Rage Of The Assassin (17 page)

“I’ve also gotten reports of the deployments. As soon as you have a straight answer, get back to me. If there’s a big operation in play, it might overlap mine, so I need to know,” Cruz snapped, obviously annoyed. He listened for several seconds. “Fine. That’s all I can ask.
Gracias
.”

He hung up and fixed the lieutenant with a hard stare. “Tell me you have something substantial for me.”

“I do. One of the informants said the driver has been spotted a number of times in a different car. Apparently he sits in the thing for hours.”

“Sits in it? Where?”

Briones gave him an address.

“Any idea what he’s doing there?” Cruz inquired.

“No. But if you find him, maybe you can ask.”

Cruz smiled and nodded. “I might just do that.” He glanced around the office. “I told Godoy’s secretary to call me whenever he arrives so we can have our daily status meeting, but apparently he isn’t in yet, so I have nothing to do. The warden’s also not in his office. Seems like this morning we’re the only ones working.” Cruz thought for a moment. “I’ll take a few men over and see if I can locate the driver. If Godoy wants to meet, he can call me.”

Briones bit his lip and considered his next question. “You’ve heard the reports about some of downtown being closed?”

“Of course. But nobody’s talking.”

“I have a buddy who’s on the ground at the federal building. He said that the army officers are saying it’s a terrorist threat.”

Cruz frowned. “Terrorists? We don’t have any terrorists. Are you sure?”

“That’s what he said he’d heard.”

Cruz frowned. “You know how the rumor mill works. I’d discount that until we hear an official explanation. They can’t seal off large areas of the capital and not provide one. I’ve got my feelers out, too.” He shifted in his chair. “At any rate, it’s not cartel related, or we would have been notified, so it’s none of our business. Have you been able to ID all the shooters from your operation this morning?”

“Yes. The Millennium Cartel, relatively low level, and the local gang that operated the brothel. The club owner is nowhere to be found, but we’re checking, and it appears that he’s in debt up to his eyeballs on it, so he’ll probably vanish and stick the banks with the mortgage.”

“Fairly sophisticated for them, you have to admit. They operate illegally, no doubt laundering millions, and all the real risk of loss is with whoever loaned them the money – which might be a cartel-affiliated bank, for all we know.” Cruz sighed. “At least the girls won’t be living in hell any longer. That’s your good deed for the day. How are the other investigations going?”

Briones gave him a rundown and at the end offered to accompany him to the Land Rover.

Cruz shook his head. “No, I already saddled you with my twelve-hour-a-day workload. I’ll run down the vehicle. Like I said, until Godoy pokes his head in or the warden calls me back, I’ve got nothing on my plate.”

Cruz rose and moved to where his uniform jacket hung from his door hook. “I’ll be on my cell if you need anything.”

Briones stood and paused. “Oh. That’s the other thing I heard. There’s no phone coverage in large areas of the metro area. Part of this mystery operation.”

“Great. Okay, then I’ll be on the radio. I’ll round up a few of the lads and go for a drive.” Cruz gave Briones a small smile. “Good work on tracking down the driver. That’s twice I’ve had to congratulate you today, and it’s not quite eleven o’clock yet.”

“You know where to reach me if you have any questions,” Briones said, uncomfortable with the praise. “Good luck,
Capitan
.”

“Thanks. You too.”

Briones left and Cruz slid his desk drawer open to retrieve a radio. His landline rang as he was closing it. He answered it on the third ring, puzzled by the caller ID.

“Cruz,” he said.

“Romero? Thank God you’re there.” It was Dinah.

“Where else would I be?” he asked, and stopped, registering her tone. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’m at the doctor’s, remember?”

That’s right
. He’d totally forgotten, fatigued as he was. “Are you all right?”

“Hardly. Haven’t you heard the news? The government just held a press conference. We listened to it on the radio. Apparently there’s a terrorist threat to the building I’m in. At the main hospital.”

“What? No, I haven’t heard anything. Listen, you need to get out of there, Dinah. If there’s any kind of danger, don’t wait for the doctor, just leave. Now.”

“I wish I could. They won’t let anyone go. We’re being held against our will. We’re basically prisoners.”

