Rage Of The Assassin (31 page)

“Why?” the largest of the men demanded.

“That’s none of your business,” Cruz snapped back. “Move out of the way.”

“So you can blow us all up?” another belligerent guard said. “We haven’t slept in days, and you show up barking orders? Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?”

“Look – I know this has been a difficult situation, but let’s keep it simple: I’m a captain in the Federales, and you’re a rent-a-cop. Now move aside.”

The large man glowered at Cruz. “We were good enough to keep everyone from rioting, but now we’re grunions? Screw you. How do we even know you’re really cops? For all we know, you’re terrorists.”

The color rose in Cruz’s face at the overt refusal to yield to his authority. His hand gripped the Glock as he stared the men down. “You realize that I can have you all locked up for a very long time for obstructing a federal officer, right? That outside of your little make-believe world in here, I can have you jailed for years?”

El Rey saw the fire in the men’s eyes and edged away from Cruz. Going head to head with an exhausted, panicked group wasn’t getting them anywhere, and only footsteps away was a bomb that could turn them all to fine mist.

“Hey. Where are you going?” the big guard demanded, but the assassin remained silent as he kept moving while freeing the console from his backpack. “Did you hear me?” the guard barked, and then his eyes widened in fear. “Wait – what’s that?” he yelled, pointing at the console in the assassin’s hands. The guards moved in a rush toward El Rey as Cruz drew his weapon an instant too late.

Aranas’s cell trilled. When he answered it, the courier spoke the words he’d been waiting to hear. “We’re clear.”

He hung up and dialed the president. An aide answered and Aranas growled into the phone. “Tell your idiot boss to go stand by the window and look at the cost of his betrayal.”

“What? Who is this?” the aide stammered.

“Tell the president that his day of reckoning is at hand,” Aranas hissed, and then pushed the console’s third button.

Chapter 52

Cruz stood outside Federal Police headquarters with Dinah, dressed in street clothes instead of his uniform. He looked down at his trousers and then back at his wife.

“It’ll take a while to get used to being a civilian,” he said.

“You have about seven and a half months before you can add being a civilian daddy.”

He smiled. “Both will take some adjustment.”

“How did the meeting go?”

“As I expected. They tried everything to get me to commit to at least another six months so they could find a successor and ensure a smooth transition. I refused. They wanted to stick some politically connected hack into the job, but I told them that they already had my replacement working in the ranks.”

“Briones,” she said with a nod.

“Of course. He’s ready. And more importantly, he’s got youth and idealism on his side. He’ll put in the necessary hours, see things through, and won’t make the kinds of compromises that erode the effectiveness of any government organization.” Cruz shrugged. “Of course they hated the idea.”

“Some things never change.” She took his hand. “How long do we have the condo for?”

“Two weeks.”

“And your pension?”

“They tried holding that over my head, but I told them if they screw with me, I go to the press about what actually happened. That would shut down the administration, which they realize. So they agreed to my full pension, plus an additional 50% as long as I live for honorable service rendered.”

“Hush money, huh?”

“Exactly. Which I’m not too proud to take. I want to spend that time with you…and our baby.”

“That’s the right response.”

“Sometimes even I figure it out.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll still have to put in some time over the next week helping Briones come up to speed, but he’s already involved in most of the cases, so it shouldn’t require much. And then we’re out of here. For good.”

“What about the Aranas task force?”

“I quit. This time there was no argument. It was always a farce, so nobody fought me.”

She smiled. “Then where to?” They’d discussed possible living destinations, but hadn’t come to any conclusions.

“How about Cozumel? Beaches and the ocean, but remote enough so nobody will recognize me. And slow, so no rat race.”

“Only if you agree that if I don’t like it, we can move.”

“Of course.” He looked down the block and spotted a familiar figure standing by a hot dog vendor preparing meals from a grimy cart. “Can you give me a minute? I have some unfinished business.”

