Revenge of the Assassin (Assassin Series 2) by Russell Blake Read Free Book Online Page A

as he could get while still remaining in the country.
    He wasn’t sure what Antonio’s situation was, but he did know one thing after spending a few months chatting with the man and playing chess. He claimed to be from Ecuador, but his accent said differently. It was oddly neutral, almost in a practiced way, but Gustavo thought he detected Mexico rather than South America. Whatever the case, he knew that a young man of brilliant capabilities such as he’d displayed with the chess board didn’t appear out of thin air in Mendoza to operate a money-losing trinket shop unless there was something else going on.
    Gustavo’s natural curiosity had been aroused as he’d gotten to know him, and he’d put out feelers to see if he could figure out who he was dealing with. As a career criminal, he sensed an opportunity potential with Antonio. Perhaps young Antonio could be of use in his ongoing Buenos Aires operation, or maybe he had contacts with the Colombians or the Mexicans that could be of help in solidifying new suppliers for the drugs that were so in demand in the Argentine capital.
    Whatever the case, Gustavo smelled rat all over Antonio, and it wasn’t in his nature to let that go without rooting around and finding out what the real story was. If he’d learned anything during his time on the planet it was that information was power, and he could no more help his drive to discover more about his current chess adversary than a salmon could help swimming upriver. It was part of his wiring – who he was.
    He’d made some calls over the past week, and his former colleagues on the police force and with the Argentine intelligence network had agreed to check in Mexico and Central America for any young men who were wanted for serious crimes. It was a shot in the dark, but Gustavo had time on his hands. This was a project he could get interested in, and his instincts were piqued whenever he sat with Antonio. There was more to him than met the eye, and as a predator himself, he recognized the same qualities in others when he saw them.
    And make no mistake. Antonio was a predator. Of that, Gustavo was sure.
    Once home, he turned on his computer and began downloading the thousands of photos and rap sheets his network had come up with through Interpol. It would be a painstaking and potentially fruitless chore, but he was infinitely patient and loved a project. And there was a point of stubborn pride in the equation. Gustavo’s nose was never wrong.
    Now, it was a matter of discovering where and what young Antonio was running from, and then they could have an altogether different discussion than one revolving around chess. Which Antonio had beaten Gustavo at today, yet again, for the seventeenth straight time since they’d begun their irregular matches.
    Gustavo was more than intrigued.
    The files finally loaded, he began paging through the photos.
    At three in the morning he came across one that stopped him. There were striking similarities, and yet the face was different.
    He made a few notes and resolved to make a call in the morning to get some more information. Gustavo wrote down the sparse details on the file and yawned, beyond tired. He’d do a web search for more tomorrow. For now, he was beat.
    If Antonio was the man described in the bulletin, he might be just what the doctor ordered for messy contingencies, as his subordinates grew bolder and deferred to Gustavo less and less over the years. It could never hurt to have a pit bull on a chain.
    Especially one that loved the taste of blood.
     
     
     

Chapter 4
     
     
    Captain Romero Cruz walked with a slight limp to the kitchen, hurriedly buttoning his Federal Police shirt. A plate of eggs and chorizo sat steaming on the small dining room table, a cup of coffee at its side. He sat down, and Dinah, glowing as ever in a fitted dress and colorful purple blouse, emerged from the attached laundry room and placed her hands on his shoulders, leaning in and kissing his cheek.