Cruz digested the impossible information and a rush of anxiety bile burned the back of his throat. “They can’t do that. They have no right.”

“Apparently they do.”

“Did they say why?”

“No. Maybe they think the terrorists are in the hospital or the other buildings?”

“Others?”

“The Federal building and the anthropology museum.”

Cruz’s mind worked furiously as he set the radio onto his desk and sat heavily in his chair. “What phone are you using?”

“The hospital’s landline. Cell phones don’t work in here.”

“Give me the number. I’ll see what can be done to get you out of there.”

Dinah gave him the information, and then her voice softened. “Romero, are you sitting down?”

“Why? I mean, yes, I am, but what is it? Is it the doctor? What did he tell you?” Cruz demanded, his words tripping over themselves in his haste to get them out. He tried to keep his tone calm, but he sounded agitated to his ear.

“You’re going to be a daddy, Romero. I’m pregnant.”

Cruz’s pulse pounded in his ears like a kettle drum, and he shook his head as though trying to clear it. “Pregnant – are you serious?”

Dinah’s voice was flat. “Do I sound like I’m joking?”

“God…I mean, how did that happen?” Cruz blurted, and immediately regretted it.

“I thought you knew how that worked. There’s a stork…”

“No…I’m sorry,
amor
. I’m not firing on all cylinders today. Pregnant! That explains a lot, right? The dizziness, the fatigue, the mood swings, the tenderness…do they know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“Not yet. It’s too soon.” Dinah hesitated. “How do you feel about that, Romero? About us having a baby?”

“Feel? I feel…I feel excited. And amazed. And proud, and happy, and fifty different kinds of joyful, Dinah. But I’m also worried. I mean, you tell me you’re having a baby, but you’re being held prisoner, and we have no idea–”

Dinah cut him off. “I know.”

He took her hint. “Dinah, I love you more than anything, and I’ll love our child just as much. This is amazing. It’s just so unexpected, and with the other news…”

“I know you’ll do whatever you can to get me out of here, Romero. Get
us
out of here,” she corrected. “I need to get used to thinking of me as two, not just one. It’ll take a little time.”

“Don’t worry, Dinah. I’ll make some calls right now. I’ll fix this.”

A voice in the background said something, and Dinah covered the phone as she spoke, and then returned to Cruz. “I have to get off the line. It was an act of war just to use the phone.”

“Okay. Let me get to work,” Cruz said, but he was talking to a dial tone. “Damn,” he exploded, slamming down the handset. He sat back and glowered at the phone like it had bitten him, and then lifted it back to his ear and dialed Godoy’s extension. His assistant answered and told Cruz that he still hadn’t arrived.

“That’s not good enough. I need to talk to him. Now. What’s his cell number?”

The woman gave it to Cruz. “I haven’t heard from him yet today,
Capitan
, or I’d have passed your earlier message on,” she said, her voice uncertain.

“I’ll try his cell,” Cruz said, and hung up. He dialed the number, which went straight to voice mail. “Godoy, this is Cruz. We need to talk immediately. My wife is being held at the general hospital against her will, and I need you to intercede. It’s part of some terrorist thing – I don’t have all the details. But we need to get her out.”

Cruz disconnected and began calling everyone else he could think of.

He was going to be a father.

But what kind of father couldn’t help his wife and unborn child in an emergency?

Memories of his last family flooded his mind as he listened to the phone ring, and he closed his eyes at the recollection of the last time he had been powerless to help his loved ones. His throat tightened, and he stabbed the line off as he fought to get control over himself. He’d be of no use to anyone if he was lashing out blindly, and remembering his wife and daughter’s heads showing up at his office in boxes wasn’t going to do anything to help Dinah.

Or his baby.

He inhaled deeply and gritted his teeth. No matter what happened, he wasn’t going to fail his family again.

He’d die before that happened.

Chapter 29

Manhattan, New York

Horns honked from Park Avenue, the nearly constant tooting providing an arrhythmic backdrop of unlikely musicality as El Rey walked the final blocks toward FDR Drive and the nearby brownstone that was his target. It was a blustery late New York morning, the wind warm and humid off the Harlem River. The women around him were long-legged and pretty in their late summer skirts and too-serious looks – the tough expressions of city girls warning admirers not to mess with them.

