Rage Of The Assassin (25 page)

“Yes?”

“I warned you,” Aranas hissed.

“
You
warned
me
? Then perhaps you can tell me why you blew up the museum when we’re in the process of complying with your ridiculous demands?”

Aranas was silent for a promising second. “Why did
I
blow it up? What are you playing at?”

The president laid out his case exactly as Norteño proposed, and by the end of the exchange Aranas sounded, if not convinced, at least less sure of himself.

“I intend to check the seismic data. If there was indeed a tremor, you’ll get the benefit of the doubt, although I still think you’re being the shifty weasel we both know you are. I will call back shortly,” Aranas said, and disconnected.

The president set the handset down softly and exhaled a long breath.

Twenty minutes later the drug lord was back on the phone.

“Very well. Here are my new terms. I can’t prove that you tampered with the device, although my instincts say you did. But in the spirit of putting this behind us, the new price for my silence is $1.5 billion – the extra half billion is for putting doubt in my mind. Have it ready by tomorrow morning or I will detonate the other devices.”

“I…you’ll have to give us more time. We’re scrambling to assemble the one billion. Another half in that time frame is impossible.”

“I thought you’d try to stall. But I’m in a generous mood. I’ll give you twelve more hours. That’s all. I’ll be in contact tomorrow.”

“We may not be able to get the–”

“Mr. President, make it a priority, or thousands will die. This discussion is over.”

The president found himself listening to a dial tone, and this time he slammed the phone down, furious at the crime lord’s dismissal. Aranas was treating him as if he were a common thug. The man’s impertinence was not only insulting, but, the president suspected, designed to keep him off balance.

But two could play at that game, as Norteño had amply demonstrated.

He jabbed at the intercom button and barked into it. “Get Rafael back in here immediately. We have a press conference in half an hour, and I want his help with my statement.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter 42

Charlottesville, Virginia

El Rey followed Dr. Hunt into the Bloomington Industries plant, wearing a suit that was less than an hour old, purchased that morning at a department store especially for the meeting. A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and the face of a seasoned liar offered them a smile that never reached his eyes as he extended his hand in greeting.

“Dr. Hunt, a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Carl Atkinson, the marketing director for Bloomington Biometrics division,” he said, and then offered his hand to El Rey. “And this must be Lieutenant Briones of the Mexican Federal Police.
Buenos dias
,” Atkinson said, his high school Spanish accent like nails on a chalkboard.

El Rey nodded, gave him a warm smile, and shook hands. He’d called Cruz and convinced him to swap Briones’s photo with one of himself he’d taken on his cell phone, and inserted in his file that he was in the U.S. to inspect security arrangements at potential contractors. The ruse had worked, because when Hunt had called Bloomington first thing that morning to arrange for a last minute tour for a Mexican police official, they’d agreed and promptly requested the contact information for his office, as well as for a verifiable high flyer in the Mexican government – in this case, the highly decorated Captain Romero Cruz, easily checkable online from the media articles chronicling his startling career and exploits – and the man chartered with making a recommendation that could be worth billions of dollars of new business to some lucky contractor.

Cruz had spoken with Atkinson and affirmed that Briones was in the States for inspection tours, and that had gotten them an appointment at eleven a.m. Atkinson smiled at them again, and El Rey was reminded of a raptor, the man’s eerily white teeth seeming to be too numerous for his mouth.

“I’m glad you decided to give Bloomington a chance, Lieutenant. We’re not the largest in our field, but I daresay we’re the best,” Atkinson said, and El Rey nodded.

“Yes, well, the final evaluation will be based on the product and the terms,” Hunt cut in. “The lieutenant here is evaluating security. It’s mandatory for any company awarded these sorts of contracts in Mexico. It’s how they keep their contractors honest.”

“I think it was your President Reagan who said, ‘Trust, but verify,’ was it not?” El Rey asked.

Atkinson grinned again. “Very well, follow me. I’ll give you a quick orientation and then you can hit me with anything I left out.”

