Revenge of the Assassin (Assassin Series 2) (22 page)

Neither had to.

Both knew Cruz would have jumped.

~

When Cruz made it home that evening, Dinah was making pasta for dinner – chicken
piccata
with linguine. He went to the bedroom, changed out of his uniform, and returned a few minutes later wearing sweat pants and a white linen short-sleeved shirt. He obligingly took plates out of the cupboard and set the table, then uncorked a bottle of white wine – after Dinah forbade him a draught of the wine she’d bought to cook with.

He poured them both healthy glasses, and they ate contentedly as he inquired about how her day had gone. She seemed on edge, and Cruz wondered whether it was a return of the anxiety she’d experienced after getting out of the hospital, but it gradually receded as she ate and consumed her wine. He was relieved – even after as many months together as they’d spent, he still didn’t have a clue what was going on inside her head most of the time.

The conversation eventually turned to his day, and he gave her a rundown of the operation and its ultimate failure.

“You were that close, and he got away? He sounds like some sort of devil,” she commented.

“Tell me about it. Briones is convinced he has wings, like a bat. I went up on the roof myself and looked at the pursuit path, and he made a jump most wouldn’t have tried. It’s frustrating. I feel just like I did last year, when we were on his trail. He’s always three moves ahead of us. If I recall, that didn’t end well,” Cruz complained.

Dinah knew all about the attempt at the summit.

“I’d say that some good things came out of it. You and I wouldn’t be together if not for that.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to even think that we’re a couple because of
El Rey
. Although I suppose I do have him to thank for something…” Cruz acknowledged before sipping more of his wine.

“How did you know he was going to be there?” Dinah asked in a neutral tone, struggling not to show how desperate she was for the information. Her heart ached that she had to mislead him like this, but there was no other option.

Cruz hesitated, and then told her a partial truth.

“It was a tip from one of the other agencies. They’d picked up some chatter, and we got lucky,” he dissembled.

“Another agency? Who? I thought you were the
El Rey
experts. Is there more than one group hunting him?”

“CISEN. The intelligence agency. They got the lead and handed it over to us.”

“CISEN! What are they doing involved in this?” Dinah fought to keep her voice under control.

Cruz finished his glass of wine and strode into the kitchen to get the bottle, carrying their dishes in and placing them in the sink before he returned and refilled their glasses. He took a large mouthful, swishing it around in appreciation.

“Mmmm. This goes down easy. You may have to lock up the cooking wine. There’s no telling what I’ll do after two glasses of this stuff,” he said, changing the subject.

Dinah smiled. “I’ll see if I can think of something,” she said suggestively. “But you never finished your story. What about CISEN? I thought they were only international operations…”

“Typically they are. But somehow they tripped onto information about the assassin and a plot to kill the president, so they brought it to me. Mostly to set me up for a big fall if he succeeds, I think. They still seem a little testy over having half their top brass fired.” He took another swallow of wine. “This way they can say they passed on everything, and if he’s successful, I am the one who failed.”

“But that’s not fair. What about the president’s guard? His security detail? Surely they would be more accountable for the president’s safety than you.”

“It’s true, but if the assassin manages to kill the president, everyone will be looking for someone to take the blame. CISEN will point the finger at me, and so will the president’s staff. All roads will lead to me – the head of the task force that failed to prevent it.” Cruz shrugged. “It may not be fair, but the world’s not fair. There’s no use complaining about it. I simply need to find this invisible man and take him out of commission, with no new information and no leads to go on. Piece of cake.” He took another pull on his wine and winked at her playfully.

“Romero, this sounds serious. What are you going to do?” Dinah said with concern.

He sighed. “What can I do? The plan is to get his photo everywhere to turn up the pressure, and hope he slips up or someone recognizes him. We’re going to offer a half million dollar reward for information leading to his capture. Hell, for that kind of money most of the city will be mounting a manhunt.” He finished his second glass of wine and regarded the empty bottle wistfully. “It hasn’t been my favorite day ever,
mi Corazon
. I just want to put it behind me.”

