David Lindsey - The Face of the Assassin

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright 2004 by David Lindsey
All rights reserved.

Warner Books

Hachette Book Group USA

237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroupUSA.com .

First eBook Edition: April 2004

ISBN: 978-0-446-53475-8

Contents

The Rules of Silence

Animosity

The Color of Night

Requiem for a Glass Heart

An Absence of Light

Body of Truth

Mercy

In the Lake of the Moon

Spiral

Heat from Another Sun

A Cold Mind

Black Gold, Red Death

To Joyce:

The face changes

with the passing years;

the heart remains constant.

Mil gracias to my friends in Mexico City:

To Rogelio Villarreal, who knows, but seldom tells, the secrets that the secret keepers keep;

To Costanza Viale, Tanchy, who opened doors in the city for me that would never have been opened without her help;

To Marcela Fuentes-Berain, fellow writer, who shared her insights with me, as well as her morning coffee and cigarettes;

And to Tim Wiener of the New York Times, for a glimpse of a correspondents perspective on a culture of puzzles.

And a thousand thanks, too, to my friends in Austin:

To Karen T. Taylor, forensic artist and portrait sculptor, who introduced me to the face within the face, and who awakened in me an awareness of the mysteries in the eye of the beholder;

To Mike Waugh, who taught me more than he knows about gates and doorways, and of the Janus faces of intelligence.

And, as always, my greatest thanks to my friends in New York:

To all the people at Warner Books including Colin Fox, who patiently helped me through the fog of writing; Harvey-Jane Kowal, the Queen of Careful Scrutiny; and Carol Edwards, who copyedited the typescript;

To Lisa Erbach-Vance of the Aaron Priest Literary Agency, who admirably performs the difficult job of reading the tea leaves of a writers mind;

And to Aaron Priest, for whom, after all these years and books, my gratitude flows readily and freely.

Mexico City

Lincoln Park

Somethings going on.

These were the first words out of Mingos mouth, and he could hardly wait to say them. Even in the shadows of the park, the other man could feel his anxiety.

Whats the matter? The other mans voice was calm, softened by a Texas accent. In his late thirties, he was a decade older than Mingo and far more seasoned. Even so, he was caught off guard by the younger mans agitation.

Khalils been gone three days. Dont know where. When he came back two days ago, the first thing he did was meet with a guy Id never seen before. This guys staying in a rented room in Tacubaya, not far from Khalil. Ive seen them huddling together in a pastelera .

Whats he look like?

Uh, balding, maybe early forties, not athletic, kind of puffy-looking. Office type. Very serious. Never relaxed. Then this moring, same pastelera, they met with Ahmad.

The three of them?

Yeah.

This was contrary to their own strict rules of operational discipline. Mingo was right to report it.

Okay.

Afterward, everybody was tense, edgy. Things looked different. Something big has happened.

They had met where the broad sidewalk bisected the long, narrow park across the middle of its length, between the statues of Lincoln on one side and Martin Luther King, Jr., on the other. It was just after dusk in the rainy season, and the sidewalks of the park were still glistening from the evening shower that came every summer day at this hour to cool the air and tamp the citys suffocating smog.

The younger man had fallen in behind his slightly older companion as they began walking, ignoring each other as they turned onto the sidewalk that ran along the perimeter of the park. They headed toward the clock tower at the western end of the park. The man in front hadnt slowed down so that the other one could come up abreast of him until they had reached the point where Calle Lafontaine intersected the park to their right.

What else? the Texan asked. What the younger man had to say was interesting, something to factor into the overall picture, something to keep in mind. But it wasnt news. They were supposed to meet face-to-face only if there was newsand news meant something that significantly affected the operation.

I think I spotted your man.

The Texan didnt even break the rhythm of his casual pace. Eagerness was a mistake. Always.

Who is that, exactly?

My boys watching your place last night, they picked up a guy in Parque Mxico. He stayed there an hour and a half. He was watching your place. He was using night- vision binoculars. Thomas went down there with his telephoto night lens and got a shot of the guy. Just one shot. It sure as hell looks like Baida to me.

Mingo handed an envelope to the Texan. Check it out for yourself, he said.

This was it. The point of all the months of hard work. The point of so much patience and effort and planning and risk.

Do you have any other information about him being here? the Texan asked, putting the envelope into his pocket and forcing a calm tone into his voice.

Hes never showed up anywhere else, if thats what you mean.

This was last night?

Yeah. Nine-thirty to eleven oclock.

They try to follow him?

No.

Good. Good. Mingo was worth the money. He did exactly what he was supposed to do, and he didnt do a bit more. He had been trained well. Follow instructions precisely. Even when you can do more, dont. That way, everyone knew exactly where you stood and where the operation stood.

You think this is him? the Texan asked.

Yeah, I do.

Though the park was in the middle of tranquil streets, the citys traffic rumbled in the surrounding gloom. In fact, the Paseo de la Reforma, the citys main boulevard, was only blocks away. But besides that, 22 million people simply made a lot of noise.

They rounded the corner and crossed the end of the park under the clock tower. He was surprised that Baida had been watching his place. He would have thought they would have spotted him at Ahmads first. That would have made more sense. But then, making sense would make too much sense. If any of this had made sense, he wouldnt be doing what he was doing. And he wouldnt spend so much time in fears claustrophobic little rooms, in the dark, air-starved cubicles of his own imagination.

Youve got nothing else? the Texan asked. Just this ID?

Yes, just this ID.

He caught Mingos emphasis. No, youve done a fine thing, Mingo.

Good, then.

Check your pay drop the day after tomorrow.

Bueno.

The next time he shows up, the Texan said, push it just a little further. Be careful. Theres nobody better. Hell spot your boys the second one of them loses concentration. If they glance at a woman... just that quick, were screwed. Of course, the pay goes up, too.

And so does the risk.

Listen, youre getting paid a hell of a lot more than I am.

But when youre through, Mingo said, you can go home to Texas. Youve got U.S. government benefits waiting for you.

Right now, all of that seemed half a world and a thousand lies away. It seemed remote, and that remoteness had begun to eat at him in the last couple of years.

Yeah, the Texan said. Those benefits.

He looked over Mingos shoulders at the two figures moving toward them from the other end of the park. A couple, huddled together, breathing each others breath. Lovers. He did not think or fear that they were anything other than what they appeared to be, but they reminded him that it was time to be moving on.