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Fabian Fuentes was perhaps the only member of the cartel who appreciated Zoom conferencing. Perhaps that was because he was younger than most of the Old Guard smugglers he assisted. They still favored meeting in bars and restaurants and smoke-filled hideaways—which were increasingly difficult to find these days. But Zoom conferences were possible anytime you had an internet connections, and so far as he knew, the FBI had not yet discovered a way to hack into them. As long as he remembered to cancel the automatic recording, he thought this was the safest way to do business with people from a distance.
Roberto watched the door outside his hotel room. A cheap joint like this was more likely to attract attention from panhandlers and the homeless than law enforcement, but he wanted no interruptions of any kind. Jose set up the conference, and once he was done, Fabian sent him on a pointless errand. Little pitchers have big ears, as his father always said.
The image that appeared on Fuentes’s laptop was grainy, but he supposed he shouldn’t complain given that this image originated on a different continent.
His leader was not one to mince words. “Report.”
“We completed the first round of deliveries. All went as planned. We will send the take by the usual means.”
“Will I be pleased?”
Fabian chose his words carefully. “It cannot compare to our previous operations. But something is better than nothing.”
“That is not sufficient.”
“Agreed.” Fuentes stared at the man, almost eighty, yet just as sharp as he had been twenty years before. More gray, more wrinkles around the eyes, thinner lips. But if anything, that made him appear more foreboding. “When you are ready to resume our previous enterprises, I will be prepared to assist.”
“It’s too soon. Tell me about the Great White Whale.”
That could be a reference to only one person. “He has been weakened. He is still in the lawsuit. He attracts too much attention.”
“You will have to deal with him.”
“He has served us for more than two decades. And until recently—”
“You will have to deal with him.”
Fabian drew in his breath. “Understood.”
“His new enterprise threatens us. Just as the lawyer does.”
“That man survived the assassination attempt, though his witness did not. He is mired in the same lawsuit.”
“Who was behind this assassination?”
“You know who. There is only one possibility.”
“Another reason to deal with him. He is not stupid. He must realize we have lost faith in him.”
“I will meet him as soon as the lawsuit is complete and he is no longer in the limelight. If he does not—”
Fuentes stopped mid-sentence. He heard something outside the motel room door.
He drew a finger to his lips, silencing his leader.
Was it his imagination?
No. Someone was out there. What happened to Roberto?
He slowly pivoted toward the door...
A sudden burst of gunfire slammed into the thin wooden door like pistons shredding Swiss cheese. Fabian flung himself behind the bed, barely dodging the bullets. They pummeled the walls and dresser and bed for half a minute.
Then it stopped.
Was the shooter still there? After making so much noise, he could not remain exposed for long.
All at once he heard a thunderous thudding sound, followed by the door slamming open.
The assassin’s foot was still raised. He stride forward, automatic weapon in hand, scanning for his target.
Fuentes did not give him time to find it. He withdrew his knife from a holster inside his right pant leg and flung it with expert speed and accuracy. It hit the assassin’s carotid artery. He made a gurgling sound. His eyes rolled up in his head. Then he collapsed, staining the crappy thin carpet.
Fuentes slowly rose. The bullets had destroyed his laptop. He would have to complete—to update—his report later. He needed to flee before the authorities arrived. After so much noise, police were an inevitability.
He paused briefly, staring at the dead man on the carpet. This was the assassin, the one who had killed Jaquith and almost killed the lawyer. He was certain of it.
And now the assassin had been dispatched to kill him.
This could only mean one thing.
To his sorrow, he found Roberto’s body outside. Of course, the bastard had taken him out quietly. Probably snuck up and stabbed him in the back. His most loyal lieutenant. Dead.
The game had changed. The players on the chessboard were forming new alliances.
And no one would be safe until the game was over. No one.