Honor, page 23
Eduardo Ruiz was believed to be about fifty and had been born into a wealthy family with close ties to the leading political party in Mexico. He may have earned an MBA from Stanford, though some reports said he had attended the Shanghai University of Finance and Economics. Mike decided to split the difference and just assume he was a business genius.
He looked up from his tablet when the flight crew announced they were beginning their descent into Mexico City International. Some in his profession might have thought such extensive research of a target was a waste of time. Why go through all the trouble of learning so much about a man he was about to kill?
But Mike knew he wasn’t being sent to Mexico just to kill a man. His mission was to kill the right man and that meant doing his homework. The Vanguard had proven itself to be a worthy, deadly adversary. He had not travelled all this way just to kill a couple of bodyguards and call it a success. He had to make sure the man he killed was actually Eduardo Ruiz or The University might never find him again.
Mike held on to his tablet and kept his eyes closed as the plane coasted to a landing and taxied to its gate. He remained still, conserving his energy and keeping his mind clear as the pilot turned off the seatbelt sign and his fellow passengers spilled into the aisle to retrieve their luggage from the overhead bins. Other than his wheelchair, Mike had traveled with only one bag filled with enough clothes and toiletries for a week. He knew Eduardo’s men would thoroughly search his belongings before the meeting and would probably take his phone, laptop, and tablet. Access to OMNI was hidden and encrypted on all of his devices. They could have a technician spend a year looking at them and find nothing about The University.
Mike remained still amid the rush of passengers anxious to get off the plane. He was aware of everything but focused on nothing. He had been assigned to find a way to kill a man with nothing more than his bare hands and training—with a little help from a stun gun. Details and opportunities would reveal themselves to him in time. Everything was beyond his control, so there was no use in focusing on the unknown.
Two airport workers boarded the plane with a narrow chair to bring him out to pick up his other wheelchair and luggage. Once in the airport, he was glad to find his chair already waiting for him beside the luggage carousel. Two other airport workers picked him up and placed him in it.
One of the attendants took his bag when it slid down the ramp and escorted him into the arrivals area of the airport. Mike spotted a man with gray curly hair and trim moustache. He wore the dark suit of a limo driver and held a placard that read, ‘Mr. Juan Falcon’.
“Señor Falcon,” the man said in Spanish as the attendant left them, “My name is Luis. Your host sent me to collect you.”
“Thank you,” Mike responded in Spanish. He noticed the outline of a nine-millimeter pistol on Luis’s right hip beneath his jacket. “I’ve had a very long trip.”
Mike pushed the controller of his chair forward as he followed Luis, who was wheeling his bag through the airport. He noticed the shine on his shoes and the quality cut of his suit. Eduardo Ruiz obviously cared about how his people looked.
“How was your flight?” Luis asked. “You were smart to travel Business Class. It’s a long flight from New York.”
Mike caught that small test. “I flew out of Miami, so it wasn’t that long.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Luis led him through a pair of sliding doors to a black Escalade parked at the curb. He noticed airport police urged other cars to move along but made a point of staying away from Luis’s Escalade. Interesting.
The rear hatch opened as the driver stepped out from behind the wheel. His suit was not of the same quality, and he was wearing black sneakers. The wind blew open his jacket to reveal a glimpse of a nine-millimeter tucked into a shoulder holster beneath his left arm.
Mike noticed the cargo area of the Escalade was spotless and divided by a metal luggage bar that kept the contents nicely packed together.
Luis slid Mike’s bag into the back. “Forgive me, Señor Falcon, but your host has asked us to take any devices you have brought with you. Your laptop, cell phone and tablet. Things like that. It’s for your safety as much as his own. He said you, above all people would understand the need for caution.”
“Of course.” In fact, Rivas had been counting on it. He took his cellphone from his jacket pocket and handed it to him. “You’ll find my laptop in my bag and my tablet in the front pocket. I didn’t bring any other devices with me.”
Luis opened the bag, found the laptop and tablet, and put all of his devices in a flat metal box in the storage area. “We’ll be sure to return them to you after the meeting.”
Mike remembered a detail about the meeting from the briefing package Roger had sent him. “I thought I was going to my hotel first. I was hoping to freshen up a bit before I met my host.”
“A slight change of plans.” Luis smiled. “Your host is a terribly busy man and must see you at once. But don’t worry. The hotel is holding one of its best rooms for you. We’ll be happy to take you there after the meeting.” His smile faded. “Now, with your permission, I’m afraid I’ll also have to search you before we bring you into the car.”
Mike had expected as much. “I know. My host is a very careful man.”
“With your permission.” Luis didn’t wait for permission and began to run his hands over Mike’s body. Upon finding nothing, Luis and the driver picked him up and gently placed him in the back seat of the Escalade.
The driver lowered the rear door as both men climbed inside.
Mike panicked when he saw his wheelchair was still out on the curb.
“Wait!” Rivas said as both men buckled in. “You forgot my chair.”
“Everything’s fine, Señor Falcon,” Luis said as the driver pulled out into traffic. “An associate of ours will be bringing it to your hotel in another car. It’ll be waiting for you when we bring you back. You have my assurances.”
