Cruz watched the charade from his window. Anyone waiting for his departure had just gotten a nice show, and would now be tracking a motorcade that would drive around the city for an hour before making its way back to headquarters. He gingerly pulled on the loose pants Briones had brought for him and considered his reflection in the mirror. Considering what he’d been through, not so bad. He tucked his new weapon into his waistband; a Glock 21 that fired.45 caliber ACP bullets. It was light, accurate and held thirteen rounds with an additional one in the chamber — a lot of stopping power unless you were being charged by a rhino. He’d need to get a nylon shoulder holster for it, but for now the improvisation worked.
Taking a final gaze around the parking lot and seeing nothing suspicious, he wheeled his chair to the front entrance and called Briones, who was waiting at the far end of the lot. He pulled up to the ramp, and an attendant assisted Cruz into the little Ford Focus.
“That went well, I think,” Cruz said, shaking Briones’ hand.
“It was very convincing. If I didn’t know it was all an act, I would have bought it,” Briones agreed.
“Let’s hope that anyone watching for me was also taken in.” Cruz pulled his pistol out and held it up. “I need a shoulder holster for this. Stuffing it down your pants may work in the movies, but it hurts like hell in reality.”
“I’ve got one in the back seat for you. Are you ready to go to your new home?”
“Sure. And I’ll need someone to do some quick shopping and get me some clothes and shoes, and also go by my house and grab my uniforms and a few hygiene items.”
“I’ll get someone on it. You’ll probably be gone for some time, sir, so I’ll arrange to have someone go by every week and flush the toilets and run the pumps,” Briones said.
“Yeah. I suppose I’m going to be floating for a while, at least until we get El Rey.”
“The summit’s in three weeks, so it shouldn’t be that bad. The place I rented is nice. Furnished, with dishes and glasses, a fully stocked fridge…almost like staying in a first class hotel,” Briones offered.
“How’s security?”
“Locking front door and a large foyer with a security guard, which I’ve beefed up with a pair of officers. Low key, plainclothes, but armed and ready for anything.”
“Good. And what news do we have on Los Cabos? Anything? I can’t believe I lost almost a whole week. These bastards’ timing on trying to kill me couldn’t have been more inconvenient,” Cruz complained.
“We have another six men on a plane to Los Cabos today, and we’re sticking with the protocol we agreed to. So far, no hits, but you never know. We could get lucky at any minute. It’s not that big a town, although the barrios go on forever, so if he’s holed up in one of them he’s as good as gone.”
“I had a few thoughts last night. I think it’s worth taking a hard look at the crews doing the construction on the convention center for the event. If I was him, I’d be involved, even if just as a day laborer, so I got used to all the ins and outs of the place as well as the surrounding terrain. Nobody would look twice at a construction worker, scoping it out. You see what I mean?” Cruz asked. He’d been trying to think like El Rey, and he kept coming back to the build. That would be the natural place for him to gravitate.
“I understand. Let’s get you situated at your new place, make sure the internet’s working and that you can get around, and then I’ll get some men on it.”
“I can walk. It’s just a little painful. But the doctor said that if I took it easy it wouldn’t be an issue,” Cruz said.
“I know. I got you a set of aluminum crutches at the apartment, and a cane. Very sporting.”
“Too bad you couldn’t make them fifty caliber. At least they’d be useful,” Cruz said with a humorless grin.
“That wasn’t part of the ordering options, unfortunately.”
The little car narrowly missed a collision with a truck that had run a red light, causing Briones to stomp on the brakes and lean on his horn.
“Your driving is more dangerous than the cartels’,” Cruz observed.
Briones shook his head, jammed the car back into gear and sped down the busy boulevard.
The man pulled into the contractor parking lot, the ancient Toyota Camry groaning as it lurched over the rutted dirt surface. He parked at the far end of the field, all the other spaces already full, even at seven a.m.. The pace had increased as the summit drew nearer, and it seemed like, every day, more new arrivals were thrown at the problem in a bid to meet the deadline.
He’d packed a lunch — a torta, the quintessential Mexican sandwich, prepared on a large square bun and loaded with ham, cheese, chorizo, and a host of other delicacies. He cheerfully swung the plastic bag as he ambled towards the site to get his work orders for the day. The explosive faux light fixtures would be ready in one more week, so now he was actually helping to get the convention center built, which amused him to no end. He was more motivated to get the project completed on time than anyone else on the crew, and so his men were routinely finished with their assignments ahead of schedule. It was a pity he couldn’t direct the whole project. The incompetence was typical, with a lot of tired men going through the motions of a thankless job, uninterested in the quality of their work.
Give him two weeks with the crews, and he’d have had the fucking thing finished. Then again, he had more important matters to attend to.
He approached the trailer where the electrical team gathered every morning, and clomped up the temporary wooden stairs, swinging the door open with his right hand while clutching his sandwich in his left. He adjusted his security badge — numbered, with his photo laminated on it — and said good morning to the group of preoccupied engineers. One of them looked up at him from his workstation and peered at his badge, comparing it to the list.
“I guess you didn’t get the word, huh?” the engineer asked without looking up.
“What word?”
“Your company is off the project. It got terminated,” the engineer said unsympathetically. He finally looked up, and held out his hand. “I’ll take your construction badge, please.”
He stood immobilized for a few moments before collecting himself.
“That’s impossible. Could you check again?” he demanded.
The engineer held up his list, and made an X next to the name of the company he’d joined to get onto the project.
“That’s you, isn’t it? Some sort of a dispute, so they’re history. Sorry about that. Might want to take it up with them. I can’t do anything from this end. Now, if you please, your badge…” the engineer ordered.
He unclipped it slowly and handed it over, his thoughts churning.
“Is anyone else hiring? I…I don’t have any other job. Do you know of anything else on the project? I have a lot of experience…” he tried.
“No. At this point, with only a few weeks left, there’s nothing I know of. It’s a shame. You’ve done good work — I have no issues with you. It’s your employer that’s the problem. Probably trying to shake the builder down for more money. A lot of these guys wait till the project’s nearly done and then stick it to them, figuring they’re irreplaceable or that the builder will cave. Not these guys. They’ve adopted a zero-tolerance policy to that kind of bullshit.”
“So I can’t work as an independent contractor? You’ve seen the quality of my jobs. They’re some of the best here,” he said, now almost pleading.
“Nope. All the hiring takes place out of Monterrey, and I know for a fact that you need to have a company with at least a three year history, and a bond. I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Now, could you move aside? I need to get these work orders distributed,” the engineer finished, dismissing him to his fate.
El Rey descended the shaky stairs and considered his options. He hadn’t foreseen the company he’d weaseled his way into having a dispute with the builder. That had never come up in his contingency planning. He cursed inwardly, then calmed himself — losing his patience would accomplish nothing, and was a luxury he couldn’t afford. What was done was done. But this was a disaster for his plan. There was no way he’d be able to mount the light fixtures now, much less stay on to do maintenance up to the big day, ensuring the detonator was in place and functional. He was screwed. And he only had three weeks to come up with an alternative plan; the blink of an eye in terms of this scope of a hit.