He slowed at a corner where an old man was selling roasted chestnuts and bought a bag, curious as to why anyone might want to eat them. He tried a bite and was surprised by the steaming soft texture. Even though he’d only been on the island for a half hour, he already felt like he blended in, the other pedestrians a cosmopolitan smorgasbord of ethnicities. In just the last block he’d heard English, Spanish, French, Russian, and Arabic spoken, and any fear he’d had that his accent might set him apart quickly faded.

The city was teeming and reminded him of Mexico City or Buenos Aires – large, highly concentrated metropolises with the haves and have-nots living in close proximity. Only in New York, poverty took on a whole different meaning from the Latin American variety, and most of the shambling homeless people he spotted appeared to be either mentally ill or substance abusers, rather than down-on-their-luck lower classes like in his home country.

He’d heard that even the poor wore hundred-dollar shoes and had iPhones in America, and he hadn’t believed it until he’d seen it firsthand. The prosperity was unimaginable to him – the entire city was comprised of endless rows of monolithic skyscrapers, and the sense of harried wealth was palpable, especially here on the Upper East Side.

The assassin crossed the street, one of the few pedestrians who waited for the light to change, and was happy to see that as he neared the river the crowds on the sidewalks thinned out until he was one of only two or three others on the block. The neighborhood was quiet, reeking of genteel old money. The line of brownstones stood like senile sentries, vestiges of the past in a time that had long since passed them by. He’d been worried by the number of doormen only a couple of blocks back, but this section was devoid of the towering apartments that clogged the area by the main artery.

He munched on another chestnut as he ambled past the brownstone, noting from behind his sunglasses that the curtains were drawn. He continued to the end of the block and rounded the corner, calculating the best way to get into the building without being observed. He quickly appreciated the challenge he faced when he saw that there were no back alleys he could skulk along, only more dwellings crowded together.

That left the roof or the front door.

El Rey would have dearly loved to wait until nightfall for his incursion, but he was running on borrowed time. So it would be the worst kind of operation: a daytime sojourn in a highly populated area he hadn’t had the time to reconnoiter. He’d worked under worse circumstances, but that scenario was close to the top of his list of undesirable ones.

He studied the manholes as he took his time circling the block, looking for easier adjacent targets where he could get onto the roof and make his way to the brownstone. But his perusal of the homes quickly convinced him that he’d have to take the most direct route and walk up to the front door and ring the bell.

An hour later he returned wearing a different windbreaker, his other tied around his waist, his baseball cap on backwards and a courier service envelope in his hand, with the address slip made out to Dr. Helen Garland. He waited until the sidewalk was empty and then hurried up the steps to the front door and pressed the bell, fidgeting as he imagined a messenger in a rush might. When there was no answer, he knocked loudly and waited, his ears straining for any sound from inside.

A window scraped open on the second floor of the house next door and an old woman’s voice called out, “She’s not here.”

“Oh. Well, I have a package here for her. Any idea where I can find her?”

“I think she’s at her place on Long Island. You got that address?”

El Rey smiled. “I’m sure they do. I’m just the hired help.”

“Well, don’t waste your energy here. Nobody’s home.”

El Rey gave the old woman a jaunty salute and a wave. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The old neighbor woman had seen him, but it was a stretch to believe that she’d remember him in any detail by the time the doctor’s body was discovered, much less make the connection between a failed package delivery and a murder many miles away, so he decided to risk letting her live. Besides, he had to work fast, and silencing her would take time he didn’t have.

The walk back to Park Avenue went by quickly as he calculated how long it would take to get to the Hamptons for his meeting with destiny. Probably the better part of the afternoon, given his knowledge of the geography. He pulled up a website on his new cell phone and checked for the shortest route, and decided that a combination of the subway and taxis would get him there fastest, if the traffic was anywhere near as bad as it had been coming in from the airport. He glanced at his Panerai and turned onto Park Avenue, and then made for the nearest subway station, anxious to get on with his search before the neurotoxin made the odyssey a moot point.