Return of the Assassin (Assassin Series 3) (9 page)

El Rey
hefted the phone and nodded. “Get me the files. I want to hit the ground running as soon as I can. Oh, and get me a Panerai diving watch and three sets of clothes – one all black, another green camouflage, and the last a federal police uniform and identification.”
El Rey
took back the pad and wrote the new items down, then slid it to Hector.

Hector raised one eyebrow.

“I can’t think of anything else for now, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to return to my room and get some rest. Oh, and I’d like two one-liter bottles of water delivered there, and two chicken breasts and a three-egg Swiss cheese omelet for dinner, with spinach on the side. Sautéed, with garlic.”
El Rey
stood. “How will I get the booster shot if I’m in deep cover?”

“Let us worry about that. It will give you a good reason to stay in touch with us.”

“How about you give me a syringe, just in case?”
El Rey
suggested.

Hector shook his head.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Find a way to touch base, and we’ll get to you.”

El Rey
grunted and then moved to the door. “One more thing. Keep your trained monkeys away from me, or my first act as a free man will be to rip their hearts out and eat them. I don’t have anything to lose, so don’t test me,” he warned, and then stalked through the door.

Hector’s eyes followed him with foreboding.

This was a terrible idea.

But desperate times demanded desperate measures.

And in the end, it wasn’t his call to make.

“Walk me through this one last time, Warden. Who on your end knew about
El Rey
’s transport to the court besides you? And what level of knowledge did they have?” Cruz asked patiently.

The warden was getting irritated with the questioning, Cruz could tell. This was a man used to giving orders and demanding answers. He didn’t do well with the tables turned.

“As I’ve explained, only I knew the whole plan. Three of the guards knew one hour in advance that the prisoner would be moved to the transportation bay. The drivers of the three vans knew someone was being transported, but only the ones who were actually going to move the prisoner knew the final destination. The others were merely assigned to go for a drive for an hour, finishing up in the vicinity of the court for the drive back. The idea was to use the same ruse when returning.”

“And why didn’t you have ten motorcycle cops escorting the van, along with a few trucks full of armed
Federales
?”

“Because that’s not the established protocol. The cartels have more than enough power and money to match whatever firepower we would put on a convoy, so that would only attract more attention, increasing the chances of a breakout. And that isn’t my theory. It’s the approved method of transporting high profile prisoners. So it’s not like I decided to try something new, just to see how it would work,” the warden argued. He was clearly defensive now.

“I see. Let’s switch to the communication chain. Where did you get your information from? Specifically, who gave you the instructions on when to bring the prisoner, what van he would go in, and the rest?”

“They came from the court’s security team leader. I already gave you his name,” the warden snapped.

“Yes, I see that here. Tell me, how often is a prisoner transported from Altiplano on short notice? Is it unusual? What’s the typical lead time you have to prepare the security with the court?” Cruz asked.

“Normally, this sort of thing is on the docket for weeks. But apparently, the lead judge in this case made a demand to see the prisoner immediately, which triggered this whole set of events. It’s not ordinary, but it does happen. Judges can be mercurial, as you are no doubt aware…”

“How much time did you have to prepare?” Cruz repeated the question.

“Not much. One day. We received the notification the afternoon before. Late afternoon, instructing us to be prepared for transport the next morning.”

“And that didn’t strike you as irregular?”

“Of course. Look,
Capitan
, in this system nothing is irregular. Yes, ordinarily we would have had more time. But I hardly think that’s the problem. Obviously, someone knew about this even with the last minute arrangements and was able to mount a successful assault with minimal planning. What my staff did or did not know is barking up the wrong tree. We deal with the most dangerous prisoners in all Mexico every day – the most prominent and powerful cartel bosses, any of whom would be more financially likely to arrange for an elaborate escape attempt than this assassin. I’m talking about men with billions at their disposal. And do you know how many escapes we’ve had here since I took over a decade ago? Zero.” The warden shifted, weary of the interrogation. “There’s a rat in all this, but it isn’t on my end. I can say that categorically. If I were you I would be looking elsewhere. The federal police who escorted the prisoner and guarded him. The security group at the court. But not here. We’re clean,” he stated emphatically.

