Ghost Sniper

15

Gil and Lena were headed for the airport in a rented car. Lena was driving, and Gil had a hand inside his jacket as they sped along the snowy mountain road, his eye on the side-view mirror.

Lena kept a firm grip on the wheel. “Are you going to tell me why they wanted to castrate you?”

Gil shivered involuntarily, flashing back to the pinking shears. “Thank you for saving my ass.”

“It wasn’t your ass that I saved — and you’re evading my question.”

“I killed a bunch of their friends in Istanbul awhile back — freed some girls who’d been sold into prostitution.”

She cut him a surprised glance. “The Russian rescue that was in the news? That was you?”

He still had his eye on the side-view mirror, a bad feeling rising up in his gut. “Me and a grumpy Spetsnaz guy, yeah.”

“No wonder,” she said. “You’ve brought them international attention, and it’s hurting their business. They won’t rest until you’re dead.”

He shrugged. “It might not have been the smartest thing I ever did, but it needed doin’.”

“The Russian mob is everywhere. Aren’t you afraid they’ll go after your wife in the US?”

He looked at her. “Somebody else already tried that. No. I’m not worried.”

They were approaching a tight curve bearing to the left, and Lena downshifted to slow the car. “Sabastian will help them find you — because of me.”

“Well, he hasn’t wasted any time,” Gil said, seeing a black sedan appear in the mirror. “This is them. Keep driving!”

He opened the door and bailed out as they went through the curve, rolling into a snowbank and springing to his feet. He pulled the Springfield .45 from his jacket and charged the approaching the car.

Shocked to see the American suddenly coming at them, the driver braked hard, putting the vehicle into a slide on the snowy road as Gil planted his feet, thrusting the pistol forward.

“Hoo-yah!” he growled, emptying the pistol rapidly into the windshield of the oncoming car. The bodies danced around in their seats. One man bailed out the back door, and Gil shot him through the neck as he rolled to a stop. The sedan plowed into a snowbank and stalled.

The only one still alive was in the guy in the passenger seat — the same guy who had intended to remove Gil’s private parts. He was bleeding from two holes in his chest and one through his cheek. Most of his teeth were shot out, and it was obvious that he was paralyzed, probably due to a bullet nicking his spinal cord.

Gil opened the door, reaching inside to snatch the Russian’s pistol from his lap. “Watch close now.” He shot the Russian in the face and jerked his body from the car, dragging it to the guardrail and throwing it over the cliff. He did the same with the other three bodies. Then Gil got into the car and took off after Lena, who, to his surprise, had pulled to the side of the road to wait less than a mile beyond the curve.

He pulled up beside her, his adrenaline still pumping but glad she’d waited. “Thought I told you to keep driving.”

She grinned, her blue eyes shining. “If this is going to work, you’ll have to get used to me not doing what I’m told.”

“Roger that. Can you hide me in Switzerland?”

“Absolutely.”

He put the car in motion toward the cliff and stepped out, watching it drop over the edge and go careening downhill into the tall mountain pines. The sky was dark, threatening snow, and he knew that no one would likely spot the vehicle before spring.

The second he got back into Lena’s car, she leaned across the seat and planted her mouth on his, pulling at his belt.

“Lena, we gotta go.”

“Why?” she said, aggressively yanking at the buckle. “Didn’t you get rid of the evidence?”

“What about Sabastian?”

“Halfway to Stuttgart by now.” She was openly wanton, biting at his lips. “I’m not kidding, Gil. Take your pants down!”