“I’m not disagreeing, but we have to start somewhere,” Cruz replied evenly.
“Not there.”
“If not, then where, Carlos?” Briones asked, pronouncing his name like an insult.
“I want to know everything about the Chinese leader’s itinerary. How he’s arriving, how he’s going to be transported, where he’s going to sign the document, where he’s going to be staying, if he stays at all. I’ll need not only his agenda but a full rundown on every security precaution being taken. We start at the end – the point where the German will kill the target. Then we work backwards from there. Figure out how he’s going to do it, or is likely to do it, and then we have a chance. But mount a manhunt and you’re just spinning your wheels,” El Rey stated flatly.
“In your opinion,” Briones countered.
“Lieutenant. One person in this room has carried out more executions than you’ve had birthdays. The others are cops who got lucky one time. Do you want to stop this assassin, or do you want to posture like some sort of juvenile peacock? I don’t really care, either way.” El Rey stood. “When can you have that information?” he asked Cruz.
“I’ve already requested it all. We should have it within a few hours.”
“Very good. Call me once you have everything, and make me a copy so I can study it. And I want to look over the location where the signing is to take place.”
“I think the idea was that we work as a team on this,” Cruz said.
“Teams fail more often than they succeed.”
Cruz shook his head. “Maybe so, but we’re going to do this my way.”
“Get me the data, then we’ll talk,” El Rey said, and then moved to the door and opened it without another word.
Cruz and Briones watched incredulously as the assassin sauntered across the situation room floor and through the exit.
“Are you serious about working with him? I’ve never seen a more arrogant, dismissive prick in my life...,” Briones began.
“Yes, Lieutenant, he’s all of those things. But he has a point. Both times we hunted him, it was individual action and intuition that stopped him and ultimately resulted in his capture. Not a team. So while he’s abrasive, he’s also probably right. Which underscores why he’s here. Not to win friends. To be right.”
Briones considered Cruz’s muttered observation. “I still don’t like it.”
“Neither of us do. But if we’re going to be successful, we’ll need to be flexible. And right now, Carlos is our best option.”
“He’s an annoying shit, in addition to all his other faults.”
Cruz nodded. “Yes. He is. He is indeed.”
Briones was seething, but he wore his best poker face as he rose. The stink of El Rey’s aura was like a toxic cloud in the room, and his passing left a subtle pollution of the soul that made Briones want to take a long shower to purge himself of the blight. He understood that Cruz believed this was the best way to progress, but it had been all he could do to resist drawing his gun and blowing the assassin’s head off. The scar from where the killer’s bullet had seared into his shoulder pulsed and burned as though it were a living thing with a mind of its own, and the memory of the other slug slamming into his chest, stopped only by the bulletproof vest, was as vivid as though it had been yesterday. Cruz could pontificate about duty and the mission all he wanted, but at his core, Briones only knew that the assassin had escaped justice and was flaunting that as if daring him to do anything about it. Briones moved to leave, but as he did, a vision of himself pulling the trigger of his weapon and watching El Rey’s filthy head explode clouded everything, and it was all he could do to get out of the office and to the bathroom before he threw himself into a stall and vomited his fury into the uncaring bowl.
Chapter 19
Five hours later, Cruz had gotten the itinerary and all the detail on the signing ceremony, and had forwarded it to El Rey at a blind account CISEN had created for his use. Thirty minutes later, Cruz’s phone chirped at him.
“I got it. I want to head over to look over the physical location. I know it well – if you recall, it was the site of my red herring bomb gambit,” El Rey said.
“Yes, I remember. Then you’re already familiar with the possible approaches.”
“Never assume anything. Things change, and there might be different avenues that he could exploit. I won’t know until I spend some time there. Probably today until it gets dark, then all of tomorrow.”
“What time are you going to be there?”
“I’m headed out right now. I’m notifying you as a courtesy, in the spirit of cooperation with CISEN. Frankly, you’ll be unlikely to spot anything I wouldn’t, so it’s purely a formality.”
“I still want to come. I’ll meet you at the main entrance in...forty minutes.”
“Don’t bring an entourage, and for God’s sake don’t wear your uniform – it’s a dead giveaway. For all we know he’s already here, watching every move at the facility. I would be.”
“Just you and I, then.”
The assassin grumbled, obviously annoyed, then acquiesced. “If you say so.”
Cruz dropped the phone back into his shirt pocket and re-entered the meeting he’d ducked out of and excused himself before going back to his office to change to civilian clothes. He’d brought a light duffle with pants and several shirts in case he needed to go incognito. He hurriedly changed, pulled his black windbreaker over his shoulder holster, and then moved to the bathroom to check his appearance before leaving. He hadn’t slept well, and the hangover from the cheap wine was lingering, and he looked it. Checking his watch, he quickly calculated that his car could have him at the site within twenty minutes.
