Blood of the Assassin - By Russell Blake Page 0,49

can find him?” Cruz asked softly, as much to himself as to his unlikely new associate.

“I think I can. The question is whether there’s enough time, and whether you can keep your clumsy pack of wolves from worsening your odds. This will require delicacy – looking at the man’s dossier, he’s about as good as it gets.”

Cruz frowned and rubbed his chin, where a light dusting of stubble had already begun forming.

“How about compared to you?” he asked.

The assassin stood silently for several moments, and then strode off, tossing his response over his shoulder.

“Nobody’s that good.”

Chapter 20

It was eight-thirty by the time Cruz had finished walking the grounds with El Rey, and he had his driver stop at a torta restaurant on the way home, pulling to the curb twenty yards from the busy café, a line of hungry commuters spilling onto the sidewalk, waiting to pick up their dinner. Most took it to go, wrapped in white paper, each sandwich the size of a small football. Cruz stood patiently amidst the throng – everything from laborers to pickpockets to businessmen on their way home from a long day in the office – and felt the last of his energy drain from him. It had been another long one, and tomorrow would be even worse, as the countdown to the event ticked away and the pressure mounted.

When he got to the counter he ordered his sandwich, and then, after momentary consideration, ordered one for Dinah, too. She hadn’t answered the phone the two times he had called, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything – she was probably still angry; but she, like he, was a sucker for a good torta, and the gesture would hopefully win him points. His stomach growled audibly as he stood, patiently waiting for the cooks to finish their culinary ministrations, the rich aroma of cooking meat enveloping him as he salivated like a dog.

A portly older man in an indifferently cut gray business suit sidled up next to him and nodded a greeting, one of the courteous-yet-standoffish ways that residents of densely populated areas conveyed politeness without inviting conversation. That was just as well to Cruz, and he returned the nod. His mind was a million miles away, going over threat vectors, perimeter weaknesses, and the logistics of keeping the target alive for his stay.

Fortunately, the Chinese leader was scheduled to fly in, go straight to the Congress for the signing ceremony, then fly out, with a meeting and dinner already scheduled to take place in Washington with the U.S. President. He would arrive in the morning, and with any luck at all, leave, alive, a few hours later – just a quick stop on a diplomatic junket that would take him to twelve countries in a week.

El Rey, as much as Cruz hated to admit it, was as sharp as they came. He’d analyzed the surroundings with a professional eye and found countless weak spots that could be exploited by the German. Cruz had phoned in instructions to the security detail about changing the signing ceremony location to the interior of the Congress building, and was awaiting a formal approval. It was lunacy, given what they now knew, to have it take place as planned outside on the steps. His only problem was that the new president was an attention sponge, and would likely put up a fight to keep the photo opportunity outdoors, where he could be framed with the Congressional mural in the background, shaking hands with the Chinese leader and making a speech about new vistas and progress for tomorrow.

Cruz sincerely hoped that it wouldn’t turn into a battle. He had enough on his hands without that. Although, when all was said and done, he served at the pleasure of the king, and if the president was adamant about holding the ceremony on the steps, there was little he could do except remind him about the El Rey assassination attempt and how close he’d come to being executed. Hopefully that would still be fresh in his mind. With the Iron Eagle on the loose, conducting the ceremony outside would be akin to suicide.

A three-hundred-pound woman with mahogany skin waddled to her customary position behind the counter with a plastic bag and called his number, and he pushed through the crowd to claim his meal. Out on the curb, he peered into the bag with satisfaction, then strode to his waiting vehicle, where the driver leapt out and opened his door. Cruz