The tour lasted forty minutes, and by the end of it both Hunt’s and El Rey’s eyes were glazing over. It was obvious that the plant security was adequate, if not stellar, mostly standard procedures that had been put in place by an outside consulting firm. Atkinson bristled at Hunt’s question about whether there had ever been a security breach and dodged it artfully, convincing her that something indeed must have happened after her brief stint with the company.

They wound up in the receiving area, where Atkinson regaled them with a long list of protocols that vendors had to follow when delivering supplies. Hunt moved a hand to her stomach as she flattened her blouse, and made a face. “Carl, I need to use the little girl’s room. Did we pass one in the hall?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll show you.”

“No, we’re on a tight schedule. You finish up with the lieutenant – don’t let me interrupt. I’ll be right back.”

El Rey moved close to a pallet stacked with chemical containers. “You mentioned that if power was interrupted, you have backup generators that will kick in? What about if there’s a natural disaster that cuts power for days or weeks? Like a super storm?”

“Well, first off, we rarely see storms like that,” Atkinson began, nodding at Hunt as she made her way to the double doors that led to the corridor. “But if we do, we’re covered. We have double backups that are natural gas powered, which can keep all systems operating round the clock for a week.”

“Is the gas stored in tanks here at the facility, or are you reliant on it being piped in?”

“Good question. We opted for storage tanks that are fed by the utility company pipes, so that if there’s an interruption in the supply, we go to the stored gas.”

“Ah. And your alarm systems. You mentioned you have contacts on all the windows and doors. What about motion detectors? Pressure sensors? Infrared?”

Atkinson waved a hand, dismissing the question. “I can assure you that our systems are state of the art. There’s no need for all that. We’ve got procedures that are industry standard and have been vetted by quite a few government agencies. For the types of products we manufacture, they’re more than sufficient.”

El Rey frowned. “I’m afraid I’ll have to be the judge of that.”

Minutes ticked by as the assassin peppered the American with detailed questions about the internal security of the various vaults, which amounted to locked doors and a few keypads he could easily bypass. He’d made careful note of the room where all the electrical panels were housed, and his practiced eye had seen several promising areas that might suit his purposes. Now it all depended on Hunt locating the antidote. But he was confident that getting into any of the vaults could be done.

After ten minutes had gone by, Atkinson glanced at the time and led the assassin back toward the corridor. El Rey tried his best to stall with another round of questions, which Atkinson pleasantly but firmly answered as he continued moving to the doors. They were footsteps away from the corridor when Hunt burst through, looking sheepish.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen. I hope you managed without me?” she asked.

“Absolutely, Dr. Hunt. I was just going to show the lieutenant our closed-circuit surveillance room, and then we were headed to my office.”

El Rey caught the look in Hunt’s eye. “I’m afraid we’ve stayed longer than I’d planned. Perhaps just the surveillance, and then we can be on our way?”

Atkinson seemed relieved to be so easily rid of them after fielding hardball questions for almost an hour. It was obvious that he was more of a salesman than an operations man, and many of his answers smacked of guesswork to El Rey’s ear. Which was fine – he’d seen enough to know how to get past the cameras and the guards.

The security hub was impressive, with a bank of screens and a broad console loaded with comm gear, but El Rey was only marginally interested. He exhaled a sigh of relief when they passed through the gates and returned to the car, and leaned into Hunt as they neared it.

“So?”

“I got into the system. I’m pretty sure I know which chamber it’s in.”

“Pretty sure?”

“I’m extrapolating based on what I found. But yes, I believe I know what the agent’s called, and where the antidote is being stored. So the question is whether you can get back inside without being spotted, and make your way into the vault without triggering any alarms.”

El Rey gave a small shrug. “That should be the easy part. Now tell me what you discovered.”

Chapter 43

Flashes of dry lightning pulsed in a line of thunderheads brooding over a ridge of rolling hills, illuminating the night sky before fading back into the gloom. Muffled explosions followed from the distance, the clouds moving west, away from Charlottesville.

