King of Swords (Assassin series #1)

by Russell Blake

  “Yes, sir. Again, none of this was my doing. The night sergeant probably had no idea who this man was…”

  “You mean Juan Perez? No, I suppose he probably didn’t. And now, neither do we. I want that in my inbox within five minutes, Sergeant,” Briones ordered, hanging up the phone, incredulous at the exchange. Just when he thought he’d seen everything…

  His rumination over the incompetence of the justice system was interrupted by his phone buzzing yet again. He grabbed it and stabbed the offending line button.

  “What is it now?” he barked.

  “There’s a Señorita Tortora to see you, here at security, sir. In the lobby by the phones,” the security team head from the detail in the lobby said.

  “Ah. All right. Thank you. Is there any way you can escort her up here?” Briones asked.

  “Sure. I’ll have one of the men bring her to your office immediately, sir.”

  A few minutes later, a beaming young officer arrived with Dinah in tow. Briones noticed that most of the cops on the floor had stopped whatever they were doing, their attention riveted on her. She wore jeans and a pastel blue blouse, with only a light dusting of makeup highlighting her features, but the effect was dazzling.

  He thanked the officer, who lingered a while before Briones gave him a hard stare as he offered Dinah a seat. She accepted, placing her purse on her lap, and waited in silence.

  “One moment please, Dinah. I’m just finishing up something. I need to send an e-mail, and then we can get going,” he told her as he studied his screen before entering a series of rapid keystrokes and hitting return.

  “No problem. Take your time. I expect you’ll tell me what happened to Captain Cruz on the way to the hospital?”

  “I’ll tell you as much as I’m allowed. Okay, I think that should do it. Did you take the bus here?” he inquired politely, shutting off his monitor.

  “Yes. I don’t really drive much. It’s too terrifying in this city. People are maniacs. Although, now that I have my father’s car, I should start. I just haven’t worked up the courage yet…”

  “Trust me, I know. All right then, I’ll drive. Right this way,” he directed. He’d sent the prints and photo off for pattern matching, tying in Interpol as well as Mexican national databases, so hopefully the man was on record, somewhere. That was all he could do until they got a match. If they got a match.

  Twenty minutes later, as they fought their way through traffic, the IT clerk in the basement inputted the data and began the search. He’d send the requestor a message if and when they got a hit. The databases in Mexico were primitive – most weren’t linked together – so there were no guarantees that the target would show up, even if he was a known killer in, say, the Yucatán, because the regional offices rarely updated their records with the central system. Sometimes it took years to bring the information current. The operator glanced at the man’s prints with little interest, typed in the Juan Perez name, and leaned back in his chair to devour the second half of his sandwich.

  ~ ~ ~

  Cruz was surprised when Briones appeared in his doorway trailed by Dinah. He felt self-conscious lying in the bed with an array of tubes connected to him, looking like an invalid, but Dinah quickly put him at ease.

  “Lieutenant Briones was kind enough to tell me about your near-miss, Captain. I’m glad you…you pulled through,” she said awkwardly.

  “That makes two of us. It’s nothing, really. I hope he didn’t make it sound like a bigger deal than it really was,” Cruz downplayed.

  “He said you were shot twice?” Dinah said, slightly puzzled, glancing at Briones for confirmation. He nodded.

  “I’d hardly even call it shot. Pea shooters. I’ve had dog bites that have hurt worse than this.”

  She regarded him skeptically – the IV bag, the pulse oximeter, the heart rate monitor, a crash cart waiting in the corner.

  “Must have been some dog,” she replied diplomatically.

  “So, to what can I attribute this visit? Are you doing volunteer work at the hospital? Am I now a charity case?” Cruz inquired with a grin.

  She explained about the box and the book. Cruz’s eyes widened. She approached the bed and placed the book in his hands. He noticed she smelled like flowers, and honey, or maybe it was caramel. It was good, whatever it was.

  He paged through to the last few entries. His eyes darted to Briones. “Lieutenant, please take this and run all the numbers, starting with this last one. It looks like a Mexico City phone number. Can you input the data using your iPhone?”

