Return of the Assassin (Assassin Series 3)

by Blake, Russell

  Three hours later, he checked his e-mail account and downloaded twenty high resolution satellite images from that morning. Paolo’s complex was indeed remotely located, near El Rincón De Los Montes, thirty miles north of Culiacán. It was an area understood to be under cartel control, so getting near Paolo’s hideout without tripping an alarm would be almost impossible.

  There was only one way in that he could think of, and it would have to be surgically precise, with no margin for error. As he studied the photos, he confirmed that the property was large enough so that with a little luck he would be able to pull it off. A wall encircled the outer reaches of the lot, and a second wall ringed the actual compound, with the area between the two the minefield – it wouldn’t be a cakewalk, but not impossible either. He’d seen worse and had pulled off more difficult capers. The wrinkle on this one was that he needed to take his target alive.

  The weather forecast called for scattered showers later in the day, clearing by nightfall. Not ideal, but he could work around it.

  El Rey made another call and confirmed his requirements. Hector took detailed notes as the assassin detailed the multi-pronged approach they would employ to penetrate Paolo’s defenses, and by the end of the fifteen-minute dissertation had a list two pages long he’d need to scramble to assemble.

  His planning concluded for the time being, El Rey flipped over the do not disturb sign on his hotel room door and closed the blackout curtains. Best to rest while he could because things were about to get hectic.

  He was asleep within three minutes of his head hitting the pillow.

  ~

  “That’s okay. I’ll just wait here until he has a minute to see me,” Cruz said to the secretary at the court chambers, where the judge was hard at work in his office.

  “This is really very irregular. You should have called and made an appointment,” she complained.

  “I’ve been calling for days. His assistant hasn’t been able to arrange a meeting and didn’t return my last two calls. I’m afraid that even though he is a judge, my business is not the kind that can be ignored. I need ten minutes of his time, and I’m not leaving until I get it. Notify His Honor that Captain Romero Cruz, the head of the El Rey and anti-cartel task forces, is sitting in his waiting room and has committed to stay for as long as is necessary to get a meeting.”

  Cruz had slim patience after the prior night’s debacle at the meth lab. He was operating on four hours of sleep and had endured quite enough of being stonewalled by the judge. He needed answers, and the trail was getting colder every hour.

  Twenty minutes later, a polished young man in an expensive, impeccably cut suit exited from one of offices beyond the secretary’s desk and approached Cruz with an insincere smile. He greeted Cruz with a hearty handshake, introduced himself as Rael, the judge’s assistant, and then invited him to his office.

  “No, thank you. I’m waiting for the judge. You didn’t return my calls, so I thought I’d cut to the chase,” he informed Rael.

  “I really must insist that you accompany me. We can’t have a federal police captain sitting all day in the outer waiting room–”

  “That’s exactly what you will have, unless you get me in to see the judge, now. My need to question him is not a suggestion or an option. It’s obligatory, and I’m not used to taking no for an answer. So either get me in, or I will be here until he tries to sneak past for lunch or to leave for the day. Do I make myself clear?” Cruz growled. He was done being nice.

  The assistant’s eyes narrowed to slits, and he shook his head. “You really would be better advised to change your tone, Captain. This is a very powerful man. You should have some respect for the office.”

  “And you should have some respect for the head of the Federales cartel task force, appointed by the president. Now that we’ve established who I am, and our relative positions in the pecking order, I’d suggest you do as I say and get him, or this will get unpleasant.”

  “Not smart, Captain. Not smart at all. I’ll go see what I can arrange,” Rael warned ominously and returned through the door to his office.

  Ten minutes later, Cruz’s phone rang. His superior was on the line.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Cruz stared at the phone in disbelief. “Come again?”

  “Why are you irritating one of the most influential judges in the court system?”

  “I need to ask him some questions about the El Rey investigation – you know, the one that’s top secret, and that nobody seems to want to talk about? Last time I checked, I’m chartered with finding the assassin, and suddenly those involved in his transportation from the prison are incommunicado. I need to talk to the judge,” Cruz explained.

  “Capitan. Listen to me very carefully. You are to leave the court right now and come to my office. You are not to threaten the staff there–”

  “Threaten? I–”

  “You are not to question me, or disobey this direct order, or you won’t have a job by the end of the day. I am not joking. Either do as I am instructing, or you are finished, and the only thing you’ll be investigating by tomorrow is how bad the job market is for a washed-up ex-police captain…”

  Cruz couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’m doing my job.”

  “And I am telling you that if you want to have a job, you will come straight to my office, now, with no delays. If any part of that seems unclear, tell me now, because I’m rapidly running low on patience. This is not a negotiation.”

  Cruz choked down the anger at this empty suit interfering with his investigation. There was no point in getting furious. The judge had obviously pulled some important strings, and there was no bucking city hall.

  “Fine. I’ll be there in half an hour,” Cruz conceded, then hung up.

  The secretary smiled sweetly at him as he stood to leave, but didn’t say a word. Cruz slammed the door to the chambers on the way out and immediately regretted the childish act of rage.

