Russell Blake - Revenge of the Assassin

He watched as his quarry jaywalked, a car honking angrily as it nearly missed him. The target seemed unfazed and picked up his pace past the street vendors at the park entrance. The light turned green, and he joined the crowd in crossing to the verdant expanse, trying to maintain a fix on the target’s trajectory.

The young man was now a good hundred and fifty yards ahead of him, and he watched as the distant figure cut through a line of people waiting to enter the small underground theater that was the central hub of the park. He could just make out the lights and distinctive white facade of the Park Hyatt hotel across the far street and knew his men would take over once he’d crossed that street. If the man made a right or a left, they could still track him, but it would be more obvious. It wasn’t a perfect scenario, but it was the only one they’d been able to improvise on short notice.

A few lights glimmered dimly in the area he was walking towards, which could work well for them. The target seemed to have no idea he was under surveillance, so it would be straightforward enough to corner him. He wished he could still see him, but the theater crowd was now in his line of sight as he moved past the massive fountain.

He wasn’t worried. It would be over shortly.

El Rey could just make out the pair of shadows lurking beneath one of the large tree trunks twenty yards from the path he was on. A pair of teenage lovers lay sprawled on a darkened park bench, exploring each other’s charms with single-minded intensity, oblivious to anything but their passion as he hurried past. An old woman moved out of his way, clutching her purse tightly as if afraid he’d assault her. He nodded as he walked by, offering a non-threatening look.

At the street, he made a split-second decision, and instead of crossing straight over as he normally would, he instead moved diagonally across the empty thoroughfare to the far block. He registered the two shadows beneath the tree begin their pursuit and considered the desolate sidewalk he was now on. There were a few construction projects over the next two blocks he’d seen while wandering the neighborhood, one of which was a large remodel of a turn of the century building. That could provide exactly the cover he was looking for.

He slowed to give his followers a chance to get closer, and judging the timing, turned the corner onto the smaller street — empty now that the business district had closed down. He spotted the building he’d remembered and smiled to himself. The old habits came back easily. Like riding a bicycle.

The pair watched as their quarry rounded the block and momentarily disappeared from view. They exchanged worried glances and increased their speed. The last thing they needed was to lose him now that they were this close. One of the men pulled a stun gun from his jacket pocket in preparation for taking him down. With any luck it would be over within a few minutes, on the outside.

They turned the corner and found themselves on an empty street. There was no sign of him.

The shorter of the two hastily stabbed at his cell phone and muttered into it, “We should be on top of him, but when we made the turn, he disappeared.”

“Could he have entered one of the buildings? Maybe he lives there.”

“Anything’s possible. What do you want us to do?”

“Keep walking and see if you can spot him on the far street. Worst case, if you can’t, watch the buildings for a light going on in one of the windows. He couldn’t have gotten too far, so either he ducked into one of the buildings or he ran for it. I think we can assume he spotted you. Get moving. No need for subtlety now,” the shoelace tier instructed. “I’m right behind you, maybe forty-five seconds. Move.”

They increased their speed to a near jog. As they passed the construction site, a shadow burst from the depths and hurtled past them.

The first man clutched his midsection in disbelief, as though he could hold his organs in with his hands now that his stomach had been slit open, sliced below his ribcage through the abdominal wall. He crumpled as his intestines spilled out onto the sidewalk in a wet puddle. His partner collapsed simultaneously, dropping the stun gun to the ground, the femoral artery at the top of his leg severed, the outpouring of blood causing an immediate drop in blood pressure. He quivered as he feebly pushed against the gash in his thigh, consciousness fading almost instantly as his life seeped from him.

El Rey kicked the stun gun into the darkness and then silently moved back into the bowels of the gutted building, carefully avoiding the blood that his interaction with the first two had created. He listened for footsteps and was rewarded by the clumping of shoes approaching from around the corner, which stopped, as anticipated, in front of the two dying men. He slid out of the far side of the building and circled back soundlessly on his pursuer.

The man never saw him coming. The next thing he knew, a bloody straight razor was at his throat, millimeters from severing his carotid.

An eerily calm voice whispered in his ear, tender as a lover, “Who are you?”

The man swallowed and allowed his body to go slack, signaling submission to his assailant.

“Please. Don’t kill me. I’m here from Don Aranas. He sent us to bring you back. He needs your help.”

Aranas? The name instantly caused a flood of images. The head of the Sinaloa cartel was as legendary as he was elusive. He was as much of a ghost as El Rey and had defied decades of concerted manhunts to bring him to justice. El Rey had never met him, but he’d performed hits for his syndicate, taking sanctions against the Gulf and Juarez cartels. He’d delivered flawlessly on the contracts, and Aranas had always been punctual in payment. But how…?

“I need more than that. How did you find me? You have five seconds to convince me not to slit your throat.”

“There was an inquiry through Interpol from the Argentine secret service. One of Aranas’ contacts in the Federales alerted him, and we traced the origin to a man in Mendoza. A man who was found murdered this morning. Our sources in the police department here gave us the list of possible suspects. You were one of the names.”

“How did you know it was me?” El Rey whispered.

“We didn’t. I have five other men in town — now that these two have been taken out of the game. They’re watching other targets.”

“That doesn’t explain how you knew I was your likeliest objective.”

“You don’t look that much different than your photo, if you know what to look for. It’s a good disguise, but nothing’s foolproof. You should know that.”

El Rey felt the man’s pockets for weapons. He had a pistol — a Remington 1911 R1.45 caliber, no silencer. El Rey took it and removed the razor from his neck, pausing to wipe the blade on the man’s jacket.

“Turn around. Slowly. Face me, and then back into the construction site so we can have some privacy. Don’t make a sound or you’re dead. We don’t have a lot of time, so do exactly as I say.”

The man did as instructed, raising his hands over his head and moving into the shadows. El Rey trained the gun on him, the barrel steady, almost casual.

“What does Aranas want with me? Why search halfway around the world for someone who has gone out of his way to disappear?”

“Aranas has an offer for you — a job. He was insistent. Money is no object to him, and he wants the best.”

“I’ve retired.”

“I don’t think so. With all due respect, if Aranas wants you that badly, it’s time to come out of retirement just this once. You know the power he wields. Don Aranas is not a man to refuse. I mean no disrespect in telling you this.”