Rage of the Assassin: (Assassin Series #6)

by Russell Blake

  He closed the door behind him and, after a rueful look at the deadbolts he didn’t have time to lock, rushed down the stairs to where the men waited. “I’m ready,” he said, and followed them out into the street to where a green van idled at the curb, its side cargo door open.

  “Get in,” his escort said.

  El Maquino placed his bag inside and climbed in, followed by the three men. The last slid the panel closed, and the driver gave the van gas. “Hang on,” he warned them, and took off down the street.

  Sirens echoed in the distance as emergency vehicles headed toward the building, and the driver leaned forward as he drove, scanning the sky.

  “No helicopters yet,” he said over his shoulder.

  “They won’t be long. Let’s ditch this thing and get out of town,” the leader growled. “I don’t understand how they found him.”

  “Neither do I,” the driver agreed. “But it doesn’t matter now, does it? Six dead cops will have all hell breaking loose. Roadblocks, searches, the whole nine yards.”

  “You’re sure they were police?”

  “Who else would it be? I’m just surprised they came in so light.”

  “Is it possible they didn’t know what they were walking into?”

  “I’d say that’s pretty obvious, wouldn’t you?” the driver sneered. “Either that, or we were lucky enough to be hit by the most incompetent squad in the city.”

  “Where are we going?” El Maquino interrupted.

  “Our priority is to get you clear. We’ll take care of ourselves. We’re taking you to a safe house. The boss will figure out what to do from there.”

  The leader glanced at him. “What took you so long?”

  “I told you. I was arming the building.”

  “That’s all?”

  “And finishing up a project. It’s not good to leave projects unfinished.”

  The leader stared at him like he was mad. El Maquino leaned his head against the van wall and closed his eyes, his interest in any further discussion nil. His uncle would know what to do.

  He always did.

  Chapter 36

  Cruz circled the district in his car, waiting for the cavalry to come over the hill. It was taking forever for backup to arrive, and he cursed Mexico City’s congestion, which added to the delay. He slammed his hand against the wheel in frustration. They’d made a major miscalculation on the operation, which had resulted in everyone but Cruz being slain – a fact that would weigh heavily on him at the men’s funerals, he was sure, even though he hadn’t made the operational assessment that had led to their deaths. But as the ultimate field authority, he bore full responsibility for the botched raid. Those men would have still been alive were it not for his idea to grab the driver without a substantial contingent of support troops.

  Then again, there was no way he could have known that the surrounding buildings were hiding multiple gunmen. And he still didn’t know the answer to the key question: what had the driver been watching, day after day? Was it possible that Aranas was holed up in one of the apartments on that block? Earlier it hadn’t seemed likely, but now Cruz wasn’t so sure.

  His radio crackled, and dispatch informed him that units were en route and would be at the shooting scene in a few minutes. Cruz acknowledged the communication and reported that he would return shortly to oversee the search of the area. That Aranas had been so close was frustrating, but it was a huge city, and the drug lord could have been anywhere, including in the car next to him. That was part of the logistics that worked against the police and benefitted the criminals, and it would do no good to rail against what he was powerless to change.

  Sirens wailed through his open window and he made a U-turn. He was accelerating back in the direction he’d come when an explosion behind him blew chunks of asphalt through his back window, shattering it. He swerved, floored the gas, and zigzagged halfway down the block before stomping on his brakes and sliding to a screeching stop.

  Cruz threw open his car door, pistol in hand, and scanned the street. Had someone thrown a grenade? Fired an RPG at him? The cartels had more than their share of both, pilfered from army bases or purchased from arms dealers who were more than happy to accept their money. But how had they pegged him? Had he been followed? Was he so shaken by the shooting that he wouldn’t have noticed?

  He heard an odd whirring from above and squinted at the evening sky. Something was hovering no more than thirty yards over his head. He blinked and tried to make it out, and then took off at a run when he saw that it was dropping straight toward him.

  Cruz ducked into a doorway and peered around the corner just in time to see the drone pause, hovering, and then accelerate straight toward him. He fired six times, and three of his rounds hit the aircraft, disabling it. The drone wobbled in the air twenty yards above the street and then pitched down and dropped like a rock until it crashed next to the sidewalk.

  Cruz’s ears rang from the sharp report of his pistol. He pushed himself from the cover of the doorway as windows opened overhead, the explosion and gunfire having drawn the neighborhood’s attention. Cruz holstered his Glock and walked toward the drone, but froze when he heard the whir of multiple rotors overhead.

  He sprinted away, moving as fast as he could, but a glance over his shoulder told him that the drone had locked onto him and was following at the same speed. It was tracking him. But how?

  He rounded the corner to test his theory and bolted down the street; sure enough, the drone made the turn behind him, accelerating. Cruz felt for his phone – it had to be his cell the thing was locked onto. How, he didn’t know, but that was the only item he was carrying other than his gun. He stopped by an abandoned lot half filled with trash and hurled his phone deep into the lot, and continued running a swerving course, just in case he was wrong.

