Night of the Assassin: Assassin Series Prequel, Russell Blake [good story books to read txt] 📗

cafe immediately in front of the ferry terminal. Victor would be wearing an orange T-shirt with a blue windbreaker and tan cargo pants.

El Rey watched the man enter the cafe and sit down by the window. After five minutes of scanning the quay to ensure there was no surveillance, he walked in and took a seat opposite him. Victor was in his mid forties and rail thin, with a heavily lined, sun-damaged face with the perennial flush of the habitual hard drinker, spectacularly crooked teeth, and thatches of salt-and-pepper hair pointing in all directions. He looked nothing so much as like an absentminded professor with a boozing problem.

“G’day, mate. Name’s Victor. I was told to give yah whatever yah needed, and mum’s the word,” Victor started. El Rey couldn’t really make out what the man was saying, so instead began speaking in his quiet, calm voice. His English was passable from years of study, but still heavily accented with Spanish inflection.

“I will need a boat with a captain tomorrow to take me around the harbor so I can look over some places. I have also made a list of items I will require. And I think I’ve found an area with some industrial space you can rent inexpensively. If not, I need a small warehouse in a quiet neighborhood where it will have no neighbors, yes?” El Rey handed him the neatly hand-written note with his requirements.

Victor studied it, and nodded. “No worries, mate. Good as done – but it’ll run yah dear. My guess is twenty grand American at least, plus the boat tour. How many rounds you need for the rifle and the pistol?” Victor asked.

“A hundred for the rifle and its magazines, and fifty for the pistol and its spares. Will the night vision equipment be a problem?”

“Mate, none of it’s a problem. Just a matter of money. Give me two days and I’ll have the whole lot sorted,” Victor assured him. “Now in the meantime, what about yerself? Need any company? Interested in the ladies?” Seeing the lack of interest, he tried again. “Or maybe the boys? A little Cage aux Follees, if yah catch my meaning? Whatever yer flavor, Victor’s the man…”

“Just the items on the list, some warehouse space with no neighbors and a boat with a captain. Nothing fancy. Something that will blend in. I’d like to use it tomorrow for around four hours. And make sure it’s got some fishing equipment onboard. I’ll call you in the morning. Will that work for you?” El Rey asked.

Victor assured him that it would, and they quickly parted ways, Victor to procure the necessary hardware and El Rey to have an early dinner and get some sleep.

The following day, Victor had made arrangements for a cabin cruiser to pick El Rey up at the pier that hosted the W Hotel and the adjacent condominiums and restaurants. He checked out of his current hotel and walked over to the W, taking a waterfront room for a week on the third floor. Once he’d unpacked, he grabbed a quick bite downstairs before heading out to meet the boat, a heavy set of binoculars in tow. It was a thirty eight foot Riviera sports fisherman with twin diesel engines, and soon they were cutting through the chop at a fair clip. El Rey gave the captain GPS coordinates for the portion of the harbor he wanted to anchor in and fish. The man looked at him as though he was crazy.

“Won’t catch much there but muck suckers, mate,” he advised.

“That’s okay. I just like being on the water, enjoying the scenery and looking at all the beautiful houses,” El Rey explained.

They motored to the designated spot and dropped anchor. The captain dutifully got out two light-tackle salt water fishing rods and a bag of frozen bait. El Rey played along and allowed the man to drop a line into the water for him, then went inside the salon, where the heavily tinted windows blocked anyone from seeing in. He raised his binoculars and scanned the house, noting the neighbors’ homes, searching for anything that could afford him an advantage. He paid special attention to the shore area and the distances between the homes, which wasn’t much. Fortunately, El Chilango had built tall walls on either side for security and privacy, so he wouldn’t have to deal with neighbor issues once inside. As they sat there, bobbing in the wake of the boats cruising past them, he noted that there were three security men nosing around, not just the one the report would have led him to believe. So either the house had received some sort of warning, or the surveillance had been sloppy. Instead of a day man and a night one, there were six total, three and three.

They spent two hours at anchor, with El Rey mainly watching the house. By lunchtime, he’d seen enough. The target had been visible several times in his living room and bedroom, and it would have been a cinch to take him out with a single shot. Unfortunately, that wasn’t what he was being paid to do. Reconciling himself to the grim reality that he’d have to do this the hard way, he told the captain it was time to leave. Just then one of the two rods screamed as line tore off the reel – the skipper ran to tighten the drag. He set the hook and then offered the pole to El Rey, who shook his head – he had no interest in trying to fight the fish. After a few moments the line went limp; when the captain reeled it in, the leader had been bitten through.

“Probably a shark,” he said.

“Are there a lot of them around here?” El Rey asked, curious.

“In the harbor, yah get some sand sharks and a few larger ones. Out in the ocean, there’s great whites, you know. Don’t want to mess with one of those, I’ll tell yah,” he warned.

“No. Probably not.”

That