Return of the Assassin (Assassin Series 3)

by Blake, Russell

  “Someone went to a lot of trouble to plan this out. When did the route and the schedule get formalized, and who knew about it?” Cruz inquired.

  “Too many. The staff at the court, at the prison, and everyone connected with arranging the vans and the guards, including within the Federales. Easier to ask at this point who didn’t know about it. As to the schedule, it was inked yesterday.”

  “Why was he being taken to court?”

  “The lead judge wanted to see him in person before making a final determination on his sentence. It’s his prerogative.”

  “Are you kidding me? The man is the most infamous killer in Mexico. What would staring at him do that the record of countless assassinations doesn’t? That makes absolutely no sense,” Cruz fumed.

  “Agreed, but you know judges. They’re like demi-gods, living in ivory towers while we worker ants clean up the messes. And what they say, goes.”

  Cruz shook his head. The system was crazy. They’d worked for years to put this animal behind bars, only to have him handed an opportunity to escape before he was even formally sentenced.

  Sometimes Cruz really hated the whole bureaucracy. He should have just shot the assassin when he’d had the chance. He could still remember the temptation upon seeing his nemesis spread-eagled on the hood of Briones’ police cruiser, his service pistol trembling in his right hand from the adrenaline of the chase as he sighted on the killer’s inert form. He could have done the world a favor then, and nobody would have questioned a later story that El Rey had appeared to have been reaching for a weapon.

  Sadly, that wasn’t how the game worked. But it was still a compelling daydream.

  Now, the super-assassin who had been responsible for multiple attempts on the president’s life, who had killed scores, if not hundreds, with the cold-blooded precision of a slaughterhouse, had beaten them again and was once more out in the world while Cruz and his colleagues scrambled to close the barn door.

  To call it disheartening was the understatement of the decade.

  Cruz made the mental commitment that if he ever had the assassin in his cross hairs again, he would pull the trigger without hesitation and rid the world once and for all of one of its most lethal predators.

  Which was easy enough to commit to when he was free as a bird and probably winging his way at high speed via private jet or helicopter even as Cruz stood entertaining schoolboy flights of fancy.

  Cruz watched the interrogation of the Nissan couple from a distance, but didn’t have the heart to get involved. He already knew that would yield no clues.

  He and Briones carefully walked the crime scene, the relative solitude disrupted by blaring reports over the radio every few minutes from the roadblocks. Even as they studied every inch of the ground around the van, Cruz sensed that they were wasting their time. He spent a few minutes talking to the three guards, who were now fully conscious, if a little groggy, and peered at the prison chain, neatly cut with bolt cutters – further proof, as if any were needed, that the attackers had been organized and prepared.

  Cruz couldn’t see what his presence there was adding to the party, so he wandered a few paces from the gathered Federales, trailed by Briones.

  “Come on. I want to talk to the warden. We need to start with how the perpetrators knew about the transport in the first place. That’s the weak link. Find the leak, and we’ll be one step closer to finding who broke El Rey out.”

  Chapter 7

  The first thing El Rey noticed when he opened his eyes was the distinctive medicinal smell of a hospital. The low-pitched steady beeping of his pulse tracing a green graph on a small screen a few feet from his bed reinforced his impression, as did the IV bag now mounted on a bedside metal pole. He tried to move his arms and was surprised that he could. No restraints were in evidence, and his legs were also free.

  His mind quickly raced over the implications. Somehow, he had landed in a medical facility, and yet there was no evidence of him being a captive. There were no bars on the window, and he wasn’t cuffed to the bed or in any way restricted. He craned his neck to see whether there were any clothes in the room, but saw nothing, and was rewarded for his effort with a flash of searing pain from the base of his skull.

  His eyes caught the distinctive shape of a closed circuit camera mounted over his bed just as footsteps sounded from the hall outside his door. He laid his head back on the pillow as four men entered. Two were dressed in white medical coats, the other two wore suits. One of the doctors approached him and wordlessly checked his vitals before glancing at the other and stepping away from the edge of the bed. He moved to the IV and expertly removed the cannula from El Rey’s arm, then rolled up the tubing and pushed the stand into the far corner. Both doctors had a hushed discussion before they walked to the door, leaving him alone with the suits.

  “Where am I?” El Rey asked, his throat scratchy.

  “You’re in a private clinic that caters to discreet clientele. Don’t worry. You’re safe,” the older of the two men said.

  “And who are you?”

  “Your rescuers. We arranged to have you freed from your unfortunate situation.”

  “Why?”

  “That is the question, is it not?” The older man turned to his companion. “Francisco, see if you can find some clothes for our guest. I suspect that he won’t feel comfortable meeting with everyone with his ass hanging out the back of a hospital gown.”

  El Rey cleared his throat. “How long have I been here?”

  The older man smiled. “About twenty hours. There’s a manhunt to locate you going on outside these walls, but obviously, it’s not yielding any productive results.”

  “Why have I been unconscious that long?”