Dinah reached across the table and took his hand, her eyes moist. She finished her second glass and stood, gently pulling him in the direction of the bedroom.

“I can help.”

Dinah called in sick with the flu the next morning and stayed in bed until Cruz had left. After waiting a few minutes to ensure he wasn’t going to return for some forgotten item, she did a hasty search of his office and then rushed to the shower and hurriedly rinsed off before gathering her notes and sealing them in a small envelope. She donned jeans and a silk blouse and then called Cruz’s office to tell him she was going to run to the pharmacy to get some medicine. She knew he wouldn’t be there yet, but wanted him to know she’d gone out in case the officers watching the building mentioned it.

On the ride down the elevator her stomach churned at what she was about to do. It was tearing her apart to pass this kind of information to her fiancé’s nemesis, but she could see no other way out. One thing had become apparent from their discussions.
El Rey
’s reputation as the most dangerous man in Mexico, if not the world, was deserved, and she had little doubt that he’d make good on his promise to kill them both if she strayed. It wasn’t a risk she could take.

She repeated her trip to the large department store and sighed a breath of relief when she’d stuffed the envelope in the hiding place. As she walked out of the store, she decided she should go to the pharmacy at the end of the block – not that she believed Cruz had an iota of doubt about her, but it was a loose end. She rummaged in her purse for the cell phone
El Rey
had given her and made a furtive call, letting the phone ring three times as agreed and then disconnecting. There was no need to speak. He would know what it meant.

As she walked along the bustling sidewalk, the eyes of her bodyguard boring through her back from a hundred yards behind, she wondered what she had become. The letter she’d hidden contained two items – a single page summary of her discussion with Cruz, and a copy of a top secret document she’d found in the bottom drawer of his desk that morning, under a pile of monthly expense sheets.

After skimming it, she’d powered on the copier and carefully made a duplicate, then replaced it in the exact position she’d found it. A wave of guilt had washed over her as she checked the copy for legibility. If Cruz found out about this, he would be crushed. Then again, Cruz might be willing to tackle
El Rey
head on. But she wasn’t.

She bought some decongestant and some vitamins and paid in cash, then returned to her building, taking her time, allowing the sun’s gentle rays to warm her as she strolled unhurriedly to the front entrance. It wasn’t like she had chosen this path, she reasoned. It was an impossible situation, and if the decision to favor survival was a selfish and bad one, she perhaps would have acted differently had it been only her life on the line. But by threatening Cruz, the assassin had created a situation that could only end with her helping him.

Dinah tried to push the thoughts aside, but they wouldn’t leave. How could she marry a man she was willing to deceive in such a fundamental way? What kind of woman was she?

She shook her head in the elevator as though the movement would banish her introspection.
El Rey
was a predator, and moreover, a brilliant and legendary one. Dinah had no doubt that he would be successful in outwitting the authorities. A single motivated individual with skill and commitment usually could prevail over a large, unwieldy bureaucracy. Cruz had complained about that numerous times. The best the police could hope for was to be lucky, and maybe mop up after everything had played out. It was one of the aspects of the job that infuriated him.

When she got back into the condo, she set her purse down and stared vacantly around the space before unwrapping the medicine she’d bought and taking two tablets. The drugs would make her sleepy, allowing her to finally recoup some of the lost hours when she’d lain awake last night, pretending to doze as she listened to Cruz’s soft snores. She quickly stripped off her clothes and threw herself onto the bed, her body racked by shuddering sobs as she cried her frustrated rage into the pillow.

~

Carlos Herreira gazed out at the exotic granite slabs in the massive stone yard he operated in Culiacán, Sinaloa and rubbed his hand over his beard. It had been another extremely profitable day, with a shipment of grenade launchers and assorted assault rifles bringing in eight hundred thousand dollars, three hundred of which was profit. This was his second shipment to Jalisco this week, and he mused silently that the boys in Guadalajara looked like they were gearing up to launch a major offensive against his other big client, the Sinaloa cartel.

