Blood of the Assassin - By Russell Blake Page 0,45
got that right,” Cruz said, then gestured for Briones to accompany him to his office.
The common area had already become a working situation room as they passed through it, and the men were settling into their workstations, some already on the phone, murmuring instructions and demands. As they approached Cruz’s office, the entry door swung open and a figure dressed in head-to-toe black stepped in, looking around at the gathered officers before spotting Cruz and Briones, abruptly stopped in their tracks. The newcomer ignored the evil glares from the assembled men and moved towards Cruz, his gait fluid like that of a large jungle cat. Cruz touched Briones’ arm and they continued to his office, where Cruz motioned for Briones to sit at the small corner table ringed by four chairs. The lieutenant took a seat, his eyes never leaving the black-clad figure.
El Rey stopped at the doorway and threw a small off-hand salute to Cruz. “So, I’m here. What do you have?” he asked, ignoring Briones.
“Thanks so much for joining us. Pity you missed the orientation meeting where I described our operation and data in detail,” Cruz said sarcastically, his tone scathing.
If El Rey registered it, he gave no indication. “I’m here now.”
Cruz decided that this wasn’t the hill he was willing to die on, and motioned to the table. The assassin nodded and moved to one of the vacant seats, only then looking directly at Briones, his killer’s eyes taking him in without expression as he eased himself into the chair. If looks could kill, El Rey would have been dead on the floor, but he seemed unfazed by Briones’ seething glare.
Cruz sized up the situation and knew that this was the most difficult moment – he would need to get Briones past it for the man to be any use. He sat down behind his desk and waved a hand at the two men.
“Lieutenant Briones, this is...Carlos. You’ve met before, but it was in different circumstances. Not the best, I’ll grant you.”
“Carlos. How fitting. Someone has a great sense of humor,” Briones said tonelessly.
“I moonlight as a comic. Now can we get to it?” El Rey said, impatience tingeing his words.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” Briones asked, nearly whispering.
El Rey regarded him. “Of course I do. I never forget a face. You’re lucky to be alive. Most who crossed my path aren’t.”
“Last time I saw you, you were wearing a nun’s habit and bleeding out on my windshield,” Briones spat.
“A greeting card moment, I’m sure.” El Rey turned to Cruz. “For the last time. What have you got for me that was so important I needed to come in?”
Cruz took him through the various contingencies he had put into place, and El Rey listened silently until he was finished.
“You won’t catch him at the border. That’s a waste of time and energy,” El Rey said.
“Perhaps, but we have to do it all the same,” Cruz conceded.
“What, do you have some other suggestion? Something we’ve missed?” Briones snorted.
El Rey eyed Cruz. “Capitan, are you going to be able to keep your attack dog leashed, or is this going to be a recurring problem?” He leaned towards Briones across the table. “You need to let it go, or this isn’t going to work. And you might get me angry. You don’t want to get me angry.”
“Are you threatening me?” Briones hissed, his upper body tensing.
“I’m giving you advice.”
“Gentlemen, please. I know this is difficult. For all of us. But Lieutenant, stand down. That’s an order. Remember our earlier conversation – if you can’t do this, say the word and I’ll replace you,” Cruz interrupted.
Briones exerted a visible effort to restrain himself and shifted in his seat, the tension draining out of him. “That won’t be necessary. I’m a professional.”
“Capitan, this is all very touching, but you’re wasting my time,” El Rey said.
Cruz forgave the insolence and decided then and there that he wouldn’t allow the assassin to get a rise out of him. That was simply playing into his game, and he wouldn’t take the bait. “We were discussing the borders.”
“Yes. Put simply, he’ll get in without any effort, and you’ll never know it. He’s a pro. Borders never posed any problem for me. He’ll have multiple identities, and be able to change his look at will. Some cotton in his mouth, a beard or moustache, any of a dozen drugs that will temporarily alter his complexion, skin dye... Even assuming that he comes through an airport or