  “Tut, tut. All of this will be answered in good time. Suffice it to say that you’re in no danger here – you’re out of prison, with a new lease on life. All your questions will be addressed once you’re cleaned up and feeling up to it. The drugs have a tendency to leave you punchy, so you’ll need a little more time to be a hundred percent. Maybe after lunch we can have a chat,” the older man said and then turned to depart. “Oh, and please don’t try to take off before we have a chance to talk. I would stick around until you’ve heard what I have to say. If you try to slip away before, the consequences for you will be fatal – and I’m not exaggerating,” the older man warned and then moved to the door. “The lads here will be just outside if you need anything. I’ll see that they bring clothes for you right after lunch. See you in a few hours…”

  El Rey regarded the men without emotion as they left, leaving him to his thoughts. So he couldn’t leave. No explanation other than trying to do so would be fatal. He was a fair judge of character and detected nothing in the stranger’s expression to lead him to believe he’d been bluffing. El Rey had been in their care, at their mercy, for almost a full day. Another hour wouldn’t hurt.

  He closed his eyes, waiting for clarity to fully return. Eventually, an orderly entered with a tray of food and then slipped out as silently as he’d arrived. Twenty minutes later, lunch had disappeared, and the same orderly returned with a change of clothes.

  “There’s a shower in the bathroom,” he said, placing the small pile on the chair by the door.

  El Rey inspected himself in the mirror as he waited for the water to get warm. He hadn’t shaved for two days, but there was no razor anywhere, so that was a moot point. He didn’t look bad – not like he’d suffered any trauma. All things considered, he felt reasonably strong, and more alert and coherent with each passing moment. The food had helped, and as he stepped under the stream of water, the shower helped more.

  Once he was dressed, he waited patiently for someone to come get him. There was no point in exploring an escape route – why anyone would go to the trouble to break him out of the highest security prison in the country only to keep him captive elsewhere made no sense that he could see.

  Much as it went against his nature, he’d have to play it by ear and wait t
o discover how the situation developed.

  ~

  As the three heavily-muscled guards escorted El Rey to a small conference room, he noted that the halls and the appointments were expensive and ultra-modern. This was no back-alley operation; that much was clear.

  The older man greeted him and told him to take a seat at the far end of the table. He did as instructed, declining the offer of a beverage. There were three other men in the room, and El Rey did a quick calculation that he could kill them all in under twenty seconds.

  “You’re probably wondering what this is all about. Allow me to offer as much information as I can, and then you can ask questions.” The man paused and took a sip of water from a plastic bottle before continuing. He nodded, and a younger man in a suit walked to the switch by the door and dimmed the overhead lights. “My name, for your purposes, is Hector. I’m with the government.”

  El Rey froze, but Hector shook his head, as if admonishing a child.

  “You are no doubt puzzled as to why the government would organize your escape from prison, seeing as you’re the most dangerous felon in Mexican history. Fact is, we have a need for your services. Whatever your sins, you are the best at what you do, and we require the best for an errand,” he continued.

  El Rey stared at him blankly.

  “Three days ago, this woman was kidnapped from a nightclub in Mexico City.” He switched on an overhead projector, and Maria’s face appeared on the far wall. “Her security team was incapacitated, and she disappeared without a trace. You may or may not recognize her…”

  “That’s the president’s daughter. I recognize her from the papers,” El Rey observed.

  “Correct. Maria. That night, or rather just before dawn, we received a call from the kidnappers. A slew of demands were made, but those aren’t important. What you need to know is that a raid on the most likely location where she could be held captive came up empty. The decision was then made to go a more unorthodox route. Not everyone was in agreement; however, you were ultimately selected as the man most capable of getting Maria back safely,” Hector said.

  “Me.” El Rey digested the information. “Find Maria, and extract her? Why me?”

  “Maria is being held by the Sinaloa cartel. Your ex-employer. We obviously don’t know where. But if anyone can locate her, you can, with your contacts and your knowledge of their operations. So we’ve sprung you from prison, with nobody aware of the circumstances other than the president, myself, and a few other people, in order for you to find and rescue Maria.”

  El Rey’s mouth quivered as he tried not to smirk.

  Hector shook his head. “I know what you’re probably thinking. You are imagining walking out these doors and doing nothing of the kind, and simply disappearing, never to be heard from again. Before you go down that road too far, you need to know a few things. The reason it would be a bad idea is because this morning you were injected with a neurotoxin, which will kill you within seven days, unless you receive the antidote from us. Symptoms will begin to appear within six, but can be delayed with a booster shot that will buy you another three or four. But at that point, you die unless you get the antidote.”

  El Rey’s eyes betrayed nothing.

  “Just to save you from wasting time we don’t have, you have no chance of discovering an antidote yourself. This is a top secret formula developed by our colleagues in the American clandestine apparatus that they graciously shared with us – for a price. There is no laboratory in existence outside of the one that created it that can halt the process. It’s foolproof, and I think it readily explains why it is in your best interests to be successful. The transaction is a simple one. You need to bring the girl back to us so you can go on living.”

  El Rey considered the ultimatum. “If you want my cooperation, you will not incarcerate me again after this.”

  “Unacceptable.”

  “Then there’s nothing to discuss. I have no fear of dying.”