Carlos was an equal opportunity arms merchant, beholden to no one. The cartels wanted guns and came with cash, and he was in the business of selling them. It was a simple transaction, and nobody cared that he sold to everyone. Or at least, no one begrudged him his right to do so. He was merely a conduit, a vessel through which the desired implements flowed. Carlos’ role was not to take sides, any more than the banks that laundered the cartel funds took sides. It was all green, and while cartels came and went, the money never changed.

He had been in the business for twelve years and was rich beyond his ability to imagine, yet he continued to go to work every day at the stone yard that was his legitimate operation. The constant shipments in and out were perfect cover for his far more profitable sideline, and he’d branched out and created two import/export businesses to facilitate his deadly traffic.

The first five years had been good, but nothing like the last seven, when the cartels had escalated their conflicts and created armed wings that did nothing but wage war against one another. All those new soldiers needed weapons, and when the cash was easy they generally wanted the best they could get. He’d gone from supplying battered, twenty-year-old Kalashnikovs by the crate load from Honduras and Nicaragua to the very latest high tech weaponry from the U.S., with its attendant higher margins. The escalation of violence had been good for business, there was no doubt, and there had been occasions when he’d had to scramble to find suitable trophy pieces.

That had resulted in the most profitable partnership of his life, with the most unexpected counterparty – the CIA.

At first he’d suspected it was a setup, but he’d insulated himself and done one test transaction, and then another, and then finally had crafted a deal where they supplied most of the high-end weapons he bought nowadays – fifty caliber sniper rifles, fully automatic assault rifles, grenades, semi-automatic pistols, sub-machine guns…all at prices that allowed him to make a handy profit without worrying about sourcing the goods. Every few weeks he would aggregate the requests, supply his contact at the American intelligence agency with a list, and presto, it was shopping time.

He’d been amused when he’d read about the scandal involving the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms allowing weapons from the U.S. to be smuggled into Mexico. Hell, they had been facilitating his business for seven years. His partner to the north would put together the order, and then the goods would miraculously appear on his side of the border, with the ATF turning a blind eye. When the American Congress had held hearings on the trade – the notorious ‘gun walking’ everyone knew about but pretended was a surprise – he’d gotten worried, but had been assured that it was business as usual, and that the hearings would go nowhere.

The problem was that some of the American manufactured weapons had turned up in slayings of border patrol officers on the U.S. side, sparking an outcry. His contacts had told him that things would work very much like Mexico – there would be protestations that everyone was shocked, shocked indeed, that anything like routine traffic of weapons south of the border took place while the watchdog in charge of preventing it pretended to be deaf, blind and mute. Days of grilling in congress would be met with stonewalling, and perhaps a few functionaries would have to take token falls to appease the public. They would be well compensated, so it was not rough duty. There would be vows to continue the investigation to its bitter end, which would die as soon as the cameras were turned off. Meanwhile, everything would continue to work as it had, the supply of weapons un-slowed.

The tunnels that were as regular in Tijuana as subway stations in New York had served him well, enabling him to get anything he needed from San Diego without having to worry about bribing customs agents in Mexico to look the other way – a profit-sucking annoyance he preferred to forego. Homes, warehouses and shops would receive shipments from gun dealer middlemen, and the crates would seamlessly move beneath the border to TJ, where they would be transported southeast. He had a similar arrangement in Ciudad Juárez and El Paso. It was a lucrative, risk free way for the cartels that ran the tunnel scheme to make extra money helping him help them. And after all, it wasn’t as though they had to pay a toll – the tunnels were already dug, so it was just a few hours of ferrying guns and explosives on a return trip from the cocaine, heroin, marijuana and meth trips. Same underground rail systems, just moving south instead of north.