“I’ll just stand here and pretend to be a call girl or something.”

“Won’t be long. And for the record, I’d be your best customer.”

“Your pension isn’t that big.”

Cruz made his way down the block to where El Rey waited, his baseball cap pulled low over his brow, his wraparound sunglasses further disguising his appearance. Cruz eyed the hot dog vendor’s wares and made a face.

“You eat that?” he asked.

“Of course not. I live dangerously enough without tempting fate with that poison. You think I have a death wish or something?”

Cruz laughed. “I heard from my sources that Aranas was on the line with the president while we were in the building. Apparently he tried to detonate the bomb.”

“That must have been an awkward call.”

“I’d think so. But you saved the day.”

“Somebody had to. The way you were going, we were going to be there all afternoon arguing.”

The big guard had snatched the console away from him, and for his trouble gotten a throat strike that felled him like an oak. El Rey had dived for the console as it tumbled to the ground, and caught it no more than a few millimeters from the hard floor. He’d depressed the button as three of the security men had moved in on him, and it had only been Cruz’s warning shot that had stopped the men in their tracks. The reality of his Glock had won the day, and after verifying that the bomb’s LED had gone dark, he’d radioed headquarters while holding his weapon on the guards.

“So this is it. We’re square,” Cruz said.

“Technically, you still owe me one, but I might let that slide seeing as I’m out of the life.”

Cruz nodded. “Not like I could do much for you anymore. I quit, like I said I would. So now I’m a free man.”

“Lot of that going around.”

“And you? Now that you’ve gotten your antidote – now what?”

“To be determined. I have one final bit of business I need to attend to, and then I’ll disappear. Since everyone believes me dead, I have nothing but options.”

“Sometimes I wish everyone believed me to be, too.”

“For the right price you can paper that and create a whole new identity that will withstand scrutiny. I can give you some contact names, if you like.”

“You have my anonymous email?”

“I’ll send it by the end of the day.”

The two men stood awkwardly. After a long moment Cruz extended his hand. “Nice working with you. Stay out of trouble.”

“That will be my life’s goal.”

He looked back over his shoulder at where his wife stood, carefully avoiding glancing in her direction. “There are worse ones.”

Chapter 53

Rafael Norteño closed his briefcase with a snap, glad the long day was finally over. After the odd call with Aranas, where the drug lord had indicated he was going to detonate the bomb, the president had been in a notably upbeat mood. When no explosion ensued and Aranas had abruptly hung up, the ugly episode was officially over, with a press conference announcing that the terrorist threat had been neutralized. The president had shone at the media event, all refined seriousness and determination.

“Mexico is a global force, and as such it has become a target of the same terrorism that plagues other civilized countries. We have been fortunate to avoid it for so long, but the regrettable events of the last days underscore that the twenty-first century brings with it both opportunities and risks. As long as there are extremists willing to do the unthinkable, to sacrifice the lives of the innocent in order to achieve their deplorable goals, there will always be a danger, which the museum bombing brought home.”

Cameras had clicked and whirred as he’d delivered an impassioned speech that had been carried by every network, and by the end of the day the popular consensus was that Mexico needed a resolute response to terrorism that would include new immigration measures, security checks, the creation of a database of high-risk individuals, and the establishment of a paramilitary law enforcement organization chartered with defending the homeland.

“Of course, safety comes at a price, and vigilance will require sacrificing some of our rights in order to counter the terrorism threat. But we must take appropriate steps as a player on the world stage, and I know that every Mexican will agree that nothing is more important than ensuring a safe and stable future for our children…even if that comes at a cost. I am committed to doing everything in my power to respond to this new challenge, and with the cooperation of our lawmakers, I am confident that we will persevere no matter what, as we have since our forefathers fought the revolution that created our sovereign state. In this war, there can be no middle ground – you are either with us, or against us.”

