Rage Of The Assassin (23 page)

El Rey could tell Hunt was still apprehensive about him, but he’d done everything he could to set her mind at ease and couldn’t waste any more energy on reassurances. He squinted at the building in frustration – even if he managed to evade the security systems, both of them doing so was impossible. She was an untrained amateur, and all it would take was one slip to bury them both.

But then how to achieve his objective?

His mind felt fuzzy, whether from lack of sleep or the effects of the neurotoxin, he wasn’t sure. But what was certain was that he was having trouble figuring out how to get inside, and the more he stared at the bunker-like building, the more despondent he felt.

Think, damn it. You can do this,
he told himself.
You have no choice.

If he had more time, maybe he could have gotten in through a ventilation shaft. He’d done so enough times before. But that still wouldn’t get the woman in, and he’d have accomplished nothing.

Hunt stirred beside him. El Rey turned to regard her, an idea forming.

“What about walking through the front door?” he asked.

She blinked awake. “What? What are you talking about?”

“During business hours. Do they do any sort of tours of the facility?”

“No, it’s closed to the public.”

“How about for clients? Haven’t they ever had any that want to see their plant? I’d think if the CIA was having them store antidote for them, somebody would want to look their systems over to ensure they’re adequate.”

“I don’t honestly know. I mean, I wasn’t involved in that level. Although…” She paused. “What are you thinking?”

“I can pose as a customer. A potential client with a substantial order. Or, better yet, pose as a security specialist who’s been instructed to vet their facility before my group gives them the order.”

“The problem is that they mainly deal with the government these days.”

El Rey tilted his head and gave a small nod. “What about foreign governments?”

“I know they’ve done work like that in the past, as long as there’s no national security threat to doing so.”

“So if the Mexican government was considering hiring them to do something, I don’t know, to create antidotes for something or generate some sort of specialized substance for it, that might work?”

She nodded cautiously. “It could. Why? Do you know someone in the government who could set that up?”

“I might.”

“They’d want to verify it, obviously, before letting you in. But what about me?”

“I’d need a translator. Or a personal assistant. Would anyone recognize you?”

“I doubt it. I mean, it was years ago, and I wasn’t at this facility very often. I used to wear my hair differently, too.”

“So if we threw some glasses on you, there might be no issues?”

“I wouldn’t want to chance it.” She thought. “How about the Mexicans hired me as a consultant? That would fly. I do that sort of work, and that way I wouldn’t need to pretend to be anyone else. And it would explain how you came to be looking at them – they’d know I’m familiar with their production capabilities, so it wouldn’t be a shock if I recommended them as part of my diligence. In fact, we can say you’re looking at two of their competitors, too. That would get the wheels turning faster. Make seeing this place almost an afterthought. Like, while we’re at it.”

“What would we need in order to get in?”

“I could contact corporate headquarters in the morning and tell them that I’m showing a client around. Tell them that it’s their business to lose. But they’ll still need to vet your identity, at the very least. That’s not going to go away.”

“I think I can get someone to vouch for me.”

“They need to be legit. The company will check.”

“Oh, he is.”

“High level?”

“High enough. So now the question is, does this outfit make anything that the Federal Police might want to buy from them and have them store?”

Hunt considered the question. “Sure. I mean, it depends, but for instance if you were trying to build a stockpile of emergency antidotes for public health threats, like some bioagent, I could see it as plausible. They’re big in that field.”

“But why would we be interested in inspecting their facility?”

“What if you didn’t have the capability of safely storing it in Mexico yet? There was a site planned for construction, but it won’t be done for another year, so Mexico needs it stored in the interim?”

El Rey smiled. “That sounds good enough to get us through the door.” He glanced at the time and retrieved a cell phone from his pocket. “I need to make a call. Don’t say anything.”

The assassin dialed a number from memory and waited as it rang, but it went to voice mail. He didn’t want to leave a message, so he disconnected and dialed another number. When the switchboard answered, he gave the operator the name of the person he needed to speak to and crossed his fingers that the man was still in the office. There was a strong likelihood he would be, even late. He was a workaholic, and El Rey knew from experience that he typically clocked superhuman hours.

