Page 58 of Grave Peril

*****

That was the thing about the tentacles of the cartel. There were spies everywhere. Almanza had put out the word, and all available resources had kept their eyes out for Lela Cabelo. The report had come back that she’d been spotted in the most unlikely place.

A couple of new gang members had jobs at Kemah, and operated rides there. One of them was pretty sure that Lela had been there with some long-haired dude. That made Almanza’s task easy. He hadn’t needed the name of the SEAL who played bodyguard for her.

All he’d had to do was find Lela, and the bodyguard came with the package. Almanza prided himself on his brilliance. It was the reason that Zap had tutored him as a youth.

Zap had a sharp mind, and he’d even read history. He saw his organization as the modern embodiment of the Sicarii, ancient fighters who had predated the Japanese ninja.

History had revealed that the Sicarii were one of the earliest organized assassination units, and the term “cloak and dagger” referred to their methods. In olden times, the secret fanatical anti-Roman group had committed numerous assassinations. A sicarious, a murderer, hid the dagger under his robe. The assassin would quietly brush by and stab the victim, then blend into the crowd to escape detection.

Zap hadn’t minded that the tale hadn’t been derived from Hispanic history. He had no allegiances. He claimed that his organization had descended from the legendary Sicarii, and no one dared to challenge him.

Almanza was partial to the theory, and thought of himself as a dagger wielder with powerful ancestors. The Sicarii had the strength to murder, just as he did. And he’d been just as secretive.

His next kill was near, and the knowledge that he would take out the SEAL with one swift move sent a rush of evil exhilaration through his body. It was the only type of thrill he craved. The anticipation was nearly as satisfying as the act…but not quite.

*****

The boardwalk was alive with activity. Rip held Lela’s hand and wove through the crowd. The themed rides were open and running, with long lines of people waiting to get on. Those already enjoying the ride yelled in reaction to the sudden shifting, spinning, or falling.

The sun was bright, but the day cool. It was a fun time for those visiting. People ate corndogs and cotton candy, laughing and smiling. Yet Rip’s mood was out of sync with the enthusiasm that surrounded him.

He had a single focus, and that was to get Lela back to Houston safely. He’d need to come up with a way to get her into her apartment without being seen, but that could be accomplished.

For now, Rip had to stay sharp. He disliked leaving the area that had been a sanctuary the last couple of days, and would have preferred to take Lela out on the boat. Out on the water, he’d be able see approaching enemies.

But that was not to be. The goal was to take control of the situation and gain leverage over Ortiz and his cartel backers. If the strategy worked, it could put an end to the threat and get Lela out of danger for good. That was worth taking a risk.

Staying put was tempting, but Rip’s experience told him that it also made Lela an easier target. There was no location that wouldn’t eventually be found out. Like it or not, it was time to move.

While weaving through the crowd, Lela squeezed Rip’s hand, so he glanced at her. Then some guy bumped into him, knocking Rip back. But before he could say anything, the man vanished.

Pain shot through Rip’s side and he grabbed the spot with his hand. Blood poured out. The knife had gone in cleanly. Rip took two steps then fell over.