El Rey listened attentively, his car window halfway down, Hunt sitting beside him in the passenger seat. Earlier in the day she’d drawn a primitive layout of the plant from memory and marked the vault where the antidote was stored.

“It’s in a climate-controlled room with other agents, but they’ll have all the bins clearly marked. Yours will be TB2016LANG02. According to the system, there are ten vials – and you’ll only need a quarter of one,” she’d said. “Although…”

“What?”

“Well, in some of the animal tests, certain subjects required more than six shots. I recall that about nine percent required a seventh to return to an asymptomatic state.”

“So I should take more than I need for this shot?”

She nodded. “It would be prudent.”

“How long will it hold for?”

“I have no idea, but as long as the answer’s at least six months and one day, that’s good enough.” She hesitated. “You probably won’t even need it. But it would be silly to have access to it and not take more.”

“How do I need to store it?”

“Room’s at sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit, so just reasonably cool. Get a small wine refrigerator with a digital thermostat. That should do the trick. In the meantime, keep it in a thermos. That will protect it for a day or three. You just don’t want any extremes – hot or cold.”

“It’s funny, because my first shot was in the tropics, and it was probably coffee temperature by the time I took it.”

She nodded. “Which is fine, short term. But not if you’re storing it for use six months later.”

The plan was to use a syringe and drain several of the vials a few millimeters. If he drew it all from a single source, it might be noticed, but spread across a half dozen, the likelihood of anyone tripping to the theft was slim.

He’d given her a partial description of how he intended to bypass the elaborate security system and she’d made a face. “God, that sounds horrible.”

“I’ve done it before. You may never get used to it, but you can get good at it.”

“What about me?”

“You’ll stay in the car. Once I’m done, I’ll release you, and then you’re free to go back to your daughter.”

Hunt had seemed grudgingly satisfied with that answer, although clearly not happy, and she’d badgered him about her daughter at least every hour until he’d told her to stop – he had no updates, given that he was with her.

The day had passed slowly, and they’d busied themselves shopping for the supplies he would need to carry out his operation. Most of the equipment he’d located at a dive shop in a marginal neighborhood, where the owner hadn’t shown the slightest interest in his specialized purchases. The rebreather wasn’t absolutely necessary, but would make the unpleasant slightly more bearable. The rest was mandatory –fishing waders, night vision goggles, an array of tools with a neoprene satchel to carry them in, electrical connectors, batteries, and wire.

The final purchase had been two unopened syringes from a street dealer who threw them in with El Rey’s hundred-dollar purchase of Mexican brown heroin. El Rey tossed the drugs into a dumpster before returning to the car, where Hunt sat, disgruntled at being bound while he scored.

“This really isn’t necessary, you know,” she complained.

“Perhaps. But it allows me to concentrate without worrying about whether you’ve had second thoughts.”

“I did my part.”

“Which I appreciate, and once I’m satisfied you told me the truth, and didn’t invent the location of the antidote so I’d release you prematurely, I’ll drive you to your daughter myself.”

“You can tell me where she is.”

“I will. Right before I go in tonight.” He gazed off into the distance. “Just in case something goes wrong. A deal’s a deal, and if I get myself shot, well, you’ve still done your part.”

They ate Chinese food at a restaurant in town and then, seated in the car a quarter mile away, waited as the plum sky faded to black, the plant’s lights glowing in the otherwise dark wooded area.

When the shift changed at ten p.m., they watched a line of cars retreat from the facility, and then El Rey had moved to the trunk and begun suiting up. Hunt watched nervously as he donned the waders and strapped on the rebreather, and then he approached her with a length of yellow nylon cord.

“Time for the final binding, Dr. Hunt.”

“To think that some women dream of this,” she observed as he went to work on her wrists.

“I can assure you that nothing in our brief time together has been pleasurable for me, other than your scintillating company. Soon you and your daughter will be free, and I’ll be out of your lives.”

“I just hope she isn’t scarred for life.”