  Briones nodded. He moved to Cruz’s bedside and took the book, then took a seat by the door and began snapping photos of each page as Dinah and Cruz talked.

  “I’m hoping that this will help with my father’s case. Maybe one of these names will have something to do with it, or give you a new avenue to pursue. Has there been any progress…?”

  “I have a team working on it, but I’ve been, well, otherwise occupied for the last few days…”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I should have known. Getting shot would take priority over case updates, right?” Dinah said sheepishly.

  “I try to maintain time for both, but sometimes…” Cruz took in her face. “How are you doing? You holding up?”

  “It’s hard. I try not to replay the image in my mind, but it keeps…well, you know better than anyone.”

  “I do. But how do you know I do?” Cruz stared at Briones, who was absorbed in the book.

  “Lieutenant Briones told me about your family. I have to apologize. I was such an ass the other day,” Dinah said.

  “Nonsense. You’d just been through an awful experience.” Cruz raised his voice so Briones couldn’t miss it. “So what else has he told you about, besides my family tragedy and shooting? Did he fill you in on my diet, or my vacation plans?”

  Briones looked up from his task, guilt tarnishing his face.

  “Don’t blame him. I can be a ruthlessly-efficient interrogator. Ask any second grader. It’s impossible to keep secrets from me,” Dinah said. They both smiled. He noticed how her face lit up the room as she did so. He liked it.

  “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile, Capitan. I’m glad the shooters didn’t sever the nerves that do that,” she said. They must have been thinking the same thing. His wife used to be able to read his mind in the same way. “Whereabouts were you hit, if you don’t mind me asking?” She seemed genuinely curious.

  “I got nicked in the chest, and plinked in the right leg,” he explained.

  “I hope it didn’t do any permanent damage.”

  “No, everything is in as good a condition as ever,” he replied. An embarrassed silence hung over them, interrupted by Briones.

  “Dinah, can I ask you to step outside for a few minutes? I have a few urgent matters I need to discuss,” he said.

  “Of course. Forgive me. I know you two must have a lot to catch up on. I’ll just go down the hall and get something to drink. I’ll be back in a few minutes, all right?” she asked.

  They both nodded, captivated by her simple charm. She seemed sincerely embarrassed she’d monopolized Cruz’s time. His eyes followed her as she departed, and Briones caught it.

  “She’s quite a woman, no?” Briones remarked.

  “I suppose. I hadn’t noticed,” Cruz said unconvincingly.

  “She seems to like you. You’re a lucky man, Capitan,” Briones teased.

  “Your calling me lucky after I’ve been shot and almost poisoned is beyond the scope of my reasoning, Lieutenant.”

  “I’m just saying.” He flipped his notepad open, and began reciting the events since Maria had been hauled from his hospital room. When he finished, Cruz was stunned.

  “Great work on turning the conduit, but…how the hell does a man who shot someone in front of you, and who paid to have me killed, waltz out of lock-up and vanish? Just how can that happen? Am I hearing this right? Or is this humor of some sort?” Cruz’s agitation was increasing with each
question. The heart rate monitor blipped faster, and his blood pressure was spiking.

  “I know. I wish I was joking. Oh, wait a second. This might be something on the case,” Briones said, as his phone beeped to alert him he’d received a priority message. He skimmed the contents for a moment, and then re-read it. When he met Cruz’s eyes, all the blood had drained from his face and he looked chastened.

  “What? What is it? Did they locate the man, or ID him? Talk to me, Lieutenant.”

  Cruz didn’t think the news could get any stranger or any worse than the story about the killer getting away.

  He was wrong.

  Chapter 17

  “An American diplomat?” Cruz demanded.

  “Yes, sir. The prints matched a set on file for a member of the American embassy in Mexico City. Says his name is Joseph Fitch, and that he’s a commercial attaché,” Briones said.

  Cruz took a few moments to digest the revelation. “Any theories as to why a member of the U.S. embassy would be hiring contract killers to off me, or cold-bloodedly murder antique shop owners?”

  “None, sir. Or at least, none of them good.”

  “Maybe he’s working with the cartels? Co-opted? Wouldn’t be the first time…” Cruz mused.

