Revenge of the Assassin

Chapter 30

“I don’t give a shit. I want my men here, twenty-four seven. Two in the room, two outside, and if he tries anything, they shoot,” Cruz said to the doctor, who was obviously annoyed with the quasi-military presence of the tactical squad members in full assault gear, toting sub-machine guns and looking menacing. “And he will remain cuffed to the bed. Both hands. And his feet shackled to the rail. This man is easily the most dangerous man in Mexico, so I want no more discussion about what is or isn’t good for his convalescence or pain management.”

“Captain, I understand, but this is most irregular. He’s got a concussion, and a cerebral hemorrhage we’re managing now, after the surgery, and two fractured vertebrae, as well as several broken ribs. He won’t be going anywhere or trying anything. I really think this is unnecessary…” the doctor complained.

“That may well be, but you don’t know him like I do. He’s a magician, not to mention that he’s killed dozens, if not hundreds of people in cold blood. I wouldn’t put it past him to chew his own arms off to escape, so there will be no negotiation. If I need to call the hospital administrator, I’ll be more than happy to do so. What’s it going to be?” Cruz threatened.

The doctor backed down. Fighting for his patients only went so far, and he didn’t need any additional grief in his life.

“Well, I don’t like it,” he lamented pugnaciously and then stalked off down the hall, shaking his head.

Cruz turned to the four heavily armed officers. “I want you on high alert. No fraternizing with the nurses. Do not eat anything, and only drink bottled water. You will be replaced in eight hours. Expect a full-scale assault to free this man, and also expect him to try to kill any and all of you with anything he can get his hands on. Do not let down your guard under any circumstances,” he warned them.

The elevator at the end of the hall opened, and Briones approached, his nose swollen, with a bandage across it holding a piece of gauze in place.

“Broken, eh?” Cruz asked.

Briones nodded. “Damned air bag hit it just the right way. A fluke. It actually blew my hand up, and my hand broke it.”

“So, you punched yourself in the nose?”

Cruz started chuckling, as did Briones. It was a little funny, and the dark humor helped relieve the accumulated tension.

“Yeah, but you should have seen the other guy…”

Cruz grinned, and then described the security precautions in place at the hospital. Briones listened intently and then nodded.

“The doctor just told me that he’s come to,” Cruz informed him. “They spent five hours operating on his skull, trying to drain the blood and fix the damage. He says the prognosis is good. I wish he’d stuck a pair of forceps into his brain and ended this, but that’s not how the Hippocratic Oath works, apparently. So El Rey’s still with us,” Cruz explained. “I’m going in to interrogate him. You want to be a fly on the wall?” he asked Briones.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The pair opened the door and walked into the room. El Rey was handcuffed and chained to the steel frame, and held down with restraint straps for good measure. His eyes followed Cruz and Briones from beneath a bandage enveloping his head as they walked to the foot of his bed. Cruz noticed that he had remarkable eyes. Bright, intelligent, but chillingly void of any emotion.

“What’s your name?” Cruz asked.

The man smiled almost shyly. “You can call me Romero.”

Cruz recognized that the assassin was mocking him by choosing his first name.

“Very amusing, indeed. You’re quite a card, eh?” Cruz leaned over the bed and lowered his voice. “You’ve pulled your last stunt, my friend. It’s over. You’ll spend the rest of your life rotting in prison for your reward. I hope it was worth it…”

El Rey didn’t say anything; just stared at them both with a disinterested gaze before closing his eyes.

“You’ll never be able to keep me prisoner. No prison will be able to hold me. Enjoy your moment of triumph. You deserve it,” El Rey said in a hoarse whisper directed to the ceiling.

“Oh, I think you underestimate my resolve. I agree, under normal circumstances you’d have a good chance at escape. But you, my little bird, are going to be kept in solitary in a special facility that houses the worst of the worst — under twenty-four hour guard. If you’re lucky they’ll give you solid food once in a while, and not make you eat through a straw. Assuming you can even chew, and the doctor that did the surgery on your brain didn’t scramble it.”

El Rey opened one eye. “Do what you have to do.”

“Oh, I intend to. Believe me. But I do have one question. Who hired you to kill the president? Who put you up to it?” Cruz asked.

“It was pro bono. Call it my charitable contribution to the great nation of Mexico.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. But no matter. I suspect whoever did it will want their money back, or will be looking for you harder than we did. You’ll be praying the prison is secure every night as you cry yourself to sleep,” Cruz said, smiling humorlessly.

“Right. You’re delusional. I watched the president being blown into a million pieces. Nice try, though.”

“Maybe you thought you did, but I’m afraid all you accomplished was to kill a few more innocent men. Seems like your reputation is a little bigger than your actual effectiveness. Par for the course with blowhards,” Cruz said.

“I’m sure that’s the last thing your men were thinking when they disintegrated in flames at the apartment. I read about it in the paper. Sad, really. You don’t train them very well, do you?” El Rey offered, eyes closed again, reclining against his pillow.

Cruz nodded at Briones. He walked over to the television suspended in the right corner of the room and switched it on. Looking at his watch, he flipped through the stations until he got to a news program. The newscaster was reporting on the morning’s attack on the cathedral, and then cut to footage of the president speaking about it. The camera cut back to the announcer, who concluded with the statement that the president had been involved in a near-miss assassination attempt, but was unhurt.

El Rey’s eyes had opened at the sound of the broadcast and now narrowed.

“I saw it myself.”

“What you saw was an hallucination. You failed. Both times you tried to kill a president, you failed miserably. You’re a loser. Maybe you got a reputation as hot stuff snuffing out drug lords and local politicians, but in the big leagues, you’ve been tested and found wanting. And you’ll be spending the rest of your life in a hole, the laughingstock of the prison. That’s your future, you cockroach.”

El Rey stared at him with that dead gaze, and then closed his eyes again. For him, the discussion was over.

Cruz spoke for a few more minutes, taunting him, but got no response. Eventually he tired of it, and he and Briones moved out into the hallway, being replaced in the room by two of the four armed guards.

They walked easily towards the elevator, and Briones turned to Cruz.

“I saw it, too.”

“What you saw was a very brave man — no, several brave men — give their lives for their country. One of which was an impersonator. A lookalike.”

Briones stopped. “Not the president?”

“No. When I met with his chief of staff, I was able to convince him that El Rey was likely to succeed, and that if the president insisted on being seen at public events while he was at risk, that they should find a standin for the events where he didn’t have to give a speech — much like many of the Middle Eastern despots have. This was the first time he used one, which turned out to be fortunate. Or unfortunate, depending upon who you ask.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Briones exclaimed, touching his battered nose gingerly with his fingers.

“Yes, I suspect we both will. It seems to go with the territory.”

“At least the hours are good.”

They both chuckled again.

The elevator opened and they stepped inside, an odd couple who looked like they were carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. Cruz pushed the lobby button, and as the doors closed he glanced at Briones again and smiled.

Sometimes the good guys won a round.

Today was one of those days.