  The drone performed a balletic arc and dove straight at the middle of the lot. The explosion shook Cruz’s fillings and he heard screams from several of the open windows. He paused and drew his weapon, scanning the sky for more airborne threats. After a tense minute, he lowered his gun and walked back to the lot, where there was a crater ten feet wide and at least five deep. Smoke drifted from it and the surrounding debris like the aftermath of a bombing run – which he supposed it was.

  He returned to his sedan as curious residents spilled from the doorways, and stopped by the car hood to make a short announcement. “I’m Captain Cruz, with the Federal Police. This street is now a crime scene. Don’t touch anything, and stay indoors until we clean it up. Do you understand?”

  Heads nodded and fearful glances took in his gun. The population was accustomed to being ordered around by the police and the military, and nobody wanted to incur the ire of a Federale captain to satisfy their curiosity. The handful of spectators returned to their buildings as he stared at them with a face that could have cut glass.

  Satisfied that he’d done what he could, he used the car radio to alert headquarters about the drone attack and settled in to wait for a field team to arrive, along with the bomb squad. His hope was that they could disarm the downed drone and identify something that would lead to its operator. He would have to forego directing the tactical team at the shooting site until backup arrived here, and he called in the change of plans before ordering the dispatcher to patch him through to Briones.

  The lieutenant’s voice came over the radio a moment later, and Cruz switched to his earbud.

  “Lieutenant, we found the driver, but we were attacked when we tried to grab him. Nobody survived. There were shooters everywhere in the buildings around here. Nobody on our team stood a chance. There’s backup on its way, but I want you to get to the site and oversee a search. I’m stuck a few blocks away.” Cruz told him about the explosions, and when he finished, Briones sounded shocked.

  “Drones? Like they use in combat?”

  “Exactly. Armed with bombs of some sort. They were homing in on my phone. I don’t know how, but it got compromised.”

  “You’re o
kay?”

  “Yes, but I’m waiting to ensure nobody tries to make off with any evidence.” Cruz paused. “Any calls from Dinah or Godoy?”

  “Not that I know of. Give me a second and I’ll check with your secretary.”

  “Thanks.”

  Briones returned two minutes later. “Nothing from either of them, but Capitan? You probably better get back here. Godoy’s wife is in your office – she says it’s an emergency and she needs to talk to you.”

  Cruz shook his head. “His wife?”

  “Yes. I asked her what was wrong, but she said she’d wait to tell you. Only you. She stressed that.”

  “I’m going to be a while,” he growled.

  “She seems distraught. Barely holding it together.”

  “Damn. I don’t have time for this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cruz sighed. “Fine. When the bomb squad gets here, I’ll come in. How soon can you get to the shooting scene? There’s a strong possibility that Aranas was there. The chances that he still is are nonexistent, but nevertheless I want a building-to-building search, and I want the neighborhood cordoned off so nobody can get past police lines. Probably way too late, but we need to do something in case any of the shooters are in the area and try to slip by.”

  Briones hesitated. “That will require a lot of manpower.”

  “Then requisition it. It needs to happen.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  “Any further news on the buildings they’ve sealed off?”

  “Not yet. All I can get is the official line: that it’s a terrorist threat and there could be a bomb. If anyone knows anything else, they aren’t talking.”

  “Damn.” Cruz looked back at the coils of smoke winding into the air from the crater. “I’ll need a cell phone. Mine’s history.”

  “We have a ton of spares. I’ll leave one in your office.”

  A huge explosion rocked the car, and Cruz stared off in its direction as a fireball lit the sky.

  “What was that?” Briones demanded.

  “I don’t know. It sounded like a bomb. From where the shoot-out took place.” Cruz frowned. “I have no idea what the hell’s going on, Lieutenant, but whatever it is, I want you to be extremely careful. We’re flying blind in this, and that’s a good way to get killed.”

  “I will. I’ll be on the comm line if you need anything.”

  Chapter 37

  The task force floor was quiet when Cruz returned, only a skeleton crew working the night shift. A janitor was mopping the ceramic tile floor as Cruz stepped through the doors and made his way across the expanse to his office in the far corner, furious at how the day had gone by in a whirl with no progress made on freeing his wife or Godoy’s ridiculous task force, and their only lead on Aranas having turned into a bloodbath with nothing but dead officers to show for it.

  He opened his door and found Mrs. Godoy sitting at his conference table, her face drawn. Cruz had never met the woman and was taken aback by how attractive she was. He’d always assumed that a cockroach like Godoy would be married to something equivalently odious, but even though she was in her fifties, the considerable beauty that must have been her youthful joy was still very much in evidence.

  She stood as he approached and offered a delicate hand. Cruz shook it and took the seat opposite her.

  “Mrs. Godoy, I’m afraid I have very little time. This is highly irregular, and I’m in the middle of several crises…”

  “Capitan Cruz, I know you and my husband don’t always get along, but he’s mentioned your name a number of times as the most competent officer on the force.”

  “I appreciate the praise, but–”

  Her voice dropped to a hush. “My husband’s been kidnapped.”