  “Could be. But doesn’t really matter. If I’m reading this right, he’s got diplomatic immunity,” Briones said, reading from his phone.

  “What? No fucking way. Don’t tell me that immunity applies to hiring hit men or shooting people,” Cruz exclaimed.

  “Uh, I don’t think that’s what it’s supposed to cover, but we’ll have to get the Attorney General involved for a definitive…”

  “He shot a man while you were recording it on tape.”

  “Yes. And assuming he’s still in the country, we could and should go to the Attorney General. Even if he isn’t. Maybe we could extradite him…” Briones trailed off, unconvincing to his own ear.

  “We can worry about the details later. Get the Attorney on the line, give him what you’ve got, and then let’s press the Americans to hand him over. If he’s sided with the cartels, he’s the enemy, and our ‘partner’ up north needs to get with the program.”

  Cruz was processing furiously. He needed to get out of the hospital and back into the field. “Get the doctor in here. I need to determine when I can be released without killing myself.”

  “One more thing. The identification came back on the two shooters who tried to take you out. They’re Knights Templar enforcers. So maybe revenge for Santiago?” Briones tried.

  “Maybe. That’s the most likely explanation. But it doesn’t explain why an American diplomat would be paying to finish the job…”

  “…unless the diplomat was working on behalf of the cartel,” Briones finished. “I get it. Obviously, if the cartels are penetrating and compromising the U.S. diplomatic corps, the problem just got much, much bigger than just Mexico. Now, we’re talking more of a global problem. Certainly for the Americans.”

  Dinah returned at that moment, a can of soda in her hand. She beamed at Cruz again.

  Briones shot him an unmistakable look of admiration. “I’ll go get the doctor,” he said, making himself scarce.

  “We’re going to analyze the information in your father’s book, and hopefully, it will take us in a productive direction, Dinah. Don’t worry. I’m not going to drop this. Trust me when I say that finding your father’s killer is my top priority,” Cruz assured her.

  “I do trust you, and I believe that if anyone can, you can. For now, concentrate on getting better. It’s not every day that you get shot. Thankfully,” she added.

  “I don’t recommend it. But I should be out of here soon, and then I’ll be back driving things.”

  Briones appeared with the doctor, who did a cursory exam, and assured Cruz that he would be out within twenty-four hours.

  “Well, that’s great news, Capitan,” Dinah enthused. “I bet you’ll be glad to be rid of the hospital.”

  “You don’t know how right you are about that,” Cruz assured her. “Briones, let me have one more minute of your time before you leave, if you please.” Cruz looked pointedly at the doctor and Dinah. She got the hint.

  “I hope you get better soon. Try not to get any more dog bites,” she said with a wave, and followed the doctor out of the room. Cruz waited until she was gone and the door had closed.

  “Get me out of here. Transfer me to another area of the hospital, or to a different hospital, but I want out in the next two hours. I don’t like all the weird crap that’s going on, and until we figure it out, I want to make myself hard to find. Take Dinah home; don’t tell her anything more about me, and send the doctor back in when you leave. Arrange a transfer to a different floor, or a new facility, but I’m not remaining here. I feel like a sitting duck, and I don’t want to wait for someone with diplomatic immunity to show up and shoot me, and then give Mexico the finger.” Cruz had digested the unsavory information about the American diplomat, and didn’t like the implications.

  “Absolutely. Will do. And I’m sorry about telling Dinah anything. She just has a way of pulling it out of you…”

  “I have no doubt she’s very persuasive. Now get out of here. Get me moved,” Cruz concluded.

  “Will do.”

  While waiting for Briones, Dinah was innocently enrapturing the doctor – who was just finishing up speaking with her.

  “He’s really lucky to be alive. A slightly different angle on the chest wound, or a few more minutes bleeding out on the pavement, and he’d be dead,” he told her.

  “I’ll say he’s lucky. Thank you, Doctor. You’re a gentleman,” she cooed; the doctor seemed to gain an inch in stature.

  Briones followed after him as he moved to the next room, and had a hurried discussion. The armed Federales sitting in the hall eyed Dinah with curiosity and more than a little interest. She didn’t seem to notice.