Cruz had a good nose for bullshit, and he believed the warden was telling the truth.

If there was a leak, it wasn’t from his side. And none of his men knew enough to be dangerous.

He closed his notebook, returned the pen to his shirt pocket and slid his chair back. “Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions, Warden. It’s purely routine. If you think of anything else, please, get in touch with me – no matter how insignificant it may seem,” Cruz said.

The warden, relieved to have the session at an end, rose from behind his desk and shook hands with Cruz. “I will. I hope you catch the bastard. I know all about his exploits, and if there’s anyone who deserves to be locked up forever, it’s
El Rey
.”

“No disagreement there.”

“Would you like a tour of the prison while you’re here? See the lifestyles of the rich and infamous?” the warden offered.

Cruz glanced at his watch. “No, I appreciate the offer, but I need to get going. The more time that elapses on these types of cases, the lower the odds of any progress. I appreciate it, though.”

“No problem. Sorry I was too busy to meet over the last few days. You can only imagine what this has done to our routine. Security has been beefed up, every half an hour someone is calling to verify that the prison is still considered secure…it’s like the world has gone mad. At least it’s been kept out of the papers.”

“I know the feeling. And yes, it’s fortunate that nobody has leaked the story to the press. That could only complicate everyone’s life,” Cruz agreed.

He exited through the security barriers and approached his car with an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. None of the scenario made sense. Theoretically, what had happened couldn’t have.

He looked at the list of names he’d taken for a personal interrogation. There was only one left. The judge who had ordered
El Rey
to be transported.

That had been a problem, as had the warden for the forty-eight hours following the escape. The judge had been hard to get a hold of, his assistant taking hours to even return a call. That was typical in Mexico, where judges were all powerful, used to having people scurry to meet their schedules. But Cruz was persistent, and since there was no trail to follow other than the chain of those who had known of the move in advance, the judge’s aversion to meeting with the lowly of the police force would prove no match for Cruz’s dogged pursuit of all possible leads.

~

That night, Cruz let himself into his condo with a sigh of relief. The two bedroom high rise was the latest in a string of habitations provided by the
Federales
, with a new one every six to eight weeks. Ever since he’d been kidnapped, the powers that be had acceded to his demand for a rotating living situation as part of his continued heading of the anti-cartel task force. By never being in one spot for very long, the likelihood of his being tracked down and slaughtered was minimized. It wasn’t a state of affairs he was in love with, but as with so much, he’d grown used to it, and now didn’t question his nomadic existence.

An intoxicating aroma of garlic drifted from the kitchen. He set down his briefcase beneath the side table in the entryway and moved down the hall, following his nose.

“You’re late,
mi amor
. Another bad one?” a female voice called out.

Cruz turned the corner into the kitchen and slid his arms around Dinah’s waist, nuzzling the soft nape of her neck as he peered over her shoulder at the meal she was cooking. He took in her reflection in the closed kitchen window – the delicate Mexican features, the black hair, the proud expression – and for the thousandth time thanked the stars for his good fortune.

“It was bad until just now.”

She placed the skillet on the burner, turned the knob down and swiveled to face him, kissing him on the lips. Thankfully, they had been able to put any unpleasantness behind them after the assassination attempt, following his discovery that
El Rey
had blackmailed Dinah into passing him critical top secret information.

Cruz had struggled for days over how best to handle Dinah’s seeming betrayal, and in the end, made a pragmatic choice – to forgive, and not demand from others a perfection that he couldn’t be assured existed in himself.

