Blood of the Assassin - By Russell Blake Page 0,118
means, and it might take years to live this one down, but everyone seemed willing to let him have another inning; and with that, he was still in the game and could turn it around.
He closed the red file marked Top Secret and stood at the foot of the table, studying the walls for a few moments, considering his next move, and then nodded to himself.
Time to put together a good destabilization plan for our neighbors to the south.
It had worked before elsewhere, and it could certainly work again.
Now he just needed to tweak it and sell it.
His specialty.
Chapter 51
The nurse dabbed at Cruz’s cut with an antibiotic pad and he winced from the sting, his legs swinging as he sat on the exam table. A knock sounded from the door and a doctor entered, sporting crisp physician whites and carrying a clipboard, trailed by Briones, who looked like he’d been mule-kicked in the head.
“Well, Capitan, you’ll live. Just a few bruises and that cut. Cosmetic. Your associate here will have a slightly harder time of it. Couple of black eyes and a sniffer that might need some work down the road.”
“Why is it that I always get it in the face?” Briones griped good-naturedly.
“The universe trying to tell you something? Maybe about keeping your nose out of other people’s business?” Cruz opined. “This time around you got off light. No bullet wounds. Just a nosebleed from your reckless driving. The insurance company is going to get it worse than you.”
The nurse finished her ministrations and offered a perfunctory smile to both men, and then she and the doctor left, leaving them alone.
“I think she liked you best,” Cruz offered.
“But she was tending to you, sir.”
“That’s probably why she liked you best.”
Briones rolled his eyes, then held his hand to his head. “Ow. Damn. I think I just hurt myself.”
“That’s what cynicism will do to you. It eats at your well-being like a cancer,” Cruz intoned.
“Yes, sir. I’ve heard that.”
Cruz’s demeanor grew serious. “And how about everybody’s favorite assassin? How did he pull through?”
“Concussion. But he’s gone. Disappeared. They did a CT scan, and once he saw the results, he vanished while they were preparing to do a more thorough workup. Typical. Always about the drama. But he did leave this for you,” Briones said, and then offered Cruz a sealed hospital envelope with his name neatly printed on the front.
Cruz took it from him, and after glancing at it, stuffed it into the breast pocket of his shirt. “How’s the sniper who got shot on the roof?”
“He’ll be okay. Vest saved him.”
“He’s very lucky. He could have gotten it in the head.”
“I heard on the radio that the signing ceremony took place, and the Chinese leader is now back in the air,” Briones said.
“So at least in that respect, this was a success.”
“Sure doesn’t feel like one, does it, sir?”
“No. It doesn’t.”
Both men sat contemplating their circumstances, and then Cruz’s phone rang.
“Hello.”
Godoy’s voice boomed with effusive good cheer. “Congratulations, Capitan! He made it without getting killed! Good for you. I heard that you stopped the attempt!”
Cruz debated correcting the moron, then decided that it didn’t warrant his effort. “All’s well that ends well, right?” he said noncommittally.
“Yes, well, that’s right. When can you be in my office?” Godoy asked, cutting to the chase.
“Some point this afternoon. I’m still at the hospital.”
Godoy didn’t ask whether he was okay, Cruz noticed.
“Fine. I’ll leave instructions with my girl to put you through when you arrive.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
Godoy’s tone changed back to one that Cruz was sure he imagined to be camaraderie. “Nonsense. You’re practically a hero. Although I don’t have to remind you that this is all hush hush.”
Cruz considered whether it would have been so secret if the Chinese leader had been executed on his watch. He was willing to bet money that his name would have been plastered all over the evening papers as the man who failed Mexico.
“You made that abundantly clear.”
“Well, then, there it is.” Godoy had run out of things to say, and like a car on an empty tank, had sputtered to a stop. Cruz considered softening the awkward moment, and then chose to let the egomaniac hang. Not that his superior would care whether anyone thought that he was a dolt. Godoy seemed singularly immune to self-awareness or introspection.
Instead, he simply hung up.
“Godoy?” Briones asked, brows raised.
“Yes. He was very concerned about you and the downed officer.”