then.

  “It’s a special assignment. I’ve been painted into a corner, and I’ve had to accept a mission that’s going to have me working around the clock for the next eight days.”

  “Good lord. Will
you be safe? What is it?”

  “It’s classified. I can’t really say much, other than that it involves an assassination attempt.” Perhaps that would be sufficient to satisfy her curiosity. He hoped it would be.

  “Assassination? I thought...I thought your problems with El Rey were over. Did he resurface?” she asked with alarm. For months after she’d been blackmailed into helping the assassin she’d had recurring nightmares, and the fallout from her revelations about it had almost resulted in her and Cruz breaking up.

  “No, it’s a different killer. But as dangerous, if not more so.”

  “At least it’s not him. That’s a relief. He’s a menace.”

  “He was, but he’s out of the game. This is a new threat, but equally deadly.”

  She did a double take. “How do you know he’s out of the game? You seem so sure. I thought he was still at large...escaped from prison. Did something change?”

  “I...” Cruz debated his next words carefully. “It’s classified. I’m sorry, Dinah.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “This is the monster who killed my father with a sword we’re talking about, remember? Who forced me to turn on you? He destroyed my life, and nearly destroyed our relationship. And the best you can manage is to say it’s classified?” Dinah was getting angry, which was extremely rare, but when it happened, not to be trifled with. “That’s not good enough, Romero. On anything else it might be. But not this.”

  “I can’t discuss it, mi amor. You’ll have to just accept that...”

  “No. Not on this. Tell me what happened.” Dinah’s voice was dangerously quiet. He’d never heard her like that before. A host of possible responses ran through his head, but none seemed adequate.

  He sighed and plopped down on the couch. “You have to swear to never repeat this to anyone. Ever. It would be grounds for arrest – for treason. I’m not making this up,” he warned.

  “Treason?” she repeated, not comprehending the sudden change in Cruz’s mood. “Treason in what way?”

  “Treason in the way that they would throw you in prison and throw away the key. And me as well. I’m not joking. It’s that serious. You have to promise me, and mean it, or I can’t tell you another word.” Cruz stared deep into her large brown eyes, trying to decide whether she fully grasped what he was saying.

  “Fine. I’ll never tell a soul. I swear. Satisfied?” she demanded, still agitated, and struggling to maintain control.

  He nodded. “It all started with his prison break...”

  Five minutes later he was finished, and the look of shock on her face was worse than anything he’d expected.

  “So all of his crimes have been forgiven? His record expunged? For Christ’s sake, he tried to kill the president, not once, but twice. He murdered those men right in front of the cathedral...” Her voice trailed off as she fought for understanding, but failed to find it. “And his punishment was to have his slate wiped clean? What about justice for the countless he killed? What about my father? How can anyone just wave their hand and let this animal walk?” Her eyes had widened as she asked questions that he couldn’t answer. The truth was there were no good answers.

  “It’s done. There’s nothing I could do. I was told by...by some of the highest authorities in the administration. It’s already taken place, and it’s final.”

  “And you allowed this? You let them do this?” The hurt and betrayal were palpable, each word like a slap across his face.

  “I had no choice in the matter. I fought it, protested it, even threatened to quit my job – but none of it did any good. It came down from the very top – a presidential pardon.”

  “The same president he nearly killed? Pardoned him?” Dinah was sputtering now and turning red, flushed from fury and agitation. Her mouth worked, but she was at a loss for words. Cruz sympathized. He remembered the day he’d been told that El Rey was a free man, immune from prosecution.

  “I know, mi amor. It makes no sense. The whole thing is just so wrong...but there’s nothing I can do about it. The pardon has been granted and in the eyes of the law he’s now as innocent as you or I. It’s not fair, it’s not right, but it is what it is.” Cruz shrugged.

  “How long have you known about this?” she asked quietly. Too quietly. Cruz chose his words with the care of a surgeon excising a brain tumor.

  “Long enough to know that he’s out of the game and no longer a threat.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s the only one I can give. Call it a few months. I don’t know, exactly.”

  She stood and began pacing – another very bad warning sign of a pending meltdown. He’d never seen her this upset before. Sad, yes. Devastated when her father had been murdered, yes. Fearful and remorseful when her forced betrayal of him had been discovered? Yes. But never with this much...rage. That was the word. She looked like she was going to explode from anger. Her hands were clenched tightly into fists, she was trembling ever so slightly, and she was regarding Cruz like he’d raped her.