Mike looked back at his chair as they drove away. The one slight tactical advantage he had was gone. They might have done it out of an abundance of caution. They might have done it because one of their men had already found the stun gun in the armrest.
Mike tried not to let it fluster him. “It’s just that it’s an expensive chair. I don’t want someone to steal it.”
Luis and the driver shared a laugh. “You watch too many news programs, señor. Not everyone in Mexico is a thief. And even if they were, no one would be foolish enough to steal from us. Your host is a man of considerable influence.”
Mike looked out the window. “I hope you’re right.”
Luis turned in the passenger’s seat to face him as the car slowed due to volume on the roadway. “I hope you don’t mind me saying that your Spanish is excellent. I’ve never heard a Cuban speak so clearly.”
Mike remembered the details of his cover story. Another test. “That’s because I’m not Cuban. My people are from Guatemala City. We speak Spanish properly there.”
“I forgot,” Luis laughed again. “Mexicans and Guatemalans don’t usually get along. Goes all the way back to the Aztecs and the Mayans.”
“Let’s hope my host doesn’t hold that against me.” Since the Mexican obviously liked to talk, Mike decided to keep him going. “What’s my host like, anyway? I’ve never met him. I don’t even know what he looks like.”
Luis turned back around to the front and straightened his suit jacket. “I think you will like him. He’s a very tough, stern man. He isn’t unpleasant, but he rarely smiles. He prefers to listen more than speak. And he watches everything. I think you’ll find that he is an excellent judge of character.”
Mike kept looking out the window. Traffic from the airport was heavy. The sound of horns mixed with curses from impatient drivers. Men and women made their way among the cars, selling everything from water to flowers. Children wearing little more than rags knocked on the windows of cabs hoping to guilt a gringo into giving them an American dollar or two.
Luis nodded at the sight. “The poor are everywhere, aren’t they? I’ve seen them in your country, too. I was one of them once. I used to pick melons and lettuce in Calabasas. That’s in California.”
Mike glanced at Luis’s hands. Not a scar or a callous anywhere. His nails were trimmed, perhaps manicured. “Farm work is challenging work. My father worked on a farm when he was a boy. He never managed to get rid of the stoop he had from those days.”
Luis ran the palms of his hands flat on his trousers. Pants, Mike remembered, that had been tailored to just the right length above his shined shoes. Expensive shoes, come to think of it. Santoni’s, maybe, with gold buckles. The driver’s shoes had been more utilitarian. Plainer.
Luis was growing more interesting by the second.
The Mexican spoke through the awkward silence that had fallen over them. “What does your father do in America now? Not much work for melon pickers in New York, is there?”
“He became a tailor in a men’s shop,” Mike lied. “I guess it must run in the blood because I’ve always had an eye for an expensive suit.”
“Is that so?” Luis scratched the back of his neck. A body language expert might say it was a gesture of discomfort. To Mike, it revealed much more. A French cuff bound by gold cufflinks and a Patek Philippe chronograph. “You’re fortunate, Señor Falcon. A man should be able to appreciate fine clothes.”
“And those who wear them,” Mike said. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Ruiz.”
The man lowered his sun visor and looked into the mirror. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Sure, you do. Earlier you said you’d forgotten I was Guatemalan. You couldn’t have forgotten that if you didn’t already know it. And there was no reason for you to know it if you’d just been sent to pick me up from the airport.”
Mike saw the driver’s shoulders tense as Luis moved the sun visor mirror to look back at Rivas. “You hear a lot for a hacker, Señor Falcon.”
“A hacker is at his best when he pays attention to tiny details, Mr. Ruiz. Details like expensive shoes, cuff links and fifty-thousand-dollar watches.”
“Seventy-thousand, actually.” The man flicked the sun visor closed. “You have a keen eye. I guess it’s true what they say about how, when a man loses one sense, his others grow stronger.”
Mike could tell Eduardo was more impressed than angry. “A man in a wheelchair has to be careful about everything he does. Even bathing and relieving myself can be a chore. Trust becomes vital. And a man of my skills behind a computer should always know who he’s dealing with in the real world.”
Eduardo nudged the driver with his elbow. “You were right. I should have kept my mouth shut until we got there.”
The driver responded by steering for a space between two cars, clearing them from the knot of cars. “Here or there, what’s the difference? You wanted to talk to him, so talk. It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”
“True.” Eduardo twisted in his seat to look back at Mike. “I appreciate how difficult life can be for a man in your position, Señor Falcon. Every move must be planned out in advance. I know this because I must live the same way.”
“You chose this life,” Mike said, “just like I’ve chosen mine.”
Eduardo’s eyebrows rose. “Is that how you wound up in that chair? By choice?”
“By carelessness.” Mike placed both hands on his seat and pulled himself more upright. It got the blood flowing in his arms. The time for games was over. He wanted to be ready to make his move if he got the opportunity. “It was a bitter lesson to learn.”
“I find failure is an excellent teacher,” Eduardo said. “That’s why I must be very careful about who I meet. My very survival depends on it. As luck would have it, so does yours.”
Mike kept looking out the window. “That sounds like a threat.”