  His antennae were sounding a full alarm now. What was so important about keeping quiet that his boss would threaten to fire him, risking a media firestorm when he went to the press with the account of El Rey’s escape and the cover-up, as well as the obstruction of the investigation?

  What the hell was going on? And whose side was his superior on?

  As he tromped down the marble stairs inside the court and made for the front entrance, he was getting a very bad feeling. Nothing about this investigation had gone normally so far, and it had just taken a turn for the surreal with this latest twist.

  Cruz’s car was waiting around the corner in the official parking lot. As he approached it, his thoughts whirling, he resolved to pull back on his usual aggressive approach and see what he could glean in his impending meeting.

  ~

  The president’s assistant hurried into his office, giving him a warning glance as she eyed him. He looked at her over the shoulders of the two men he was meeting with and stiffened when he saw the expression on her face.

  “You have an important call, sir. I’m afraid it can’t wait,” she said with urgency.

  The president nodded his assent. “Gentlemen. I’ll require some privacy. Can we reconvene in twenty minutes?” he asked.

  The men stood and moved to the door. The assistant brushed past them as they left and handed the president a cell phone. He waited until the door closed behind them and he was alone before speaking.

  “Yes?”

  “I trust you have given our proposal some thought? It is, after all, a simple request that you honor your prior obligation.”

  “You kidnap my child and speak of honor?”

  “If you hadn’t double-crossed me, I wouldn’t have been forced to take such draconian steps. It is your treachery, your failure to fulfill your part of the bargain, that has led to such an unfortunate outcome. Luckily, you have an opportunity to make things right – something few people get. A second chance.”

  “If you harm a hair on her–�
�

  “Yes, yes, I know, you’ll hunt me down to the ends of the earth. Save it. I’ll make this brief. I want all offensives against my group halted, effective immediately, or I will send you pieces of your little whore for each shipment you stop. I also want you to direct your considerable resources at stopping the growth of Los Zetas cartel. Exactly as you agreed to do before the election.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Oh, I think we both know that it is. It was straightforward enough when you wanted to be president. Now it’s time to make good on your part of the bargain. Or did you think you could fuck me like a schoolgirl and get away with it? The only reason you’re sitting in the office you hold is because of me. So get with the program and start doing your job or your daughter will pay a horrible price. She’ll have a hard time finding a husband with no ears.”

  “But–”

  “No buts. I know you don’t want to do this because you’ve made a deal with my enemies. But while they are dangerous, they don’t have the power to sear off your loved one’s face with a blowtorch for the afternoon’s recreation. You made a poor choice double-crossing me, but maybe we can start all over again. I’m a reasonable man.”

  “And if I do as you say?”

  “Then we play it by ear.” Don Aranas chuckled. “No pun intended. Perhaps after a few months of seeing you honor your commitment, Maria will come home to you. By that time you’ll be in a position where you won’t be able to curry favor with Los Zetas anymore – they’ll be trying to kill you every day, if I’m correct. So it will be a matter of self-preservation to do the right thing and side with me against them. For which I will be grateful.”

  “You are out of your mind.”

  “I’m done trying to reason with you. Make your decision.”

  The president scowled, trying to calculate a way out of the situation. There was none. “Very well. I will do as you ask.”

  “A wise decision, El Presidente. But I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  Aranas hung up, leaving the president staring at the cell phone in his hand like it was a poisonous snake.

  Chapter 12

  Upon his arrival at headquarters, Cruz took the elevator to the top floor, where the bigwigs ruled their roost while their subordinates risked their lives on the line every day. His superior’s offices were lavish, as befitted the chief of the federal police – a newly appointed ex-lawyer whose entire experience in law enforcement consisted of being the brown-nosing yes-man to the president before he was elected and a degree in criminal justice that had been procured by engaging in the least amount of studying while partying his way through university.

  Eduardo Godoy was the picture of bureaucratic ease – a dignified, handsome man in his early forties who preferred Armani suits to police uniforms. His suite was sumptuously appointed, with a private receptionist and a wood-paneled waiting room decorated with countless photographs of himself and the president – at functions, shaking hands, walking to a helicopter. The proximity to power was obvious to anyone who entered, which wasn’t lost on Cruz. He would have to watch his step with this idiot and try to get as much information out of him as possible without tipping his hand.

  Cruz was kept waiting ten minutes, which was obligatory – a reminder of his position in the hierarchy. The receptionist’s intercom buzzed. She murmured into her headset, then motioned to Cruz to go to Godoy’s office.

  When he opened the door, he was surprised to see not only Godoy, but also Rodriguez, the second in command from CISEN, the Mexican equivalent of the CIA – a man with whom Cruz had some history from the failed assassination attempt El Rey had perpetrated a few months earlier.

  Godoy gestured to Cruz to take a seat next to Rodriguez and cleared his throat. “There are some matters that need clarification. The investigation into El Rey’s escape has been taken over, effective immediately, by CISEN. I believe you know Assistant Director Rodriguez? He will be spearheading the effort, and I need you to hand over everything you’ve gathered so far,” Godoy instructed.

