Blood of the Assassin - By Russell Blake Page 0,64
churned, a million miles away. Cruz flashed back to the last time he’d dealt with a kidnapping – the last time he had ever seen his wife and daughter alive. A vision he’d stuffed into the nether reaches of his memory forced itself to the forefront – his baby daughter and wife’s heads in a box, and his screaming blind rage at the cosmos as he slammed his fists into his desk, over and over and over, until his staff had to forcibly restrain him for his own safety, two fractures ballooning his left hand.
It had been a dark time; the kind of period that drove men mad, or to drink, in a feeble attempt to erase the unthinkable for a blissfully empty few hours of oblivion. The thought that he would lose the only other woman he had ever loved in the same way almost paralyzed him. It was the realization that only he stood between Dinah and the unspeakable that stopped him as he teetered on the edge of the abyss, the dark looking back into his soul, taking his measure, staining him indelibly, as it always did.
Cruz paced as Briones made his calls, thoughts whirling, apportioning blame and promising revenge in the same moment, a tiny voice inside screaming in protest as he struggled to maintain an outward calm. They had her. You know how this ends. You’ve seen it before. Your family paid the price, but it wasn’t enough. You had to keep baiting the bear, swatting it on the nose, daring it, goading it to action. Your career, your drive to be so different, so special, so superior, has killed everything you ever held dear, and it still wasn’t enough. Never enough.
And now they had Dinah.
His hand dropped automatically to his Glock, seeking reassurance in the familiar shape, its bulk comforting, not least because it had spit death at those who tried to harm him only hours before, equalizing, killing with brutal efficiency, its purpose unambiguous, clean and clear. As his fingers found the grip and stroked it as tenderly as a lover, he was consumed with only one thought.
They will pay for this, mi amor. Whatever they do or have done, they will pay tenfold.
I am justice, and I will prevail. And in doing so I will extract a terrible price.
Whatever happens, they will pay.
Chapter 26
El Rey stood impatiently in the lobby of the office building, studying the now dozen heavily armed Federales in a state of high alert, as he waited for his identification card to be validated by an anonymous computer somewhere upstairs. On his prior visit, security had been relaxed, with a quick, cursory check and a wave through. Now the officers were behaving as though the building was filled with gold bars and he was a thief.
Eventually the computer gave the okay, and the guard handed him back his ID and gestured to the elevator. He pulled the lanyard that dangled from the card over his head and waited for the doors to open, the hair on the back of his neck prickling from the room full of eyes staring at him. When the elevator arrived he pushed a button and then exhaled a small sigh of relief when it ascended, carrying him away from the trigger-happy monkeys in the lobby.
When he arrived at the command center floor he stepped into a kind of controlled mayhem, the energy of the place completely different than it had been before. Dark glares greeted his arrival, but he’d expected the reception, so they didn’t faze him. What surprised him was how grim everyone was.
He walked across the common workspace towards Cruz’s office but was intercepted by Briones before he’d made it halfway there. The lieutenant blocked his way.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m working with this task force, remember? You know, the expert sent by CISEN? Your best hope in the world of catching the assassin before he drills your Chinese dignitary? Ringing any bells?”
“What do you want?”
El Rey noticed the tension just beneath the skin of the lieutenant’s face. Something was wrong. “To see your glorious leader. Now get out of my way.”
“He’s occupied right now. Busy. You can tell me whatever you have for him.”
“I don’t think so. I want to talk to the big man, not his lap dog.”
Briones bristled, then choked down his anger. The assassin was just trying to goad him into an explosion. It was a game, and he wasn’t going to play it – he wouldn’t give