He had stormed out, inebriated, the night he had discovered that she had passed the assassin information on Cruz’s investigation, and had grappled with how to react. After he’d sobered up, he had realized that not only would turning in the love of his life have killed the small part of himself that was still alive, but it would have also killed his career – if his romantic entanglements had resulted in a critical security breach, that spoke to his judgment, and twenty years of loyal service would have counted for nothing to his many enemies, always waiting in the wings to deal him a death blow.

Forgiveness had won out, although he admitted to himself that for all his bluster he hadn’t wanted to do anything that would hurt her. But a small, quiet voice in him always questioned how much of his decision to ‘do the right thing’ had been driven by love, and how much by egocentric interests of self-preservation.

“What are you making? It smells heavenly. As do you, my love,” he said.

“Filet of Cabrillo,
con mojo de ajo
– in garlic butter sauce. I know how much you like your fish slathered in healthy butter…” Dinah teased.

“Butter makes everything better. As does salt, and tequila. Not necessarily in that order,” Cruz intoned with sudden seriousness. “Speaking of which, tequila sounds like just what the doctor ordered tonight.”

“Some doctor you have.”

“He’s very popular. And he’s flexible on cigarettes and fatty food. Says the jury is still out on exercise, too.”

“I’m surprised he’s not on TV.”

Cruz repaired to the breakfast bar and uncorked a bottle of Chinaco Reposado, fixing Dinah with an amused gaze as he did his best Groucho Marx eyebrow twitching routine. “Can I interest you in a little magic? Strictly medicinal.”

“Class is early
mañana
, but I suppose one won’t kill me. Plus, you’ll whine all night if I don’t join you. So predictable.”

“Nobody knows me like you,
mi corazon
.” Cruz poured two healthy snifters of the amber treasure and set them twinkling on the dining table. “For after dinner. Let me get out of this uniform. I’ll be back in a second.”

After dinner, Cruz regaled Dinah with the ugly story of
El Rey
’s escape and their lack of progress in finding any leads, swearing her to secrecy.

“You don’t think there’s any chance he’d come for…that we’re in any danger…?” she asked.

“No. If I was him, I would already be a thousand miles away. And unfortunately, I think that’s what will turn out to be the case. The only thing that’s bugging me, other than that he escaped in the first place, are the circumstances. Someone unimpeachable has to have been feeding his crew information. So while I can’t really hope to catch him, I can pull at this thread and figure out who helped him.”

“When do you think the media will get a hold of this? Is the blackout helping, or hurting?”

“It looks like the government has put a lid on it so far. How long that can last is anyone’s guess, but my hunch is that they don’t want to look like complete incompetents, allowing the most infamous assassin in Latin America to escape – no, worse, to be sprung while under heavy armed guard. But nobody’s talking, which is helping for now because I don’t have a phone call coming in every fifteen minutes demanding to know what is being done to reassemble the
El Rey
task force and recapture him.”

“You can’t keep a secret that big forever.”

“You never know – the press pretty much tells whatever story the government wants. But for now, I’ll take whatever breaks I can get. Still, it’s disturbing that he can slip through our fingers so easily,” Cruz complained.

Dinah’s brow crinkled in a troubled frown. “Are we ever going to be rid of him? And can we ever know for sure that he’s not going to come for us to even the score for the last episode? The man seems superhuman, and he’s caused so much damage in our lives…”

“My money is on that he’s gone for good. Don’t worry,
mi amor
. Although the worry does make me want another tequila,” Cruz tried, but then put his glass back down when he saw her disapproving look.

“Maybe we can figure out some other way to relieve your…pressures?” She smiled.

Cruz reflected that his life could have been worse, as he trailed Dinah to the bedroom.

~

The following day, the
El Rey
investigation was abruptly shunted to the back burner when a tip from a recently arrested cartel enforcer alerted Cruz’s team to a large methamphetamine distribution location. According to him, the site was being used by Los Zetas cartel to supply most of their network south-east of Mexico City, as well as for trans-shipment to the United States.