  Hector didn’t argue. He merely stood, fished a cell phone from his breast pocket and depressed a speed dial button. A few moments later he had a whispered discussion and then terminated the call.

  “We can’t have you going back on the street and carrying on your career as a hit man. That’s not negotiable,” Hector stated flatly.

  “Fine. I have no interest in returning to the game. But that brings up an interesting point. I will require a full presidential pardon for all past crimes, without exception.” He studied Hector’s face. “And how do I know that you will allow me to live?”

  “I can check on the pardon. Give me a few minutes. As to how you know you’ll live…some things will be based on trust. There’s no other way to structure a guarantee. But the government is not in the habit of executing people for doing it a fav–”

  “Find out about the pardon,” El Rey snapped.

  Hector made another call and then excused himself and left the room. Five minutes later he returned, followed by another man in slacks and a dress shirt, the top button open and the red silk tie pulled loose.

  The president sat down across from El Rey.

  El Rey returned his gaze.

  The president cleared his throat. “You tried to kill me. Several very brave men died at your hands that day. And you want me to pardon you?”

  “Correct. A full pardon. Which won’t really matter if I’m unsuccessful, because from what I’ve been told, I either have to succeed or I’ll die. Obviously, I’d like to plan for a successful outcome, and I don’t want to be hunted for the rest of my life if by some miracle I pull it off,” El Rey explained in a quiet voice.

  “Do you think you can do it?” the president asked.

  “Sounds like I have no choice. But I will say that I have access to significantly different sources than you do, as well as different techniques I can employ. So if it can be done, I can do it. Although my specialty isn’t rescuing people, as you know. Still. If that’s what it takes, maybe I can quickly develop a liking for it…”

  “She’s my only daughter.”

  “I understand. And this is my only life. They told me about the injection.” El Rey held the president’s eyes.

  “We need a guarantee that you will return. That’s what they came up with.”

  “And you gave the order.”

  “Yes. I’m out of options.” The president looked away.

  “So now we are not so different after all, are we? Neither of us has a choice, and we both will do what we must in order to prevail.” El Rey paused. “The pardon is my condition. If you’re unwilling to give it, I’m as good as dead anyway. There is no way I’ll survive indefinitely with Aranas’ gang gunning for me in prison. Which all presumes I can save your daughter and get her back here alive. Otherwise I won’t need a pardon. I’ll need a body bag.”

  The president stood, the meeting at an end. He had made his decision. “You’ll get your pardon.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to see it before I go on this…assignment.”

  “You’ll have it within an hour. Do you need anything else?”

  “Just your word that if I succeed, you won’t let them allow me to die.” El Rey fixed him with a cold stare.

  The president rubbed one hand through his hair, clearly fatigued. “You have my word they won’t let you die. Now can we get on with this? Every minute counts,” the president said, opening the door.

  “I’ll need some items. A plane. A car. Some weapons. Money.”

  “Fine. Tell Hector, and he’ll make it so.” The president turned in the doorway. “Maria is twenty-two years old. She’s my world.” His voice cracked.

  “Then let’s not waste any time.”

  The president exited, and the remaining men looked at El Rey expectantly.

  “I’ll make a list of what I will require. Do you have a pen and a piece of paper?” he asked.

  Hector slid a tablet and a pen to him. El Rey momentarily considered leaping over the desk and driving it through his throat, but then discarde
d the idea, satisfying as it would feel.

  He scribbled a column of items – a private jet for transportation, a rental car in Culiacán, a passport with a new name, an ATM card with a hundred thousand dollar limit, ten thousand dollars in cash, a silenced Beretta 9mm and a backpack with grenades, a set of night vision goggles, and a variety of assault rifles and ammunition.

  He slid the tablet back to Hector and watched him read it, nodding.

  “I’ll need it within twenty-four hours. Now tell me more about this injection so I know what I’m dealing with,” El Rey demanded.

  Hector looked at one of the men who had remained silent until then.

  “It’s a synthetic time-released neurotoxin that attacks the protein coating of the nervous system, slowly degrading the synaptic bridge and ultimately resulting in respiratory failure. For six days you should be fine, and then you’ll start to experience…problems. Neuro-muscular control will degrade, tremors will begin, auto-immune symptoms will start presenting – joint pain, headaches, insomnia, auditory and visual hallucinations, and then ultimately, complete loss of all bodily functions culminating in death by suffocation.”

  “What’s the bad news?” El Rey asked.

  “With a booster shot, the six-day period can last as many as ten before you go terminal, but if you don’t get the antidote by day ten, I’m afraid the progression becomes irreversible, and it will be a matter of hours before you…before the sequence is complete.”

  “I see. And that’s okay to do because you’re the government. If I kill people, I’m a monster, but when you do it…” El Rey said.

  “There’s no point arguing over what’s done, although coming from an assassin who’s terminated more targets than I’ve eaten steak dinners, I find it amusing that you are indignant.” Hector smiled. “I think at this stage you would be better served considering how you’re going to accomplish your mission than focusing on recriminations.”

  The assassin glared at him, and Hector shivered involuntarily. The sentiment on El Rey’s face couldn’t have been clearer.