Revenge of the Assassin

“It must be only you and me. Nobody else. Just as you value your privacy, so do I. And it won’t be for three weeks. I have other matters that must be attended to before I can meet. I’ll call this number again on the twenty- fifth, at this time. Then we can arrange to get together somewhere both of us can be assured is safe. Will that work for you?”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Yes. I understand. The alternative, of course, is that we don’t meet, and you never hear of me again. I trust you’ll still be able to solve whatever problem that is so pressing you needed my services above all others?” El Rey suggested.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, my friend,” Aranas warned, his patience at an end.

“That’s all I do, Don. I mean no disrespect by my conditions. But that stipulation, as well as the fee, isn’t negotiable. Will that be a problem?”

Aranas sighed. Why was everyone competent a prima donna? He’d been cautioned by his associates that El Rey didn’t intimidate easily and was scrupulous in all aspects of his trade. If one wanted him, one expected to meet his terms. That’s just the way it was.

“I accept. But I will warn you. Anything that jeopardizes me will bring down the weight of the world on you, and there’s nowhere remote enough to hide from me. And why do we have to wait so long? I have a strong sense of urgency to this contract.”

“I completely understand and would expect no less. But I’m afraid that I can’t make it any sooner. Hopefully that won’t be a problem.” El Rey waited for any protest, and when none came, continued. “I will call at the agreed upon time and propose several meeting spots. I shall leave the final choice to you. We’ll need no more than half an hour. Thank you for your consideration in this,” El Rey said, and then the line went dead.

Aranas stared at the cell phone in his hand, and then stabbed the power off and resumed watching his film. One of his favorites. Bruce Willis was up against a diabolical terrorist, tackling impossible odds while taking names and kicking ass. They just didn’t make movies like that anymore. His nephew reentered the salon upon hearing the film resume.

Aranas handed him the phone. “Remove the battery and lock this up. On the twenty-fifth, charge the battery and bring it to me. I’ll be expecting a call.” He fixed his nephew with a hard look. “Javier, don’t forget this. It’s extremely important. Put a reminder in your phone or computer or whatever, but make sure I have that phone charged and ready on the twenty-fifth, or there will be hell to pay. Don’t disappoint me,” Aranas instructed.

Javier swallowed nervously. He knew that if the Don said it was important, failure wasn’t an option. He nodded and went to do as instructed. He’d program reminders in every device he had and probably wouldn’t be able to sleep for days before the big date.

The Don had that effect on people.

Gunfire erupted from the speakers as Willis again demonstrated that he was impossible to kill. Aranas smiled with delight.

He loved that part.

Chapter 9

Rio de Janeiro was a noisy symphony of sound and color, and as the taxi cruised along Atlantic Avenue past Copacabana beach the world appeared to be a nonstop parade of tanned skin and fake breasts ensconced in miniscule strips of fabric. El Rey watched the crush of nubile humanity move along the promenade, its distinctive wave design famous all over the world.

They pulled to the curb in front of the Palace Hotel and the driver exited the cab and opened the trunk. A uniformed attendant rushed to retrieve the single Tumi travel bag as the young man paid the fare, offering a generous but not memorably large tip. He wore a white linen short-sleeved shirt and tan lightweight cargo pants, and his hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing a tanned complexion and appealingly symmetrical features. He looked like nothing so much as an international playboy arriving in town for a taste of the city’s renowned pleasures — an image he would do nothing to deny.

Once in his room, he watched the sea of tourists ambling along the iconic beach and checked his watch. His appointment was in an hour at the exclusive private clinic he’d been directed to, giving him just enough time to unpack his bag, walk down the strand a ways, and then snag a taxi at one of the numerous other hotels. He knew from his research that the clinic was fifteen minutes away, and traffic was light at this hour so he had no fear of running late.

The cab pulled up to a discrete contemporary edifice in an upscale neighborhood with a mirrored-glass lower floor as street frontage, and a small sign announcing the Rodrigo Caleb Surgical Center. El Rey tried the front door, but it was locked. He noted a chrome button on the side of the doorjamb and pressed it. A few seconds later a low-pitched buzz vibrated through the frame, and he pushed the door open.

The lobby area was all stainless steel and black leather furniture: ultra-modern, and obviously very expensive. Several large aerial photographs of Rio adorned the otherwise barren walls, illuminated by halogen spotlights. A breathtakingly beautiful nurse sat behind the severe reception desk, eyeing him neutrally.

“I have a noon appointment,” he announced, approaching her.

“Please fill out this form, and the doctor will be with you shortly.” She held forth a clipboard and a Mont Blanc pen. He was liking the clinic’s style so far. “Would you care for some water? Pellegrino? Fiji?”

“No, thank you. I’m good.”

He busied himself scribbling an invented medical history, and after six minutes returned the form to the nurse, whose only reaction was one eyebrow shifting upwards a scant millimeter. He wondered how much of her was surgically augmented and decided that it really didn’t matter — the net effect was absolutely riveting, even in a town full of beautiful women.

Everything about the clinic said extremely expensive, which was exactly what he was hoping for. The last thing he wanted was a botched job by an economy hack.

The console on the reception desk trilled, and the nurse murmured into an earbud before rising and gesturing to him.

“The doctor will see you now.”

Normally not one to spend a lot of time focusing on female charms, even he had to admit that the way she filled out her uniform would have been the envy of any men’s magazine in the world, and would have sold out an edition with her on the cover. He was getting a very good feeling about the doctor’s skill level.

He followed her back to a large room with a desk, couch, and an examination chair much like a dentist’s. A man in his early fifties wearing a white physician’s coat rose from the desk and approached him with his hand outstretched.

“Ah, Senor Guitierez. Nice to meet you,” he said in fluent Spanish with no trace of a Portuguese accent. “I am Doctor Caleb. Has Nina been attending to you satisfactorily?”

“Yes. Everything is good. Pleased to meet you.”

They shook hands as the nurse left, closing the door behind her.

“What brings you to my establishment?” the doctor asked, studying the young man’s face.

“I want to change my look. Alter my nose and give it a thinner shape, and perhaps a chin implant?”

“Come sit in the exam chair, and let’s see what we have here. Would you like me to make suggestions, or do you have a very specific idea in mind?”

“No, I just want something new. Definitely a change to my nose. I’ve always hated it. I got the idea for a chin implant from the television…” El Rey did his best to sound hesitant. “And if I don’t like the effect of it, I suppose I can always have it removed.”

“Well, it’s not quite so easy, but let’s see if we can come up with a plan that will accomplish what you want.”

They spent a half hour going over possibilities and agreed on a nose alteration, chin implant, and cheekbone augmentation.

“We should do the procedures a week apart, at least,” the doctor advised.