Revenge of the Assassin (Assassin Series 2) (14 page)

~

Dinah was cooking in the kitchen when Cruz made it through the door, tired after another long day at the office. He was in plainclothes, it being Saturday, and even though he was only supposed to put in a short session he’d quickly gotten buried and nine hours had flown by. It was an occupational hazard that Dinah had grown accustomed to, although she didn’t like it. But she knew Cruz wouldn’t change, and so had incorporated the routine into their lives.

“I’m sorry,
mi amor
. I don’t know how that always happens,” he said as he entered the kitchen and planted a kiss on her exposed neck. She was shredding chicken she’d cooked. “What are you making? It smells wonderful.”

“
Enchiladas mole
. I’ve been working on the sauce for hours. I kind of figured when you called at one and said it would only be a little longer that you’d get stuck for the rest of the day. It almost never fails,” Dinah said as she moved to the sink to wash her hands.

“I know. I wish I could lay off some of the paperwork on a subordinate, but unfortunately it all requires my signature…”

She turned to him and threw her arms around his neck and drew her to him, kissing him passionately for half a minute. His transgression had clearly been forgiven.

Eventually they came up for air, and he smiled at her.

“You make the best
mole
I’ve ever tasted. Really. It’s always a treat,” Cruz said.

“You better say that. You’re going to be eating it for a long time. I hope you’re telling the truth…”

“I have no reason to lie. Other than self-preservation.”

“Damned right. Now go get cleaned up. It will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

Cruz obligingly moved to the bedroom and shrugged out of the dress shirt and slacks he was wearing. After considering his watch, he decided to take a fast shower, and once dry, switched to comfortable old jeans and a sweatshirt. He padded back out into the dining area just as Dinah was placing plates on the table, next to two bottles of
Negro Modelo
beer. He pulled out one of the chairs and took a seat, sniffing appreciatively.

“It smells delicious,” he proclaimed.

Dinah smiled. She loved cooking and looked forward to the weekends when she had time to make a meal from scratch. It was one of her hobbies, passed to her from her mother, and she considered herself very good at it. Cruz seemed to like it.

They ate, chatting about their plans for the next day. At Dinah’s insistence, he’d stopped working Sundays, and they tried to plan something fun for their time together. Dinah had arranged to have lunch with another couple, friends of hers from the school where she taught second grade. Cruz got on well enough with them, and they’d agreed to meet at noon, and then catch a matinee of a movie Dinah wanted to see. Cruz would wear a baseball hat and sunglasses to lunch – his attempt at a disguise. Although he was known from the obligatory press conferences he was forced to attend when his task force had a major victory, he wasn’t particularly distinctive looking, and could have been mistaken for thousands of other men of similar age. There wasn’t a lot of risk that he’d be gunned down, especially since his whereabouts were secret and had been ever since the kidnapping incident ten months earlier.

Cruz cleaned his plate of every morsel and rubbed his stomach appreciatively while Dinah cleared the table.

“Have you given any thought to a date?” she asked as she placed the plates in the sink.

“A date?” Too late, Cruz realized his misstep. “Oh, of course. I was thinking maybe September? That will give us time to plan something…”

She gave him a curious look and then nodded. “I don’t want anything big. Just a small ceremony, with close friends and family. And we can limit the reception to a few hundred.”

Cruz stared at her.

“Kidding.” She smiled.

He rose from the table with a look of clear relief on his face and moved past her to the refrigerator for a second beer. They hadn’t really discussed the minutiae of the wedding, and he assumed that Dinah would handle things. Perhaps they needed to talk about it in more depth. He remembered from his first marriage that things could rush up on them, and if they didn’t start soon, they’d be buried all summer playing catch up.

“Come here, my angel, and let’s talk about the where’s and how’s of this. It’s an important event, and I want to make sure it’s perfect. As long as you show up, I’ll be happy, so tell me what you’re thinking and I’ll do whatever I can to make it so.”

He patted the area next to him on the sofa and admired Dinah as she rounded the kitchen island and came to him, a vision of beauty in his otherwise bleak and brutal world.

