Night of the Assassin: Assassin Series Prequel by Russell Blake (people reading books .TXT) 📗

custom rims and steel armored plates welded into each of the four doors. Three men joined him, all toting a variety of submachine-guns. He didn’t like to fuck around when he went out on the town, and believed in being prepared for an assault at all times. It wasn’t so much paranoia as occupational hazard, and it had kept him alive so far. His driver nodded at him as he climbed into the passenger seat, the three enforcers climbing in behind him in the rear seat. One of the reasons he liked the SUV was because it had enough room for three grown men in the back.

The truck moved toward the front gates, which opened via a configuration of hydraulic pistons activated by the security guard in a booth by the street, and then exploded in a blast of orange fire. The concussion from the plastique affixed to the gas tank broke the windows in the nearby buildings as pieces of the truck spiraled through the mushroom cloud of black smoke above it, before inevitably dropping like Icarus back to earth. Nothing survived that sort of a blast, and the men that came running did so with slim hope of salvaging anything.

El Rey took several snapshots with his little camera from across the thoroughfare. He put the Ford Lobo into gear and pulled away down the road to rendezvous with Valiente, and see if he had any more chores that needed tidying up. And to collect his money, of course. Not that it was only about the money, but a job well done deserved its reward.

Fair was fair.

The lushly verdant acreage around the Luis Barragan inspired mansion in the hills outside Culiacan was still in the late morning doldrums, the absence of breeze a seasonal effect that made being outdoors in the swelter unpleasant even for the most seasoned natives. Armed sentries prowled the immaculately manicured grounds around the house, jittery from adrenaline and sweating from the heat. Ever since that morning they'd been on guard, in a state of high alert.

Ricardo Pilar sat with his inner circle at a square mesquite table in his dining room. The five men who were his closest counselors had serious demeanors, and the air was thick with cigarette smoke and anxiety. He'd gotten several frantic phone calls alerting him about the explosion at Encarlo's plant, and he was troubled by the implications. Pilar sensed that a move was being made, but he wasn't sure who was behind it, and he'd dispatched a group of armed men to see what information they could get from the network of lower level cartel soldiers that acted as the informal communication channel on the street.

The preliminary reports that had come back weren't good. Two of his four rivals had departed the earth that morning under violent circumstances. There could only be one explanation, and it warranted swift and decisive action. Pilar's nemesis, Valiente, was making a play for the leadership position that Altamar had held, now that the cartel underboss had been officially missing for a significant enough time. That could only mean war to Pilar, a seasoned veteran of countless purges and fights.

Pilar was educated, having attended the university in Monterey, and held a degree in business administration that had served him well when creating and managing his network. He'd studied and taken to heart the lessons of business school, and fancied himself to be superior to the ignorant thugs who'd ascended to equal footing through sheer brutality and the barrel of a gun. While he understood the place for bloodshed, he liked to think of himself as above knee-jerk reactions involving indiscriminate slaughter. But he was no fool, and he sensed that it was time to put down the diploma and strap on the pistols.

His captain, Eduardo, was arguing passionately, and his lieutenants were nodding approval.

“This is our chance. We’ve been patient, but it’s foolishness to sit here waiting for the war to come to us. If Valiente is on the offensive, our best chance to avoid a blood bath is to make a pre-emptive strike. Cut the head off the snake, and the body stops moving.”

Pilar considered the counsel, and then nodded.

“I agree with Eduardo. The explosion that killed Encarlo, when combined with news of Remarosa's execution, is ominous. I have a bad feeling, and I think it's safe to conclude that Valiente is making a major offensive, which would mean we are next. But it’s not like we can just waltz in and start shooting to solve the problem. Valiente is far too smart to be taken that way.” Pilar pushed back from the table and stood, pacing compulsively while he spoke. “While I sympathize with everyone’s passion, I’d argue that it’s misplaced. Yes, we need to act, but we also need a coherent plan. Right now, all we have is bluster and talk. Let’s finish with the discussion about whether removing Valiente is a good idea. It is. Now I want to hear some ideas about how we do so,” Pilar said, gesturing with his bottle of Pelgrino to emphasize his point.

His men looked at him, none daring to advance an idea that he would shoot down.

“Here’s what we are going to do. I want you to talk among yourselves and think through how best to eliminate Valiente by the end of the day. Then we can put the proposals on the table, and come up with something that makes sense. But don't waste your time arguing for something that's decided. I need ideas, not passion. And my instinct says that we're running out of time, so it's time to get busy.” Pilar glanced at his watch and sighed. “I have some commitments I need to attend to. But make no mistake. Valiente must die before the sun goes down, and I am relying on you to come up with how we achieve that.” Pilar fixed each man in turn with an intense stare that bristled with quiet menace. He may have