  “So for months you’ve known about this, and every night, come home to me, chatted with me like everything was fine, made love with me...all the time living with the biggest lie I could imagine,” she stated flatly.

  “It’s not like that, Dinah. Please. Be reasonable. It’s classified. I’m the only person other than the president’s staff who knows. And with all due respect, the last time you had access to classified material–”

  “How dare you. How fucking dare you bring that up and throw it in my face. I was blackmailed by the same shitrat you pardoned!” Chances of a full-blown melt down had just doubled. When Dinah swore, which was almost never, the situation had reached critical. Like a nuclear reactor, this would be about the time that the klaxons went off and the normally calm technicians began running panicked from the plant. Cruz understood the instinct. Part of him wished he could do the same.

  But he couldn’t. This was his wife. The love of his life. Who right now looked like she wanted to strangle him with her bare hands.

  “It’s not me. I didn’t pardon him. I would just as soon have put a bullet in him, and I told you, I fought this tooth and nail. But my influence doesn’t extend to the decisions of the new president. Don’t make this about me. It’s been hard enough...”

  “Then he’s out there. Right now. Walking the streets, a free man, rich, young, with absolutely nothing to worry about. While my father is forever dead. As are your men. Everyone butchered by him, permanently robbed of another moment of life, their children growing up without fathers...and you remain a part of this, this...abortion you call a system? How can you do it, Cruz? How could you?” Now she was calling him by his last name. No Romero or amor.

  “I considered quitting, but it wouldn’t have changed anything, and there’s still tremendous danger out there for me. For us. Every cartel miscreant in the country wants me dead. In case you haven’t noticed, that’s why we have to move every six weeks. That’s why we have the armed guards downstairs, why my car is armored and I’m not allowed to drive it, why we can’t meet with your friends anymore, why you had to be transferred to a different school and use a new last name...we need that kind of protection, and we won’t get it if I quit. So I’ve done what I had to do. Which hasn’t been easy. Especially now.” Cruz regretted the last words even as he said them, and desperately wished he could pull them back into his mouth. His only hope was that Dinah was so enraged she wouldn’t notice.

  It wasn’t his lucky night.

  “Especially now? Why now? What’s happened that it’s even harder now?” she asked with glacial calm. Probably the single most alarming trend yet.

  “What I meant was, now that I’ve told you,” Cruz explained, hoping his dishonesty wouldn’t be obvious.

  “No, you didn’t. You’re lying to me. I always know when you are. So one more time. What happened? Why is it even more difficult now?” Dinah would have been a brilliant prosecuting attorney. She was relentless and had an impeccable nose for the truth
.

  He rose from the couch and approached her, but she backed away, refusing to be mollified, holding his gaze with a look of fury, hurt, and...something else. Revulsion. A part of him died when he saw it, but it was unmistakable – and, he supposed, understandable. But how to proceed from here? He couldn’t tell her the truth. Not when she was like this.

  “So help me, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I will flip out. I mean it. Don’t test me on this.” Her voice had an edge, as well as a tinge of hysteria. She was barely holding it together, the revelation of the assassin’s escape from justice eating at her even as she cast around for an object to hate – Cruz being the obvious, closest target, in spite of his protestations.

  Had he grown so inured to constant compromise, living in a no-man’s land of moral ambiguity, that his own outrage had been blunted to this degree? Her reaction brought back all of his emotions when he’d heard that the assassin would walk, a free man, untouchable. He’d had the same response, but had buried it, choosing to be pragmatic rather than righteous. Had that been cowardice or prudence? he wondered, watching Dinah pace. Had he just seen too much, made too many pacts with the devil, lived in a brutal purgatory of sin and corruption so long that he’d lost any moral barometer he’d ever had?

  Something snapped inside of him. He was done with the subterfuge. If she wanted the truth, she would have to deal with it, just as he had been forced to. She would get what she wanted, even though the reality of their situation might destroy anything they had.

  “Honey, why don’t you come over here and sit down. I’ll get you a glass of wine. You’re going to need it,” Cruz offered, gesturing to the couch.

  “Don’t honey me. Just spit it out. What the hell is going on here? What could possibly be worse than my father’s killer walking away scot-free?”