The ride to the Congress building took longer than he’d expected due to a traffic accident, and he was five minutes late when he sprinted up the steps to the massive array of steel and glass doors. Congress wasn’t in session, so the area only had a few guards loitering around, Federales, but not the best-in-show by any means. Tourists climbed the long flight of wide stairs to have their pictures taken in front of the building, but Cruz didn’t see El Rey anywhere.
When his phone sounded, he nearly jumped. He stabbed it on and held it to his ear. “Where are you?”
“Behind you.”
Cruz slowly turned around, and watched as one of the doors opened and El Rey stepped out, waving at someone inside.
“How did you get in there?” Cruz demanded, sotto voce.
“I offered to help one of the maintenance workers with a box he was struggling with. It doesn’t matter. We can assume that the interior of the building will be swept – but we should still insist that the guards get beefed up, effective immediately, and any maintenance or custodial staff be checked on a daily basis to ensure there are no new employees. I would have the area blocked off from now till the signing, and put draconian security measures in place. It would be child’s play at this point to penetrate the building. Remember what I did at the cathedral. I posed as a maintenance worker at least a week before the event and stashed a grenade. Security never starts early enough, and that’s one weakness we can avoid.”
“A valid point.” Cruz made a quick call and relayed instructions to Briones, who assured him that he would contact the appropriate agencies to coordinate it. When he was finished, he squinted at El Rey.
“What else?”
“From memory, there are literally dozens of vantage points from which a sniper could shoot anyone on a podium on these steps. Over there, there, there, and there. Just to name a few. And the German is a seasoned long-range sniper, so it opens up hundreds of places. Which means you’ll have to widen the security perimeter to at least one kilometer on this side. Maybe more, just to be safe.”
“What? One kilometer? Do you have any idea how many thousands of people live and work in that large an area?”
“Probably a lot. But you can make the job simpler by being selective and only sequestering the buildings where you would have a direct
line of sight. It’s still a huge area, but you can simplify your life by having the signing take place inside, and keeping the target off these steps. Then you’d only need to worry about the south side, near those doors, where he would enter the building.”
“Fair enough. I’ll alert the president’s staff.”
El Rey had frozen, transfixed by something, and Cruz followed his stare into the distance.
“The metro station will need to be treated as a risk area. Personally, I would cordon off the entire Congress building grounds effective immediately and make it a high security area until the event is over. The more of the vicinity that’s off-limits, the lower the likelihood of a threat. You’ll also need to be on the alert for everything from contact poison on any surface the Chinese leader comes into contact with, to a gas attack, to an assault on the motorcade. Oh, and a helicopter from the airport to the Congress would be preferable to surface transportation. Otherwise the route is going to be a nightmare. What is it, about two and a half kilometers from the airport? Every inch of which could pose a threat.”
“All of this is threat reduction, not catching him,” Cruz observed, making a note with his Blackberry.
El Rey continued, ignoring the complaint. “The biggest problem with a chopper would be a surface-to-air missile strike, or some kind of sabotage of the craft, like a hidden explosive charge, or hidden damage to the rotors or engine. I know what I’m talking about – let’s just say I speak from experience.”
“You...when...?”
“It’s not important. But have all the maintenance staff checked and rechecked, and have the chopper gone over by explosives experts and mechanics looking for anything suspicious. And have the phone company block all cell phone use in this area until he’s on his plane back home.”
“Are you joking? That will impact millions of people.”
“So will having the Chinese leader shot on Mexican soil. Or did I get that part wrong?”
Cruz took a few steps away from the assassin and stood, pensive, studying the buildings across the highway, each one concealing a potential deadly threat. Even now the German could be watching, undetected, putting the finishing touches on a plan they were powerless to stop unless they had an unprecedented stroke of luck – something that rarely happened, he knew.
“I’ll also want to get a blueprint of the sewer system. I remember the last time I looked at this location that the sewers were a potential point of entry. I briefly considered a gas attack using the sewer system as a red herring, but then opted for the explosive device in the plant your men found.”
“My men didn’t find that – it was the security forces. They aren’t complete incompetents, you know,” Cruz corrected.
“Yeah. I know. Look at how effective they were at stopping me.”
Both men stood studying the area, minds lost on the imponderables involved in averting the crisis.
“You’ve had a chance to look this over. How would you do it?” Cruz asked.
“Every assassin will have his preferred technique. One of my strengths was that I wasn’t married to any particular one. I’d just as soon use a knife as a gun; a bomb as gas or poison. But our man is a shooter. Most of his attributed kills are with a sniper rifle – a shot, usually to the head. There’s probably some ego involved there. He likes the challenge, the difficulty of the impossible shot.”
“Then that’s a weakness we may be able to exploit.”
“Perhaps. But he’s also used an RPG to blow up a car, as well as a pistol, at least twice, and has strangled, stabbed, and used explosives. So while he may prefer a rifle, he’s flexible enough to alter his approach if circumstances dictate it. My hunch is that he’ll try for a rifle shot, though, at first blush. It’s just instinct, but if I was going to bet on it, that would be his method.”
“If you’re right then that would narrow things down, I would think.”
