King of Swords

tip about the meeting with Santiago had come up through the streets, first surfacing as a rumor of a cartel boss seeking to establish a new channel for methamphetamine trafficking into Michoacan, the state that bordered Jalisco, to the south.

Both Julio and Ignacio answered their cell phones and agreed to meet at headquarters in two hours. They both showed up wearing hats and sunglasses, with the diminutive Julio sheltered beneath the folds of a hooded sweatshirt. It wasn’t unknown for the cartels to hire private detectives to take photos of everyone going into headquarters, so both men avoided it as much as possible. But a summons from the boss couldn’t be ignored, so here they were — sitting in Cruz’s office, along with his sidekick, Briones.

Cruz laid out the meat of Santiago’s claim, and instructed them to try to get intel on a contract killing commission targeting the President. He told them to search for a conduit to El Rey; there had to be someone who acted as his agent, handling the hit requests and vetting the clients. That someone would be in Mexico City or Monterrey, the two hubs for criminal activity.

Julio asked to see the interrogation report. He read it carefully before placing it on Cruz’s desk. “If this is genuine, I can tell you where the assassination attempt will take place,” he said blithely.

“Really? And how would you know that?” Briones asked. He had always thought the little man pompous and arrogant, although he was undoubtedly a brilliant detective.

“Simple. The only place I can think of where the American president and ours will be together is at the G-20 conference. It’s obvious. At least, to me,” Julio explained. He shot Briones a smug look of superiority.

“How…where did you get that information?” Briones countered, smelling a rat.

“I have friends all over, and one hears things,” Julio replied mysteriously. The truth was less dramatic.

“Shit,” Cruz exclaimed. “If that’s true, you’re probably right. That’s…what, five or so weeks away? In Cabo San Lucas?”

“Actually,” Julio said. “The location’s in San Jose Del Cabo. They’ve been hard at work building a conference center for the last seven months — there’s a late May deadline.”

“How do you know all that off the top of your head?” Cruz asked.

Julio decided to come clean. “My cousin got shipped over there to help. He’s a civil engineer working on the security systems and presentation equipment for the conference. They’ve got a crew of six thousand trying to get the project completed — it’s been a train wreck to date, with all the usual incompetence and corruption. I hear about it from my sister almost every week when she calls. It’s about the worst kept secret in Mexico by now, and that’s saying a lot…”

“That’s ominous,” Cruz observed. “We have Santiago claiming he’s going to take out two of the most heavily protected heads of state in the world, and the summit taking place a short plane ride from Mexico City in a little over a month, with the U.S. president in attendance? That’s a little too coincidental for comfort…”

Julio looked at each of the men in turn. “I think we need to treat this as a genuine threat. Santiago’s cartel has more than enough money to hire El Rey, and has the motive — the current president’s war on the cartels has probably inconvenienced his group’s resources over the last four years, especially after the grenade attack in Morelia in 2008. Even though that got pinned on the Los Zetas cartel, Santiago’s crew has likely been given a bloody nose, at least — so he’d have reason to want to make a big splash.” Julio considered his next words carefully. “Taking out two presidents would send the message he was one of the big dogs, and a lot of people would support him, at least emotionally. The President’s war on drugs hasn’t exactly bestowed peace upon the country, and he’s pretty unpopular with many.”

“I agree. Put a task force together on this,” Cruz said. “I want to know everything you get, no matter how seemingly inconsequential. There has to be a way to find this El Rey. The key to this will be in neutralizing him. The equation’s simple. No El Rey, no Santiago anymore, equals no threat…”

Ignacio — aka ‘Nacho’ — shook his head and frowned. “Forgive my ignorance, but what is the G-20? Why are both presidents going to be there?”

“It’s a financial summit held every year, where the world’s finance ministers meet to discuss economic issues,” Julio told him.

“So, why is the President going to be there?”

“Because it’s a national honor that it’s being hosted in Mexico,” Julio answered, patiently. “It’s a really big deal. And the American president is planning to show up at the opening ceremony as a sign of solidarity between Mexico and the U.S.. That’s the only event that will bring the U.S. president to Mexico this year that I know of, so it’s a safe bet that if El Rey is going to take a shot, that’s where he’ll do it.”

“Then we have a serious problem,” Nacho said, back in his area of expertise. “El Rey is a ghost. He’s like smoke — you catch a whiff of him, then he’s gone. It’s scary, because he would definitely be the right man for the job — his assassination of El Gallo is still discussed in the-”

“He isn’t a ghost, Nacho,” Cruz corrected. “He’s flesh and blood, which means he can be stopped. He’s not a magician, he doesn’t have superpowers, and he can’t fly. I’m not saying it will be simple, but I’ve taken down enough big swinging dicks to know that no matter how much positive press they’ve gotten, they all bleed just like we do…”

Julio held up his hands. “Fair enough, but it’s not going to be easy. This is a smart, savvy professional, and he’s probably got loads of money from his hits. That means he can hide forever if he wants. But I agree that he has to have a network, which means somebody has to know about it. We should talk to the El Rey taskforce and see what they’ve got, although rumor has it they’re worse than incompetent — my buddy was with them for a year, and said it’s like a game over there to see who can do the least amount of work.”

“Well, I’ve heard the same thing, but you never know. Maybe they cranked up the heat after El Gallo. That was a major blow for the party, and an embarrassment for all concerned,” Cruz admitted.

“Did you see the footage of the shooting? I swear it looked like El Gallo was doing his usual head butt. It was uncanny-”

“We’re all familiar with it,” Cruz cut in. “But the point of this meeting is to ensure the same thing doesn’t happen to the President. And imagine the consequences if the American president was killed on Mexican soil — it could start an invasion…and I’m not exaggerating. At the very least, it would destroy Mexico in the eyes of the world, as well as our relationship with the United States. The more I think about this, the more I believe we need to treat this as a genuine threat and take appropriate steps. I want you to give it top priority, am I clear?”

The men all nodded. The stakes were obvious.

They had to find El Rey at all costs.

Chapter 5

The man reclined in the dilapidated dentist chair as the tattoo artist poured ink into small plastic cups. The walls were painted a lurid burgundy, with swirls of black intermingled to create a gothic effect. Dim lighting was provided by tin pails hanging upside down from the ceiling, with light fixtures mounted within them. On the street outside, a boisterous group of drunk revelers made their way to one of the clubs on the main drag; loud peals of female laughter were punctuated by slurred male Gringo voices shouting, “Tequila!” He caught a glimpse of the group through the shop window — two brunette women in their thirties wearing shorts that were misguidedly optimistic as to how time had favored their physiques, and a younger redhead in a jean mini-skirt accented by a white ‘wife-beater’ undershirt tied provocatively to highlight her pierced navel. The men were universally cut from the same bolt — overweight, red-faced, wearing baseball caps and colored T-shirts with fishing logos on them. All had been out in the sun for far longer than advisable — their skin color varied from salmon to lobster-toned.

The man guessed they’d been fishing all day, given the distinctive pale outline where their sunglasses had rested on their faces. Fishing, of course, being a euphemism for guzzling beer and tequila while going for a boat ride. This was the typical weekend crowd, in town to let their hair down and misbehave like they couldn’t back