“Honesty always sounds like a threat to a suspicious man,” Eduardo observed. “My associates and I have been impressed by your ability to manipulate the crypto markets with relative ease. I’m curious about how you’ve been able to do it so long without being detected. The people who maintain those platforms take great pride in their security.”
Mike could sense a shift in Eduardo but couldn’t tell if it was in his favor or not. “It helps that I was one of the contractors who put those security measures in place. But you can’t expect me to tell you all my secrets so soon. What good would I be to you then?”
“That assumes you’re good to me now,” Eduardo said. “Which you are, but not necessarily in the way you might think.”
Mike saw the driver glance at him in the rearview mirror as Eduardo gestured out at the traffic. Something was about to happen. Mike balled his hands into fists at his sides.
Eduardo said, “God, I hate all this traffic. Do you know why I hate it? Because it requires a great deal of patience to navigate it and I’ve never been a patient man. I’ve always been in too impulsive. In too much of a hurry. I suppose that’s why I was a multi-millionaire by the time I was thirty.” He said to the driver, “Do something about this, will you? It’s giving me a headache.”
Mike had to hold on to the door handle to keep from tipping over as the driver cut the wheel to the right, causing them to dash through a narrow gap between two cars and down an off-ramp. They sped past a gas station, where they took another right before parking on an industrial street lined with rusty gates of garages and tire shops.
“That’s much better.” Eduardo undid his seatbelt as he turned around. This time, he was aiming his nine-millimeter at Mike’s head.
“My impatience has gotten me far in this life and it will get me still farther. You were right earlier when you said a man must be careful. I’m more careful than most. Perhaps more careful than you would like. And, like you, I pay attention to details like the way a man speaks, the way he talks, and how he travels. Airports have so many cameras these days, don’t they? And my organization has eyes everywhere. A man in a wheelchair sticks out, even in a private airport in Rio de Janeiro.”
Mike swallowed hard as he looked at the nine-millimeter only inches from his face. Shit.
The Vanguard’s financier smiled. “No lies. No denials. No sputtering about why I’ve got it all wrong. That’s good. I don’t know who you’re working for, but I’ll find that out soon enough. Until then, you can - -”
Mike’s right hand shot out, snatched the pistol from Eduardo’s hand and backhanded him with it across the forehead. The driver began to reach for the gun beneath his left arm as Mike shot him once in the back of the head, causing the driver’s side window to shatter.
Eduardo opened the passenger door and bolted into the street.
Mike lowered his window, took careful aim, and fired three times. All three bullets struck the fleeing man in the back, causing him to pitch forward before collapsing to the sidewalk.
Mike kept the gun trained on him until he saw the blood begin to pool out from beneath him. He was glad Eduardo had been too fashionable to wear a Kevlar vest. It was clear he was dead.
Mike lowered the gun as he raised the window. His mission was accomplished.
Now, he had to find a way of getting out of there.
And since he couldn’t use his legs, that wouldn’t be easy. He was about to see if his hours of work at the bench press paid off.
He placed the gun on the seat as he pulled himself up to look back in the cargo area. It was empty except for his luggage and the metal baggage guard that kept the bag from sliding around.
He knew there was nothing in his bag that could help him work the pedals of the Escalade but saw something that might.
He doubted any of the people who worked in the shops were civic minded to call the police, but he kept an ear out for sirens as he struggled to haul himself over the back seat. He yanked his bag back over the barrier and let it drop onto the seat as he began to work the metal baggage guard clear of its rails. He managed to slide it free before pulling it down with him as he dropped back onto the seat.
Now he had something long enough to work the pedals. It wouldn’t be pretty, but it just might get the job done.
The open-door alarm continued to ping from the passenger’s side, mocking him as he reached down and worked the seat controls. The motor slowly moved the passenger seat as forward and as inclined as far as it would go.
The acrid stench of blood and gore made him gag as he pulled himself onto the back of the inclined passenger seat, undid the dead driver’s seatbelt and reached across him to open his door. Mike braced himself against the headrest as he pushed until the dead man’s ruined corpse flopped out onto the roadway. Anyone driving by would see the dead body, so he didn’t have a moment to lose.
The passenger seat cracked and groaned under his weight as Mike grabbed hold of the steering wheel and pulled his dead legs with him. He was pumping sweat as he angled them into the footwell and worked himself into a seated position.
He pulled the door closed and saw the window was webbed and caked with blood. If someone saw that while he was driving, they’d call the police before he got a block away. He worked the controls to lower the window as far as it would go, but it only went halfway. He held the button down, the motor in the door whining from the strain, as he put his weight on his left arm, forcing the window down the rest of the way.
He twisted and strained to grab the luggage bar from the backseat. He used the bar to press down the brake as he took the Escalade out of park. He steered with his left hand while he used the bar to now work the gas.
He rolled down the street at under twenty miles an hour. The passenger door limped closed when he reached the corner. He stretched to pull it all the way shut before looking around for a road that might take him back on the highway.
His hands began to shake as the adrenaline began to wear off. He had just killed two men and was stuck in a vehicle loaded with forensic evidence. Any traffic cop might notice something was off, but he had to chance it.
