The Execution

Dubin stroked his goatee. “You’re not wrong.”

Fisk shook his head, his mind a little muddled from the medication. “He was too smart for that. Unless there’s something else we’re missing.”

Dubin’s hand came away from his beard, his finger swiping the screen back to the thumbnails. “The guy made a video. Like a suicide bomber, I guess. To be viewed after he died.”

Fisk was surprised. “Really? Anything to it?”

“It’s tough to watch. He recorded it during the beheadings.”

Fisk hissed out a breath between his numb teeth. “Jesus. What’s he say?”

Dubin said, “No idea. It’s in Spanish.”

Fisk looked at Dubin, a former spy. “No Spanish?”

Dubin shook his head. “Korean and Thai. A little German.”

Fisk sniffed. This didn’t seem the time to brag about his five languages. “At least you can order takeout well.”

Dubin frowned. “I like you better sober.”

Fisk looked at the video icon, debating. Some things you ca

“Did Garza see this?”

“I’m sure she did.”

Fisk nodded. “Fine,” he said, and tapped the icon, and the video began.

CHAPTER 74

The Mexican consulate was swept by security again just before seven thirty. Garza left the inspection halfway through, finding a ladies’ room to throw up in.

She hit the handle and let the roar of the flush drown out her gasping. She went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face, wiped off her lips, then looked at herself in the mirror with one hand pressed against her forehead.

She was hyperventilating. She gripped the edge of the vanity, clamping her eyes shut and willing herself to relax.

“Everything all right, Comandante?” asked the second security officer as she rejoined the inspection.

“Please proceed,” she said, ignoring the taste of vomit in her mouth.

SHE HAD EARLIER WALKED through each and every room of the building herself, checking doors and windows. None of it mattered much to her now, but she went through the motions. She listened to the head of consulate security, a tall, soft-spoken, competent man.

Which rooms were the safest, which doors were blast-proof, which hallways contained cameras and which ones did not. She had been through it all before . . . but she wanted to have the entire building in her head, clear as a bell.

They completed the final security tour of the consulate building just as the food arrived under guard from Ocampo. A skeleton crew of chefs and servers were put through a rigorous security check, including both pat-downs and a trip through the airport-style millimeter wave sca

She breathed slowly through her nose, watching as a viola player and a cellist were submitted to rigorous frisking, their instruments examined and reexamined. Nothing like a near miss to remind people of the importance of preventive security.

An EMP agent looked inside the control room, finding her there. “Señor Presidente is asking for you.”

Garza nodded and followed him out of the room.

CHAPTER 75

President Vargas was seated alone inside a meeting room, his chair turned to face a windowless wall. His elbows were on his thighs, palms rubbing together.

Garza entered, and Vargas looked up as though surprised. He stood, straightening his jacket, and went to her.

He said, “Is everything ready here?”

Garza nodded. “Yes, Señor Presidente.”

Vargas nodded once, slowly. He had something on his mind.

“Kind of a bust now, but we’ll make the most of it. I don’t know about you, but I am quite anxious to return home.”

Garza nodded.

The president rubbed his palms together again. “In any event . . . very well done today, Comandante. I am sorry if I was . . . short with you, or rude. It was not my intention.”

“Fine, Señor Presidente,” she said.

Vargas looked at her. He wanted more. “I know you are an outstanding federale, and exceptional at what you do . . . exceptional in every way.”

Garza clasped her hands tightly behind her back, looking to the side. Waiting for this to be over.

President Vargas said, “Is there anything you’d like to get off your chest, Cecilia? I feel as though I am apologizing to a wall.”

“I prefer ‘Comandante,’ ” she said.

Vargas said, “Very well.”

“May I go now?”

After a moment, he said, “Yes. Certainly.”

Garza got as far as the door before pivoting hard and walking back to him.

“I will not work for you in Mexico City. I will never have di

Vargas looked away, puzzled, trying to understand the source of this outburst. “What is it, Comandante? Speak.”

Garza tried to hold her tongue, feeling she had already said too much. “He was not here for you,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I was mistaken. Chuparosa did not come to New York to try to assassinate you.”

Vargas shook his head. “Of course he did. And you stopped him. Brilliantly.”

Garza’s smile came out warped with anger. “No,” she said. “He was not here to kill the president of Mexico. He was here to kill someone measurably more influential.”

CHAPTER 76

Fisk pushed through the hospital exit doors with his good forearm, his left arm in a blue sling.

Dubin ran out just behind him. “Fisk! Stop! You’re delirious.”

Fisk stopped on the curb at the ambulance bay. “Where is it?” he said angrily.

“Where is what?”

“Your car,” said Fisk. “Where is it?”

Dubin said, “Look, Jeremy. Listen to me. Are you having a reaction to the medication?”

“I’ll get a goddamn taxi.”

“Here,” said Dubin, pointing.

Fisk went off toward the unmarked car with NYPD plates in the nearby handicapped spot. “Gimme your phone.”

“No.”

“I need a phone!” said Fisk.

An attendant came out the door after them. Dubin was torn between explaining their quick getaway and staying with Fisk.

“Here,” he said, handing Fisk his phone and getting inside the car.

“Code,” said Fisk.

“Uh . . .” Dubin had to do it in the air. “Five nine one four.”

Fisk played with it while Dubin started the engine and backed out.

“No good,” said Fisk. “I need my contact list.”

He put the phone on top of his side of the dashboard. It promptly fell to the floorboard.

“Hey!” said Dubin, fishing with his hand, finding it near Fisk’s shoe, then pulling on the man’s seat belt. “Where the hell am I supposed to be taking you?”

“Mexican consulate. Thirty-ninth and Park.”

“Mexican . . . ?” Dubin stopped, braking hard. Looking at him. “Fisk. It’s over. You stopped it, remember? You’re going to hurt yourself. They want you to stay for observation—”

Fisk said, “It’s not over. It’s not over. Drive, Barry. Go.”

“Why?”

Fisk pointed straight ahead. “So we can stop a murder.”

CHAPTER 77

The reception hall was slowly filling with diplomats and their spouses. President Vargas was greeting the arrivals. Vice President Biden was due any minute, and the street closure was already in effect outside. Then the formalities would officially begin.

Cecilia Garza wiped a bead of sweat from the damp hair at her temple. She watched the monitor until she saw the man she was looking for, making conversation on his way through the final stage of security and entering the “tent,” or secured area.