“Yes, to only the buildings within a thousand meters or so. Which as you pointed out is a huge number. I wouldn’t get celebratory quite yet.”
“I know. But it’s better than nothing.”
“True. Right now we have two advantages. First, we know what he’s planning – at least in a large sense. Second, he doesn’t know we know. But you can expect that he will sooner or later – he’ll have contacts either at Interpol or with the German police, and possibly also with the BND. He’ll get word that he’s been flagged, and then the real cat and mouse game will begin.”
Cruz shook his head, fatigue from the prior night slamming into him as the enormity of the job ahead loomed large before him. It was worse than a needle in a haystack or being struck by lightning. At least you could increase your chance of a lightning strike.
“Do you really think we can find him?” Cruz asked softly, as much to himself as to his unlikely new associate.
“I think I can. The question is whether there’s enough time, and whether you can keep your clumsy pack of wolves from worsening your odds. This will require delicacy – looking at the man’s dossier, he’s about as good as it gets.”
Cruz frowned and rubbed his chin, where a light dusting of stubble had already begun forming.
“How about compared to you?” he asked.
The assassin stood silently for several moments, and then strode off, tossing his response over his shoulder.
“Nobody’s that good.”
Chapter 20
It was eight-thirty by the time Cruz had finished walking the grounds with El Rey, and he had his driver stop at a torta restaurant on the way home, pulling to the curb twenty yards from the busy café, a line of hungry commuters spilling onto the sidewalk, waiting to pick up their dinner. Most took it to go, wrapped in white paper, each sandwich the size of a small football. Cruz stood patiently amidst the throng – everything from laborers to pickpockets to businessmen on their way home from a long day in the office – and felt the last of his energy drain from him. It had been another long one, and tomorrow would be even worse, as the countdown to the event ticked away and the pressure mounted.
When he got to the counter he ordered his sandwich, and then, after momentary consideration, ordered one for Dinah, too. She hadn’t answered the phone the two times he had called, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything – she was probably still angry; but she, like he, was a sucker for a good torta, and the gesture would hopefully win him points. His stomach growled audibly as he stood, patiently waiting for the cooks to finish their culinary ministrations, the rich aroma of cooking meat enveloping him as he salivated like a dog.
A portly older man in an indifferently cut gray business suit sidled up next to him and nodded a greeting, one of the courteous-yet-standoffish ways that residents of densely populated areas conveyed politeness without inviting conversation. That was just as well to Cruz, and he returned the nod. His mind was a million miles away, going over threat vectors, perimeter weaknesses, and the logistics of keeping the target alive for his stay.
Fortunately, the Chinese leader was scheduled to fly in, go straight to the Congress for the signing ceremony, then fly out, with a meeting and dinner already scheduled to take place in Washington with the U.S. President. He would arrive in the morning, and with any luck at all, leave, alive, a few hours later – just a quick stop on a diplomatic junket that would take him to twelve countries in a week.
El Rey, as much as Cruz hated to admit it, was as sharp as they came. He’d analyzed the surroundings with a professional eye and found countless weak spots that could be exploited by the German. Cruz had phoned in instructions to the security detail about changing the signing ceremony location to the interior of the Congress building, and was awaiting a formal approval. It was lunacy, given what they now knew, to have it take place as planned outside on the steps. His only problem was that the new president was an attention sponge, and would likely put up a fight to keep the photo opportunity outdoors, where he could be framed with the Congressional mural in the background, shaking hands with the Chinese leade
r and making a speech about new vistas and progress for tomorrow.
Cruz sincerely hoped that it wouldn’t turn into a battle. He had enough on his hands without that. Although, when all was said and done, he served at the pleasure of the king, and if the president was adamant about holding the ceremony on the steps, there was little he could do except remind him about the El Rey assassination attempt and how close he’d come to being executed. Hopefully that would still be fresh in his mind. With the Iron Eagle on the loose, conducting the ceremony outside would be akin to suicide.
A three-hundred-pound woman with mahogany skin waddled to her customary position behind the counter with a plastic bag and called his number, and he pushed through the crowd to claim his meal. Out on the curb, he peered into the bag with satisfaction, then strode to his waiting vehicle, where the driver leapt out and opened his door. Cruz felt a twinge of embarrassment at having a federal policeman in full regalia chauffeuring him, as he always did when he was in public places, and then dismissed the sentiment, choosing instead to focus on some of his very real problems.
El Rey was an enigma, but Cruz had to concede that perhaps CISEN had made a good call bringing him into the case. Cruz had developed a grudging respect for his approach as he had run through his mental list and issued tersely worded suggestions for Cruz to convey to the appropriate parties. No, truthfully, they had been instructions, not suggestions. Matter-of-fact and completely dispassionate, but orders nonetheless. The young man was definitely among the most arrogant Cruz had ever met, but it was more than that – his sense of assurance, the conviction that he was completely right, wasn’t puffery. He was, in fact, right, about everything they’d discussed. He radiated a quiet confidence that was unnerving, and Cruz had found himself, by the end of their promenade, glad El Rey was on his side.
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