  Briones returned, and she fixed him with a look that must have petrified seven year olds.

  “Dog bites, huh?”

  ~ ~ ~

  The Citation Ten executive jet touched down at Dulles International Airport and pulled towards the private charter section, where a well-lit hangar awaited its arrival. Even though it was inbound on an international flight, no customs agents were anywhere in evidence. That had been taken care of in advance. This hangar was off the grid as far as niggling details like passports or searches went. Had been for decades.

  The plane rolled to a stop and a folding hydraulic stairway descended from the fuselage with a precise hiss as the pistons lowered it into place. The small bald man walked carefully down the steps carrying a hastily-packed overnight bag, and continued to the waiting limo – a long black Lincoln with government plates. The driver, wearing a black suit and tie, opened the rear door for him. The new arrival looked inside the car, smiled, and climbed in to sit across from Kent.

  “Welcome home, Joe,” Kent said, holding his hand out to shake.

  “Thanks, Kent. And special thanks for arranging the flight. Nice plane,” Joseph said, clasping Kent’s outstretched hand.

  “It’s the only way to fly, isn’t it?” Kent agreed.

  The car pulled out of the hangar, and soon they were hurtling down the freeway on their way to Virginia.

  “So what happened? How did you wind up in Mexican custody?” Kent asked.

  “I terminated the conduit, as instructed,” Joseph said. “Turned out it was a setup. The Federales were waiting for me. I had zero options but to allow them to take me in. Good going on the computer hacking, by the way. They let me walk out in the morning, no questions asked. Stupid bastards.”

  “Did they get any information from you? Any ID?”

  “What, are you kidding? You know I never carry anything on a job. And no, I didn’t say a word to anyone. As far as they’re concerned, I’m a ghost,” Joseph assured him.

  “I should have known. You’re a magician, as always.” Kent smiled at him. “It’s really good to see
you again, buddy. It’s been too long.”

  “I agree. Next time don’t send me into any hellholes, okay? Maybe someplace fun, like Prague or Buenos Aires?”

  “You got it. Hey, I’m sorry, bud. After four hours in the air, you must be parched. You want some water? A drink? I’ve got scotch and vodka, beer, sodas and H2O. Name your poison,” Kent offered.

  “I could use some water.” Joseph adjusted the air-conditioning so that it was blowing on him. “So what do we do now? Where do we go from here?” he asked.

  “That’s a tough one, Joe.” Kent handed him a bottle of water, cracking the bottle top for him. “We’re going to have to take you off the board in Mexico for a while, at least. Too high profile. I’m thinking we get you an office for a few months, let you run ops from behind the scene, and then get you back on the ground once this thing has played out,” Kent said.

  “Makes sense. I don’t care if I never see Mexico City again. The air sucks, and it’s like living on an anthill. Too many people packed on top of the other,” Joseph complained, downing half the bottle.

  “Been a while since I was there. I’m with you on the crowds, though. I hate them,” Kent agreed.

  Joseph wiped his forehead and took another swig of water.

  “I think I might have picked up a bug in jail. I’m not feeling too…” he said, and then slipped into unconsciousness, the water bottle soundlessly dropping onto the carpet. Twenty seconds later white foam began trickling out of his nose and mouth. Kent retrieved the bottle and screwed the top back on. Amazing what a little superglue could do to create the distinctive crackling sound that mimicked a factory-sealed bottle. Kent pushed a button on the intercom.

  “It’s over. Let’s drop him at the base and get rid of any trace. Grind him up into pieces so small he’ll fit through a straw.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Once the hospital had fallen silent, the bustle of daytime replaced by the hush of night, Cruz propelled himself unsteadily down the hall in the wheelchair that had been left for him by an orderly. He’d gotten the okay to disconnect the intravenous drip and plug the catheter, and had done so a few moments before placing a plastic bag containing his wallet, phone and weapon on his lap. He cautiously wheeled himself through the door. The two Federales could have been statues – Briones had briefed them to stay on guard at ‘his’ room and not to allow anyone in, no matter what, and not to discuss his absence under any circumstances.