When his extension answered with a familiar voice, El Rey smiled and spoke softly in Spanish.

“Hello, my friend. You still owe me one. I’m calling to collect.”

Chapter 39

Cruz parked beside a CFE truck in the lot of a building three blocks from the general hospital. Two men wearing the power company’s beige uniforms waited nearby, and Cruz walked over to them, slipping on his blue Federales jacket as he approached. The paunchier of the pair looked up at him and nodded.

“
Capitan
Cruz? I’m Adolfo Minos, and this is Bernard Trevino. We’re at your service.”

Cruz had gotten nowhere with his attempts to find a legitimate way to free Dinah, and so had contrived a plan that was an abuse of his office – but a necessary one. He’d notified the power company that he had an emergency action that required engineers to guide him into the hospital through the network of utilities tunnels that interconnected the area, and had used his blanket authority as the head of the task force to do so. Nobody had questioned him, which was as he’d expected. He was accustomed to receiving the full cooperation of any agency he approached, and this was no different.

“Pleased to meet you,” Cruz said, and shook their hands.

“This way,” Minos said, and led him to one of six windowless bunkers with fortified steel doors bearing the CFE logo. He opened it and led Cruz and Trevino inside, and then relocked the bolt before turning to a metal stairway that led downward into nothingness. Minos flipped several switches and the passageway lit with the dead white glow of fluorescent bulbs, and motioned to Trevino. “After you,” he said.

Cruz followed them down three levels, and they came to another steel door, this one unlocked. Minos heaved it open and Cruz eyed the cables and pipes that occupied most of the narrow space, a walkway running along one side barely wide enough to accommodate a man’s shoulders.

“This eventually leads into one of the hospital’s basement utility rooms. The facility has a number of them, and they occupy the entire lowest level of the building, beneath the radiation oncology and radiology vaults,” Minos explained.

“Why so far from the hospital?”

“This is the hub for the high-consumption buildings in the area. The rest run off standard cabling. Mostly hotels with convention facilities, and another hospital, private.”

“Ah,” Cruz said.

“Are you ready?” Trevino asked.

Cruz nodded.

The three blocks of tunnel ran in more or less a straight line, with only two bends in the span. Cruz tried not to think of the forty feet of earth and buildings pressing down on the tunnel ceiling as they slowly worked their way through the tight passage. The going was tight in many areas and filled with stagnant air. In several places the concrete-reinforced walls leaked mystery fluid.

“This was all lake bed, so everything is landfill, some of it from as long ago as the conquistadors,” Minos said as he led the way. “There’s still a lot of moisture in the ground even though the lake was drained and filled in by the Spanish centuries ago. And the frequent earthquakes don’t help matters. We’re constantly having to contend with damage from one of those hitting.”

“Do the tunnels ever collapse?” Cruz asked, failing to keep the trepidation out of his voice.

“Oh, sure. But there haven’t been any cave-ins for a while in the city center. Mostly in the outlying areas. You can guess the story – somebody’s cousin gets the construction bid through nepotism and uses substandard products, cutting every corner he can so he can pocket more profit, and then an earthquake hits and, bam, flat as a pancake.”

Cruz cringed at the sound of Minos smacking his hands together, his ability to imagine being crushed in a cave-in far too vivid for his liking. Trevino laughed at the graveyard humor and they continued their slog through the bowels of the earth. Minos looked over his shoulder at Cruz. “We lost sixteen workers last year from collapses where construction was thought to be the cause, but nobody ever goes to jail for it. Might want to talk to the higher-ups about that.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” Cruz said. Corruption was a constant in every area of Mexican life, so the story of the cave-ins wasn’t surprising or shocking to him. He’d file a report once everything was over, but it would just sit on someone’s desk, he was sure.