In the question-and-answer period after the speech, the inquiries had been mostly benign, dealing with the initial measures that would be taken. Toward the end of the interrogatives, a journalist from Television Azteca had pitched a hardball at the president that Norteño and he had discussed in advance.

“Mr. President, what did the terrorists hope to achieve with the bombing?”

“Good question, Renaldo. The terrorists issued a demand for Mexico to sever all ties with the United States, which they blame for a host of evils, none of which are legitimate. But the attack had the opposite effect – it brought us together as a nation and strengthened our bond with our neighbor to the north, who provided considerable assistance to us during this dark time.”

The response, a patent falsehood, had been eagerly lapped up by the media, and Norteño knew that within days it would be broadcast so often it would become the accepted truth. He understood from studying the Americans that it was possible to create a completely mythical official account of anything, and that most would believe it to be true if the press echoed it as reality. As a student of human nature, the approach had privately fascinated him, and he’d seen the technique used time and time again throughout history by governments intent on manufacturing enemies so they could justify their actions. The Soviets had done so, as had the Nazis, as had Japan, Italy, and the UK…but the U.S. had upped the ante and perfected the approach to the point it was considered treasonous to question even the most unlikely official explanations of events.

Now it was Mexico’s turn. About time, he thought with satisfaction, as he recalled the minor triumph of his ascendance to power, all within less than three days. He’d often dreamed of being the right-hand man to the throne, but his performance during the crisis had sealed it, and he could now do no wrong.

“Good night,” Norteño said to his secretary, and then worked his way down the long marble hall, his footsteps the confident ones of a man of consequence.

The drive to his high-rise condo was the only annoyance of the day, traffic snarled as was typical of the huge city, but even that couldn’t ruin his high. He’d pulled off a coup few would have had the audacity to dream of, much less spearhead. And his future was sealed as one of the men who would steer the nation’s fortunes, at least for the next few years. That gave him time to develop his standing within the party, which would be ably supported by the president’s endorsement.

Who knew? Perhaps he might be persuaded to run for office. Stranger things had happened.

He parked in the underground security garage and rode the elevator to the eighteenth floor, his mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts. While the condo was lavish for a single man, he’d start looking for something larger, in a more elite building. After all, he was now rich – his third of the one and a half billion dollars of diamonds would trickle into offshore accounts as Aranas liquidated the stones, so if he wanted a penthouse that ran five million dollars or higher, what of it? He could more than afford it and had the plausible deniability of his family’s fortunes to account for where the means to buy it had come from – not that anyone would dare to probe too deeply.

He unlocked his condo door and stepped inside, paused to set his briefcase down in the foyer, and moved into the living room, the panoramic view of Mexico City’s lights one of his simple pleasures. At a small bar near a wall-mounted flat-screen television he poured himself a healthy portion of Don Julio 1942 tequila before shrugging out of his suit jacket and plopping down on the contemporary sofa to watch the news.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice spoke from behind him.

“Quite a day, no?”

He bolted to his feet, spilling his drink down the front of his slacks, and spun. A young man he’d never seen before leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed, a slight smirk on his face.

“Who the hell are you, and how did you get in here?” Norteño demanded.

“Ah. You don’t recognize me. Of course not. Why would you?”

The intruder took a step toward Norteño and drew a small pistol from his pocket. Norteño stood frozen as the intruder screwed a sound suppressor into place.

“I…I have money in the safe,” he blurted.

“That’s good to know.”

“And gold. Coins. Kruggerands.”

“A prudent investment,” the gunman said. “But that’s not what I’m here for.”

Norteño’s expression registered confusion. “No?”

“No. I’m here to watch you jump from your balcony.”

Norteño’s mouth worked, but no sound came out other than a hoarse choking noise. He found his voice, and his grip on the brandy snifter he was clutching tightened. “I don’t understand.”

“Allow me to explain. You authorized my execution with CISEN. I am known by many names, but the one you’ll recognize is probably El Rey – the King of Swords.”