Revenge of the Assassin

fuck with me.”

“I…there’s no way I can do that. I can’t betray him, and we don’t discuss business.” Dinah sounded stronger now. Defiant.

“Start.” He studied her. “You seem very brave, so I can imagine that you don’t fear that much for yourself. I mean, I will kill you as well, but before I do, your lover will die an agonizing death. I will make sure of it. I trust you know my reputation. I don’t threaten, and I don’t bluff. If you want Cruz to live, and not be tortured in the most horrible manner you can imagine, you’ll do as I ask. If you don’t, he’ll die, and so will you. It’s a simple proposal, really. Oh, and if you’re thinking that he can protect himself, and you, consider the long list of extremely rich and powerful men who were wrong about their ability to be protected from me. It’s not an option.”

Dinah shook her head in anguished conflict. She couldn’t.

“I know you’re thinking that you can’t do this, that it’s wrong, and that some things are more important than remaining alive. But I can assure you that you’re mistaken. I’m in the death business, and I can promise you that when you’ve seen as many die as I have, you realize that nothing is more important than what remains of your life.” He seemed to grow impatient. “It’s a choice of either ensuring your man lives, or dies. You get to decide that. Do you kill him with your pride, your arrogant vanity, or do you do what you must so he can live. That is the true test of love. I hope you make the right decision — if you don’t help me, it won’t change anything, except for you, and him. I’ll still do what I do, the world will still turn, but he’ll have been maimed and tortured before drowning in his own blood, as will you.” He allowed that to sink in. “But that doesn’t have to be the future. So decide, Dinah. Choose wisely.”

She followed his words and saw the truth in his eyes. He wasn’t threatening. He meant every word, and it wouldn’t bother him in the least to snuff their lives out.

It was an impossible choice.

He raised his eyebrows.

“You have five seconds, and then I make the decision for you.” He smiled. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Dinah,” he said and reached into his pocket.

“Wait. What…how do I know I can trust you?”

“Dinah, every day that you breathe from this moment on will be because I have kept my word to you. Every breath will be proof of my trust. And most importantly, nobody is paying me to kill you. This is merely a means to an end — a way to make my life easier. As I said, I’ll still do my job, but it would be better for me if I knew what your boyfriend was up to. And I can guarantee that nobody else tries to kidnap you. If you’re helping me, however reluctantly, they don’t need to kidnap you to get his cooperation. This is a win-win, Dinah. You get what you want — a life with Cruz — he gets what he wants — life with you — and I get what I want. Everybody wins.”

Her face collapsed, and her shoulders hunched in humiliated resignation. She’d chosen. Now she would need to live with herself.

“How do I contact you?”

El Rey exited the room and walked to the next air-conditioning vent, dutifully measuring the temperature. The guard took no notice of him, being otherwise occupied trying to contend with his cramps, and within thirty seconds the maintenance man had finished his duties and moved through the doors to the emergency stairs.

El Rey was a little shaken by the similarity between Dinah and his first and only love, Jasmine. They could have been twins, separated at birth. It was uncanny. He’d never seen anything like it. She was older, maybe four or five years, but still — the resemblance was more than striking.

Perhaps it was some sort of an omen? Not that he believed in such things, but the odds against two people looking so…exact…were astronomical. If there were a deeper meaning, what could it be? Was he meant to meet her for some reason?

He quickly dismissed the speculations. They were foolishness and would do nothing but distract him. And he needed to stay focused. The clock was ticking, and his date with the president was rapidly approaching. A date that wouldn’t be denied.

Whatever the case with Dinah, who he was and what he did wouldn’t change.

He was the reaper, the bringer of death.

And he would be victorious.

Chapter 17

The small cargo ship was tied to the long concrete wharf next to the massive dry dock boatyard in Tampico. The oil refinery next door dwarfed everything else on the ugly waterfront, and huge tankers rested at their berths as they on-loaded oil. It was a muggy evening, one of many for the town, and the river mouth that was the entrance to the port was redolent of decay and pollution, raw sewage and chemicals combining to create a toxic stew. Rust streaked the burgundy steel hull of the hundred and eighty foot ship, from which a Panamanian flag hung limply off the stern. The name was barely legible for the decay. Toledo.

Three SUVs swung into the dark parking lot, their headlights off but moving at high speed, and fifteen heavily-armed men leapt from the vehicles once they pulled to a stop, running in a crouch the remaining twenty yards from the lot to the gangplank entrance. After a few moments the barking report of assault rifles greeted them from the vessel, and several of the men uttered distressed grunts as the slugs found home. The attackers returned fire, and soon there was a full-fledged gun battle underway, with bursts of shooting angrily punctuating the dark of night. The bodies of fallen men lay scattered near the trucks, with the ten remaining assailants having taken cover behind several dumpsters on the periphery of the dock.

The whoomp of a grenade exploding on the boat was quickly followed by another. The two men clutching M203 grenade launchers affixed to their M4 rifles peered determinedly from their shelter nearby, surveying the damage they’d inflicted. All but two of the dozen guns firing from the ship had been silenced, and the grenade launchers sighted carefully at either end of the ship, where the remaining defenders were ensconced. Two detonations sounded nearly simultaneously, momentarily blinding them, and then the old ship fell silent, straining against its lines from the tow of the current.

The surviving attackers approached the gangplank with grim determination, wary of another salvo from the boat. Just as they were moving up the ramp, two pickup trucks filled with armed men screeched into the lot and sped towards them, the standing men in the truck beds firing into the attackers. A swath of death rattled the sides of the hull, denting the aged metal while leaving trails of blood and flesh on the paint. The fully exposed assailants never stood a chance and were cut down by the new arrivals in a hail of lead. Two of the SUVs peeled off and tore for the road, hoping to escape the newly-arrived attackers. One made it, but the other exploded in a brilliant orange fireball as a slug ignited its gas tank, bathing the lot in a fiery glow.

As sirens sounded far in the distance, the men jumped from the trucks and ran for the ship. Within a few minutes they descended again, the leader shaking his head, helping one wounded man to the dock. Two more gunmen started down the gangplank carrying another man from the vessel, who was moaning and bleeding from shrapnel wounds. They were loading the two survivors onto the vehicles when a small convoy of military trucks approached from the road — Humvees with fifty caliber machine guns mounted on turrets, plus four armed personnel carriers followed by three large trucks filled with soldiers.

The army weapons opened up, shredding the bodies of the second group of armed men as they futilely returned fire at the military trucks. The heavy army guns sounded like anti-aircraft artillery as they boomed across the water. The leader of the men who’d taken the ship by storm sprinted for the nearest vehicle, but he was seconds too late. The driver’s head tore apart while he was frantically trying to get the vehicle in gear, and the leader was shredded into a bloody pulp by the relentless shards of death.

Rounds from the ship’s defenders tore into the soldiers as the deadly convoy rolled to a stop, and one of the combatants with the grenade launchers successfully drew a bead on the lead Humvee. The vehicle exploded in a burst of debris, the men inside vaporized by the warhead. The second grenade launcher operator prepared to fire his round, but was cut down by a lucky burst from one of the soldiers’ M16 rifles, his chest riddled with smoking bullet holes. His finger reflexively jerked the trigger of the launcher as he went down, sending the projectile in a