Revenge of the Assassin

showpiece of the spectacular ground floor, its green and gold trim glancing off the sunlight that poured in through the intricate stained-glass roof over the lobby. The hotel was a rough rectangle built around the lobby, with the walkways and room doors facing the atrium.

The elevator creaked to a stop and they got on, with one of the men soundlessly taking the stairs in case their quarry got wind of their arrival and tried to make a stealthy escape.

When they reached the top floor, the maintenance man arrived, having followed the security man up the stairs. They counted the doors, and when they arrived at the suspect one, the group drew their guns. Cruz heard a collective gasp from the crowd in the lobby beneath them, which was now following the unfolding drama with interest. He took three steps over to the railing, holding a finger to his lips, his pistol clutched in his other hand. The people below scattered at the sight of the weapon and made for the exits, which was just as well, he reasoned. If there was going to be a gun battle, it would be best if civilians weren’t in the line of fire.

He returned to his position by the side of the door and indicated for the maintenance man to open it using his universal card key. The man slid the coded rectangle into the card reader, and the light on the lock flicked to green. Cruz motioned for him to move aside, which he didn’t need much encouragement to do, and then quietly gripped the lever and turned it. Once in the open position, he abruptly swung it wide and rolled into the room, gun searching for a target. The rest of the men followed him in, with Briones taking up the rear.

A telescope sat on a tripod, aimed at the cathedral. Next to it, on a chair, lay a laser range finder and an M110 SASS rifle with a custom high-powered scope. An empty golf bag sat in one corner of the room. Cruz gestured to the men to check the bathroom and held his breath while the lead man darted in, pistol first, and then emerged a few seconds later, shaking his head. Briones swung the door of the eight-foot-tall armoire open, but it was empty except for an overnight bag and a shirt. The assassin had fled.

Cruz unclipped the radio from his belt and gave a quick summary to the security chief, and watched through the telescope as the president and his bodyguards exited the helicopter and made their way into the church.

“Don’t touch anything. I want a forensics team in here as soon as possible. It looks like we interrupted El Rey and made him scramble, which means that there’s a chance we’ll pick up some valuable evidence,” he ordered. Briones fished his cell phone out of his shirt pocket and made a hushed call.

He hung up after a short discussion. “Twenty minutes, and they’ll be here.”

“Guard the room. I don’t want anyone in here until they arrive. Is that clear?” Cruz demanded.

Everyone nodded, and he stalked out. They had prevented a shooting, but missed their quarry yet again.

The elevator ride down was mercifully brief, and when he got to the ground floor he advised the front desk girl that the room was a crime scene and then interrogated her on when she had last seen the elusive Senor Gomez, as well as probing for a description. She didn’t have a lot of detail she could offer, and she hadn’t seen Gomez since yesterday afternoon. Which did them no good at all.

Cruz left Briones to finish the questions and exited the hotel, making a beeline back to where the helicopter sat.

El Rey watched the flurry of activity at the main entrance of the hotel, as the crowd of guests emptied out through the exits with looks of fear on their faces. It would just be a matter of minutes until the police discovered the weapon, and then the fun would start. He had planned a nice diversion to keep everyone occupied, and they had fallen for the bait. Now they would be less vigilant for the remainder of the mass, concentrating on their shocking new find instead. Word of the assassination attempt would spread through the gathered security, and they would ratchet their guard down, just a little. Of course, as he knew, that was when it was most dangerous — the moment everyone decided it wasn’t.

A small boy bumped his leg, jostling the long blue robe, and he looked down at him and smiled. The little tike smiled back uncertainly, and then grabbed his father’s hand. The pair continued their trip down the sidewalk, away from the church, a hundred and fifty yards across the square.

El Rey moved to his pre-planned point at a sidewalk coffee shop and took a seat, placing the briefcase he was carrying on the table. When the waitress approached him, he asked for something out of the sun, so she moved one of the tables to a position right by the building. He thanked her and ordered a sparkling water as he pulled his chair against the concrete so his back was to the wall, and he was facing the packed square.

She returned with his bottle of water and a glass, and he cheerfully paid her, telling her to keep the change. Happy with his generosity, she departed and went back inside the shop, leaving him to his thoughts.

He watched the crowd across the street in the square, already losing interest given there was nothing to see now that the president had gone inside the church, and easily picked out the plainclothes security men. It was always childishly simple to do so.

Seeing no immediate threat and satisfied that they had their hands full with the mob of humanity, he opened the briefcase and connected the cable inside to a jack on the case lid, which he’d run wire through, making the entire top an antenna. Glancing at his watch, he calculated he had another twenty minutes before the mass would be over. He softly closed the briefcase, leaving it unlatched and connected, and reconciled himself to waiting.

Reaching through a slit in the side of the heavy robe, he rummaged in the pocket of his shorts for a small smart phone, extracted it and placed it on the table. He looked around and, detecting no interested observers, pressed a series of keys.

The screen illuminated, and he was suddenly watching the ceremony taking place inside the church — an aerial view. He reached into another pocket and pulled out a cord with an earplug and plugged it into the audio jack so he could enjoy the show.

Chapter 29

The interior of the cathedral was flamboyantly ornate; a showpiece of opulence as a tribute to the place the Catholic Church had held in the hearts of the populace over the centuries. The bishop of Mexico City was saying the mass, his deep voice reverberating off the walls and the high, arched ceiling.

The president sat in the front pew, a bodyguard on either side, his wife still recovering from surgery a week before and resting easily at home. He listened attentively to the sermon, a treatise on the power of perseverance in the face of overwhelming odds and of the Lord’s unconditional love for those who accepted Jesus into their hearts. It was certainly not a new idea, but the bishop was able to infuse it with sufficient enthusiasm and poignancy to make it interesting enough to keep the faithful awake.

An occasional cough or baby’s burble echoed through the church, and clothes rustled and shoes scraped the floor as the congregation kneeled, stood and sat at the appropriate times. At least twenty security men stood on either side of the long hall, with several in the center aisle, where they could head off any hazard.

Eventually it was time for communion, and the crowd lined up behind the president at the head of the queue. Nine minutes later everyone had returned to their pews, and the bishop said his closing piece, asking the congregation to remain seated while the president made his way down the aisle and out through the front doors.

El Rey watched as the ceremony drew to a close, and the president and his group stood and began moving down the aisle. He waited a few more seconds, and then opened the briefcase and pushed a button, immediately fiddling with the joystick and other controls of the panel he’d recessed into the case.

~

The president was three quarters of the way down the aisle when something made a snapping sound in the chandelier above him, and part of it fell towards him, dropping onto the cold stone floor a few feet away. The unmistakable shape of a hand grenade clattered to a stop next to one of the pews nearest the entrance doors, causing instant panic as those seated nearest it screamed and scrambled to get away.

Two of the security men grabbed the president by both arms and ran at full speed for the entry, while another threw himself on the grenade, willingly giving his life to spare the president and the crowd horrific carnage.