  Cruz’s mouth dropped open. Nothing in his twenty-plus-year career as a federal policeman could have prepared him for this. “I don’t understand. CISEN isn’t an investigative entity. This is a criminal matter – a federal prisoner has escaped, and I, the head of the task force chartered with capturing him, am being pulled off the case in favor of our esteemed intelligence agency? Do you mind if I ask what is going on here?” Cruz demanded.

  Rodriguez shifted to regard Cruz. “There are some dynamics that have come to light that make this a matter of national security, Capitan Cruz.”

  “Dynamics? Come to light? The assassin who tried twice to assassinate the president, who is a cold-blooded mass murderer the likes of which Mexico has never seen, escapes from an impenetrable federal prison, and there are dynamics that have come to light? What does that even mean?” Cruz raged.

  “What it means is that there are certain things that have occurred, that I can’t discuss, that make this CISEN’s jurisdiction now, and which nobody has to explain to you or receive your approval for. For what it’s worth, I know of your interest and emotional investment in this case, and I completely appreciate it, but my hands are tied. We have taken it over, you are out of it, and that’s the end of the discussion,” Rodriguez said evenly.

  “Captain Cruz. I know this doesn’t sit well, but you have to trust that those above you know what they are doing,” Godoy assured him. “If CISEN is now involved, it really does end our interest in the affair. There is nothing more to say, no?”

  “When did this happen?” Cruz spat.

  “This morning. I just got the word. I’m sorry you had to be informed in this abrupt a fashion, but it doesn’t change matters.” Rodriguez fixed Cruz with a hard stare. “When can I get your files?”

  Cruz took several calming breaths. There was no winning this battle, not with his superior kicking the chair out from under him. He could continue fighting, or do the smart thing. Age and experience ultimately dictated the outcome.

  “Come downstairs and I’ll hand them over,” Cruz said.

  “Very well. And I don’t need to remind you that because CISEN is now in charge of the investigation, there can be no discussion about this meeting or the transition. We require confidence in this. If necessary, I can brand it top secret and force you to sign a classification document,” Rodriguez said.

  “That won’t be necessary. I get it. CISEN, for unknown reasons, is now in the El Rey hunting business, and it’s no longer my concern. Frankly, that’s a relief because I can return to what I’m supposed to be doing – catching cartel bad guys. I can wash my hands of this, and he’s your problem now.” Cruz looked at Godoy with barely concealed disgust. “Is there anything else?”

  “I want to thank you for your understanding in this matter, Captain. Sorry for the unpleasantness earlier. But I needed to get you out of the judge’s offices before this escalated. I hope there are no hard feelings. Everyone’s satisfied with the way you are running the cartel task force, and we all feel there is no better man for the job,” Godoy said, sounding every bit the slick political creature he was.

  “I appreciate the praise. Coming from you, it’s a high honor indeed,” Cruz said without any inflection. Godoy couldn’t tell whether Cruz was insulting him or not, but decided to let it go.

  Cruz stood and regarded his CISEN counterpart. “Rodriguez. Care to accompany me to my office?”

  ~

  Paolo’s home was four miles from the nearest paved road, down a long, winding track that had been crafted using river stones and concrete set into the soft soil. There were two separate guard stations, one at the entry to each walled area; both had a pair of men equipped with radios, automatic weapons and night vision scopes. A heavy iron gate hung from the substantial stone pillars, and a series of signs on the ten-foot-high outer wall encircling the plot warned of private property, guard dogs and security patrols.

  Nobody knew who owned the large trac
t of land, but then again, this was a region where asking intrusive questions was often fatal. None of the locals had any interest in engaging the obviously menacing guards and their snarling Rottweilers, and whenever a hapless peasant had to make the trek down the main road on foot, it was always on the far side, as far from the gates as the overgrown shoulder would allow.

  Inside the inner wall that protected the main buildings, a large colonial flat-roofed hacienda was surrounded by guest houses and two stables. Four SUVs sat in the expansive open area between the darkened structures, where groups of two and three guards lounged at their posts. At midnight, the countryside and hills were quiet, other than the occasional distant roar of a semi-rig air-braking on the highway twelve miles from the property.

  An ancient delivery truck whose home-made plywood cargo box stretched nine feet above its bed puttered and groaned along the road, the odor of undetonated fuel and raw exhaust belching from its un-muffled pipes, headlights dim owing to a faulty alternator. The front wheels wobbled from countless collisions with curbs. The two guards looked on as it made its unsteady way up the road’s slight incline. As it approached their station, the engine gave out with a bang and it coasted to a stop across from the main gate.

  The guards remained in their little bunker and watched with mild curiosity as an old man, wearing a battered straw hat and clothes that would have been an embarrassment on a beggar, swung the rusting driver’s door open with a squeal and stepped down onto the ground. The bang of the hood release disengaging sounded through the trees like a firecracker, then the driver propped open the hood with a nearby branch and went back into the cab to get a flashlight.

  He flicked on the beam, which immediately faded from poor to non-existent. Cursing richly in Spanish, he kicked the front tire with his shabby huarache sandal. Resigned to a long and horrible night, he rooted around in the breast pocket of his filthy long-sleeved shirt and retrieved a hand-rolled cigarette, which he lit with a match fished from his trousers.