Free Rage Of The Assassin by Russell Blake Page B

injection would prove fatal, and he assured the young man that he understood that.
    El Rey didn’t particularly care whether the tech made a call to the authorities once he was gone. The damage was done – he was exhibiting symptoms and had nothing to cure them.
    Which he’d prepared for.
    The problem was that he’d narrowed down the original source for the CIA’s neurotoxin, but not with complete certainty. He’d spent almost half a million dollars to ascertain that the agency contracted specialists with private firms to develop their potions, and he had a short list of seven of the likeliest suspects, all biochemists, all working for large military contractors who routinely did top-secret work for the government. Most were also linked with universities, where the scientists carried out research using generous federal grants to fund their activities, and he had no doubt that their cooperation with the clandestine apparatus was directly related to the government’s reciprocal largess.
    Seven names, but too little time.
    He needed to narrow the field. And there was only one person who could help him do so.
    Rodriguez.
    Who was probably celebrating with his quislings that El Rey was no more.
    That would work in the assassin’s favor, of course. He’d made a career out of exploiting opportunities created when his adversaries underestimated him. This would be no different. If CISEN believed that he was dead, that meant they wouldn’t be watching for him.
    Which was all he needed.
    The rest would be easy.
     

Chapter 15
    Carla finished dusting her dining room table and pursed her lips. The housekeeper never seemed to do as good a job as she did, and Carla typically went around her home after the woman’s weekly visit and tidied up obsessively. She didn’t mind, because with the number of things that typically weighed on her, the busywork helped her relax – something she especially needed now, with a major career decision to make as well as a turning point in her relationship.
    Which stopped her. How had she gotten so far down that path? Without question, it was he who had made the first overture after their adventure together, their chemistry obvious from that brief time in each other’s company, but from there she had pursued it.
    She sighed. Something about the man fascinated her, drew her like a moth to the flame, and she found herself unable to resist him.
    That the sex was incredible went without saying.
    But it was something more. He was damaged goods, but she didn’t think he was a sociopath, at least not in the sense of a serial killer who was unable to feel emotion. Even though he clearly was a repeat murderer, if she wanted to be accurate. But more in the way a sniper was – as part of a job, not because he delighted in snuffing out life.
    She’d dared to ask him about it on their third night together, both of them naked and spent, and that was how he’d explained it. He was a craftsman, exactly like a special ops soldier who focused on those who needed killing. He felt no remorse over ending the lives of cartel thugs, and she didn’t argue it – his targets routinely had the blood of many on their hands, so in a way he was doing the world a favor.
    While getting rich, she reminded herself.
    Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft scrape behind her, and she whirled around to find him standing by the doorway, watching her.
    “God. You scared me,” she said, clutching the dusting rag to her chest. She’d given him a key a month ago and had gotten used to his coming and going, but she hadn’t been expecting him, and his sudden presence threw her. “How did it go with CISEN?”
    His expression remained neutral. “Not well. They tried to poison me,” he said in measured words, as though he was discussing a flat tire or an insect bite – an annoyance, nothing more.
    Her face fell. “What? How?”
    “They gave me a toxin that would have buried me within minutes.” He shrugged. “I half expected