Blood of the Assassin - By Russell Blake Page 0,114
lanyard out from under his shirt, where he’d slid it out of sight so he wouldn’t arouse suspicion, and then the soldier with the rifle yelled a nervous warning.
“Look out. He’s got a gun!” The soldier had spotted the Glock stuck in his waistband at the base of his spine.
“Easy, corporal. I’m with the Federales. I’m now going to pull my badge out and show it to you, all right? Don’t get crazy with the rifle. Everyone just calm down,” El Rey said in his calmest, most reasonable tone.
“No fast moves or you’re dead,” the soldier warned, his expression betraying that he could shoot for almost any reason, his nerves too near the surface for this duty.
“Nice and easy. Here, see? A badge. And an ID. Take a look, and lower your weapon, corporal. Show’s over. We’re on the same side.”
The soldier leaned forward and inspected the badge as his partner fingered the trigger guard of his weapon, and El Rey considered how easy it would be to disable them both before they even realized what had happened, and then stopped that line of thinking. He waited patiently for them to verify his identity, and then both soldiers relaxed.
“Sorry, sir. We’re on high alert. They told us to trust no one. And when I saw the gun...”
“No harm done. Now, I’ve got something to attend to. If you’ll excuse me...”
Cruz came puffing up just then. “Where is he?”
El Rey pointed. “Over by that door. Then Mutt and Jeff here stopped me, and by the time I sorted them out, he was gone.”
“Shit.”
They both jogged to the door, and Cruz moved to the two Federales framing it. “What happened to the man who was just here?”
“Sir? You mean the other officer?”
“Where is he?”
“He was in a hurry. Talking to headquarters. He went that way.” The policeman gestured to the right, out on the sidewalk.
Cruz called Briones and started talking when he heard the line connect.
“He’s outside. By C. We’re coming out. He’s dressed as a federal police officer. Tall. Mustache. Hat.”
“Damn. I think I see–”
Briones was interrupted by the screech of tires as one of the waiting police cruisers wheeled from the curb and accelerated.
“He’s in the car that just took off,” El Rey said, and then they both ran outside to Briones’ cruiser and jumped in.
“Don’t let him get away,” Cruz ordered, buckling up, and Briones floored the Dodge, which leapt forward and took off like a scared rabbit.
Chapter 49
They watched as Rauschenbach tore towards a security checkpoint, where two police cars were parked, blocking the road, hood to hood, lights flashing. A passel of officers standing in front of them watched with puzzlement and growing alarm as the cruiser hurtled towards the checkpoint. Cruz grabbed for the radio to send a warning, but as he pressed the transmit button the German’s vehicle blew through the blockade, knocking the cars aside and crushing his front fenders in the process. Sparks flew from beneath the front tires, but the cruiser was still drivable, judging by its minimal reduction in speed.
“He’s headed for Sonora Street. If he can lose us, he’ll be in the clear,” Briones shouted as they slammed over scattered wreckage in the road, running the newly formed gauntlet between the two cars without hesitation.
“You can take him,” El Rey said from the back seat.
“Try to get closer. I’ll shoot out his back tires. That’ll slow him down,” Cruz commanded, and then lowered his window and pulled his Glock. Briones jammed the accelerator to the floor and they gained a few car lengths. A piece of Rauschenbach’s fender tore off and skittered against the pavement. Briones reacted too late, and the errant piece of metal shattered the windshield, starbursting the safety glass and making it almost impossible to see out of it.
“Damn,” Briones swore, leaning his head out the driver’s side window so as not to lose the German.
“Hold it steady,” Cruz yelled over the wind noise, and leaned halfway out of the car, gun trained on Rauschenbach’s rear bumper. The range was iffy, at least sixty to seventy yards, but he wasn’t trying to split a mouse hair. He was only looking for one hit, and he had a full clip to gamble with.
The boom of his pistol sounded, then again and again and again, as he rapid fired in a rough pattern, his aim thrown off by the car’s bouncing on the uneven pavement.
“Pull to the left. Let me try,” El Rey screamed, and Cruz slid back into