Cruz strode through the doors of the CISEN headquarters, recalling the last time he’d been there. That meeting had been disastrous, with the heads of the Mexican intelligence service alternating between treating him like a slow child and laughing him out of the room, after he’d warned them that
El Rey
was targeting the American and Mexican presidents at a high-profile international financial summit.

Since then circumstances had changed because Cruz had been proved correct in his warnings. That had resulted in CISEN looking like incompetents, or worse, and in the wake of the event, Cruz’s power and standing had markedly increased at the expense of CISEN, whose supposedly superior information-gathering apparatus had botched it. Missing the most serious assassination attempt in the nation’s history would have been bad enough, but having been given clear notice by a ranking Federal Police captain in charge of the Mexico City cartel task force, and then ignoring it, had ended several careers. To say that bad blood still existed between Cruz and CISEN was an understatement.

Cruz was puzzled as to why he’d been summoned. None of his current operations or investigations were in an area where CISEN, Mexico’s equivalent of the CIA and NSA, had any interest that he knew of.

Surprisingly, he was only kept waiting ten minutes before being shown into a conference room, where he was greeted by three high-level officials – none of whom he’d ever seen before, which wasn’t surprising given that those he had met with on prior occasions were the same ones that had ignored his warnings about the assassination attempt.

A well-groomed man in his mid-forties, tall, with gleaming black hair and a trimmed goatee, stood and made introductions. Cruz noted the expensive cut of his navy blue suit and calculated that it probably cost a small fortune. He was Renaldo Rodriguez, the new associate director of CISEN, and the other two men were simply Stefan and Hector. By the looks of them, Cruz doubted those were their real names. No matter – he was now genuinely curious as to the meeting’s purpose.

Rodriguez sat back and smiled, motioning to a thermos and cups on the table.

“Coffee,
Capitan
? It’s some of the best Mexico has to offer.”

“I’m sure it is. No, thank you. I’m fine,” Cruz said politely.

Rodriguez shrugged, as if to say ‘you don’t know what you’re missing’, and poured himself a steaming cup. He didn’t offer the other two any, and they didn’t seem surprised.

“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” Cruz began.

“You have developed quite a reputation over the last year as the ‘go to’ guy on anything related to the assassin,
El Rey
. I understand the task force specializing in catching him has been disbanded, correct? With its responsibilities transferred to you?” Rodriguez asked, obviously already sure of the answer.

“That’s right. After three years of non-performance, the decision was made to shut them down and the resources shifted to my group,” Cruz confirmed.

“And how is that going? Anything you can share with us?”

“The man seems to have disappeared after the event in Baja.” Cruz didn’t need to belabor what event he was referring to, given that it had caused a seismic shift within CISEN. “There hasn’t been a hint of activity in almost a year now. We believe he’s gone underground, and likely quit the game. Why?”

Rodriguez slid a folder across the desk to him, gesturing at it with his head. Cruz opened it and studied the brief report inside, then the photographs of the tarot card amidst the rocket launchers. He slowly looked up from the file.

“This was a few days ago. Why wasn’t I notified?” he demanded.

“The army came across the card following the complete destruction of a house outside Ciudad Juárez from a rocket attack. The cartel chieftain
Chacho
Morenos was in the house. The army brought us the information, unsure of how to treat it. As soon as we got it, we called you.”

Cruz regarded Rodriguez, sensing there was more.

“We also have picked up some disturbing news. There is an unconfirmed rumor from one of our assets that
El Rey
is back on the scene because he plans to assassinate the president,” Rodriguez stated.

“Unconfirmed rumor? From where? I need more specifics than an
unconfirmed rumor
. You know that,” Cruz admonished him.

‘Hector’ leaned forward. “
Capitan
Cruz, the asset in question is involved with the affairs of a group you’re more than familiar with. The Sinaloa cartel. For his ongoing safety we have to keep the asset’s identity confidential, even from you. But I can say that he is well placed in that organization, and we consider his intel to be of the highest quality,” he said officiously.