  Cruz sat forward, his shock obvious. “What? When?”

  “Last night. I got the call this morning. He was taken at his mistress’s apartment. That’s all I know.”

  Cruz looked away at the pained expression on the woman’s face. It was clear to Cruz that she hadn’t known about her husband’s dalliances until the call.

  “Did you report the ransom call to the police?” he asked.

  She snorted. “Are you kidding? The kidnappers just grabbed one of the senior police officials in the country. You think they’re afraid of the cops? We both know the DF force is a joke – there are more kidnappings in this city than almost anywhere in the world. And how many wind up being solved by the police? I know the numbers, Capitan. Almost none.”

  Cruz couldn’t dispute her reasoning. It was the ugly truth. Most didn’t bother reporting kidnappings, preferring to pay in order to safeguard their loved ones rather than allow the local police to blunder through, which usually resulted in the victim’s death.

  His voice softened. “But you’re telling me.”

  “Yes. Because you’re not like the rest. You may actually be able to do something.”

  He considered her words. Here he was, almost nine hours after his wife had called to announce she was being held captive against her will, and he’d achieved absolutely nothing to free her.

  Cruz shook his head. “Your faith in me isn’t justified, Mrs. Godoy. I don’t handle kidnappings. I have no real experience investigating them – that’s not what I do.”

  “You’re honest, which is a good start. And you know everybody. You run a large organization. You must have informants. All I’m asking you to do is try. I don’t expect miracles.”

  “What are the terms of the ransom?”

  “They want a million U.S. dollars.”

  Cruz’s eyebrows lifted. “I see. And do you have that kind of money?”

  It was her turn to look away. “I can probably get it. But it would make things very difficult.”

  Of course it would. Especially since she was probably planning to divorce Godoy once he was freed, if she didn’t kill him first. That was her million the kidnappers would have walked away with, her piece of the marriage wealth she’d have claim to in divorce proceedings. Cruz could understand her reluctance to pay it in order to free a cheating spouse – especially an objectionable piece of excrement like her husband.

  His face showed nothing. “How much time did they give you?”

  “They want the money by tomorrow. I told them that was impossible, and that I’d need at least a couple of days. They didn’t like it, but they agreed.”

  “So we have…thirty-six hours?”

  She nodded. “About that.”

  “Have they called back?”

  “No.”

  Cruz stood. He needed this like he needed a hole in his head. He was formulating his refusal when she began crying, as though she sensed his coming rejection.

  “I…I’m sorry, Capitan,” she sobbed. “I just don’t know who else to turn to. He always told me that if he was ever in real trouble, you’d be the one he’d want on the case. And now…now he’s in trouble. I hope he wasn’t wrong about you. He said you are an honorable man.”

  Cruz moved to his desk and fished out a box of tissues he kept for his allergies. He handed her one and sat again. He’d never been good with crying women and felt his heart go out to her, even though he despised her husband.

  “Can you think of anyone who might be connected with this?” Cruz asked. “Anyone who holds a grudge against him?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve spent the whole day wondering about that, but there’s nobody. Then again, it seems I don’t really know anything about my husband, do I? I had to hear about this…this other woman, from his kidnappers.”

  “Did they mention her name?”

  “No.”

  “And you have no idea where he was snatched?”

  “None.”

  Cruz felt himself getting sucked into the situation and made a decision. “I’ll do what I can, which isn’t much. We can pull your phone records and see where the call originated, but that’s likely a dead end. Most kidnappers know enough to place their ransom calls with untraceable or stolen cell phone
s. And we can look at your husband’s credit card bills and see whether there were any charges yesterday that might indicate where he last was, as well as check his bank records to see whether he’s made any suspicious payments.”

  Mrs. Godoy looked puzzled. Cruz clarified. “Often, if a married man is seeing another woman, money changes hands – perhaps some help with bills or a loan to help a sick relative…assuming it’s not a more…commercial transaction.”

  “I didn’t even think about that.”

  Cruz couldn’t grasp how a good-looking woman could see her repellant husband as anything but a paying customer, but there was no point in belaboring it. “I’ll need your signature on some forms to do all this.”

  Relief flooded her features. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Capitan. Of course I’ll sign whatever you wish.”

  Cruz nodded and rose again. “Mrs. Godoy, I have to warn you that you’d be best off preparing to pay the ransom. You know how slim the likelihood is that we can locate him in time. These kidnapping rings are usually organized and experienced, and they rarely make mistakes large enough for us to track them down. I’m not going to lie to you. My efforts will probably do no good.” He wanted to add that she should refuse to pay the ransom, and instead take the money and spend the season in Paris or Barcelona, but held his tongue.

  She stood and dabbed her eyes, and then removed a card and wrote two phone numbers on the back of it. “This is my home number, and this is my cell. Call me anytime.”

  He took the card and motioned to the door. “Nothing will get done before the morning, I’m afraid. As you can see, the office is largely empty. But I’ll put some people on it then, and you can expect a group to want access to your phone line so we can trace any new calls.”