They arrived at another steel door, this one weeping rust from its seams, and Minos fiddled with the lock, trying key after key, testing what little patience Cruz had after a night with little sleep and a day as demanding as any of his career. After an eternity, the heavy lock sprang open and Minos pushed the door wide, the chamber beyond it completely dark.

Trevino freed a flashlight from his belt, switched it on, and swept the walls with its beam. A complex tangle of pipes that led to oversized pumps the size of cars stretched as far as the light could penetrate in the gloom. Trevino moved into the room as Cruz and Minos trailed him.

Cruz could see that past all the pumps stood another door. Trevino found a switch and the room flooded with light. Minos retrieved his cell phone and brought up a blueprint of the hospital layout. He turned to Cruz and tapped on the screen.

“We’re here. Outside this door is a corridor that ends at a stairwell. Two levels up is the lobby.”

Cruz nodded. He had his own set of blueprints and had studied them at length. Dinah was on the fourth floor, halfway across the massive complex – the hospital covered four city blocks, and she was roughly two blocks away once he made it to her level. “Good. Wait for me in this room. Don’t make a sound. I’d shut the lights off just in case – we don’t want to attract attention.”

The two CFE engineers nodded as though they had any idea what Cruz was doing. All they needed to know was that law enforcement wanted them to be discreet, which was sufficient. The call to help him had come from one of the top officials in the utility company, who had instructed them to give the captain all possible cooperation.

Cruz tried the handle and found the door unlocked. He pulled it open and grimaced at the groan of unlubricated hinges before stepping out into a drab gray hall lined with at least twenty identical doors. He made a mental note of the location and identification number of the pump room door and closed it behind him, the sound of the hinges as loud as a scream in the silence of the building’s depths.

His footfalls echoed like drumbeats down the long corridor as he made his way to the maintenance stairwell, but there was nobody around to hear them. The stairway was dark, and he used his cell phone screen to illuminate the way, taking the steps two at a time, his sense of urgency increasing as he neared the fourth floor.

He was sweating and winded by the time he made it to the fourth-level landing, and he paused to catch his breath before covering the final stretch. After regaining his composure and blotting his face, he opened the door and found himself staring at two security guards lounging nearby. Cruz’s expression didn’t change. He approached the pair with his shoulders square and his chin high. One of the men, no older than twenty-five, stiffened at the sight of Cruz’s uniform, but didn’t release his grip on his baton.

“Nobody’s allowed in the halls,” he said, his tone conspicuously lacking in confidence.

“I know that. I’m with the Federal Police task force that’s secured the building. Captain Cruz. I’m here to check on how you’re holding up, and to transport a patient downstairs. Has everyone been behaving themselves?”

“They’re getting pretty upset at being locked up,” the second man said. “And nobody’s really telling us anything. When will this be over?”

“We’re hopeful by tomorrow.”

“What’s it all about?”

“I’m not allowed to say much, other than that we’re going floor by floor, hoping to find members of a group that pose a threat to public safety.”

“And this patient is one of them?”

“That’s all I can say.” Cruz glanced at his phone. “Where’s the general practice ward?”

The pair exchanged a look. “Down this hall, make a left at the end, and then a right at the first hall you come to, and it’s about halfway down on the left side. There’s another guard stationed there who can open it for you.”

“I’ll be back with the suspect shortly. See to it that nobody passes this way other than me.”

“Yes,
Capitan
.”

Cruz stalked off, a busy man on a mission, leaving the two rent-a-cops to stare at his back as he disappeared down the hall. He could smell the nervousness coming off them, and was glad they’d deferred to his authority. As he’d suspected, the gravitas that came with his age and rank had worked magic; he just hoped that his good fortune held long enough to find Dinah and get her out of there.

The guard sitting on a chair outside the general practice ward stood as Cruz approached, and his tired eyes took in Cruz’s uniform and holstered Glock without comment.

“I have to escort one of the patients you’re holding in there downstairs for interrogation. Open the door,” Cruz ordered, and the man shook his head.