“Can someone tell me why CISEN is involved with the Sinaloa cartel? Perhaps we can start there. I’m especially interested since I’m the head of the task force chartered with dealing with the cartels, and this is the first I’ve heard about any involvement,” Cruz demanded.

Rodriguez shrugged again. “As you know, we have operations and investigations that are international in scope. This came about as a tangent to one of those operations. It’s wholly unconnected to your efforts involving the cartels. I can’t say anything more – it’s classified. The important thing is that we’re here, at this table, sharing intelligence about a suspected plot to assassinate the president, to be carried out by the man you are purported to be the expert on.”

It came to Cruz in a flash. This was turnaround. Revenge for causing the disastrous reorganization in CISEN. They were saddling Cruz with a formal report of a plot to kill the president, exactly as he had done with them. If it turned out to be true, and he was unsuccessful at stopping it, Cruz would be in the crosshairs as having neglected his duty, not CISEN. It was perfect. Provide virtually no evidence other than a rumor, refuse to corroborate it due to national security concerns, then pass the whole pile off to Cruz, noting scrupulously that he, and only he, was responsible for following up. Cruz had survived countless bureaucratic battles, and he understood instinctively what was being done, as well as why.

Payback.

“I will need everything you have on this. If it’s classified, I will need to get an appropriate clearance. I can’t operate without all the information, so whatever needs to be done, let’s do it.”

Rodriguez shook his head. “I’m afraid it isn’t that simple,
Capitan
Cruz. We can’t hand out top secret clearances to just anyone – not that you are just anyone, or in any way suspect. It’s just that our procedure is–”

“I don’t care what your procedure is. You invented it, so you can make an exception to it. If you don’t feel like doing that, I can just go directly to the president and have him instruct you to do so. Either way, to protect him, I need all the information, so we can do this the civil way, or the adversarial way.” Cruz paused. “Considering CISEN’s performance on the last presidential assassination attempt, I would have thought that you would have figured as much by now. But it’s immaterial to me how we get it done. I’ve told you what I need.”

Rodriguez scowled and leaned to Stefan, murmuring for a few moments. Stefan whispered back to him. Rodriguez straightened up, and then addressed Cruz.

“I’ll see what we can do. This is highly irregular, and I can’t make a call on it without speaking with the director.”

“Either get him on the phone, now, or I will be calling my superior, who will be calling the president’s people. I don’t want to waste any more time. For all we know, this could be taking place today. Which reminds me – I’ll need a complete list of all the president’s scheduled appearances. If you can’t get that for me, I can get it from him myself. Frankly, it would look better from your end if you got it, because right now, to me it appears that you’re handing me a hot potato with the bare minimum of information – and that’s what my report will say. I’ve gone up against
El Rey
before, and I can assure you that if he’s in the country and gunning for the president, that’s as real and imminent a threat as if we just found a bomb under the president’s bed. Maybe more so. Now make the call, or I will,” Cruz demanded.

He’d had about enough of their ploy and didn’t have any reason to be nice. He also wanted to let them know he was onto their game and knew how to play it as well or better than they did.

More murmuring ensued, and then Rodriguez stood and excused himself for a minute while he made the call. Cruz stared at the two remaining men, who busied themselves scribbling cryptic notes. Five minutes later, Rodriguez returned with a sheaf of papers and a pen.

“You’ll need to read all of this, and then sign. It is our official secrets act, which will subject you to prosecution if you divulge the top secret information we give you to anyone. It’s mandatory, I’m afraid. Take your time going through it and feel free to ask me any questions that come up. But it can’t be modified, so you either sign it, or I can’t divulge the info you want. Sorry,” Rodriguez said in a tone that clearly suggested he wasn’t, and that he hoped Cruz wouldn’t sign.

Cruz took the pages and spent the next fifteen minutes poring over them. Finally, he signed.

“All right. Now who did you get this information from, and why do you believe it’s credible?” he asked.

“I will have it typed out for you so you have it in writing, and so you can acknowledge receipt of it. Once you’ve done so by signing a copy, you can ask any questions that come up.” Rodriguez nodded at Hector, who left the room.