Ghost Sniper

36

Sixteen infiltrators from the Ruvalcaba cartel had moved into the city early in the day and were now set to assault the Toluca police station with hand grenades and automatic weapons. The assassination of Chief Juan Guerrero days before had been only the first step in Hector Ruvalcaba’s plan to move back into the city. As expected, Juan’s younger brother, Diego, had taken over as de facto chief of police, and though he was weaker than Juan, city officials were determined to support him. So to finish off the last of the police’s determination, Ruvalcaba’s men would storm the station and massacre the entire night shift in a shock-and-awe-style attack.

Such a brazen act of violence — not at all uncommon in Mexico — would send a terrifying message to the remainder of the police force, ensuring that Chief Diego Guerrero would be faced with mutiny unless he allowed the Ruvalcabas a free hand in the city. This same terror tactic had been used to great success in many northern border towns, and Hector Ruvalcaba was confident it could work just as well in the South now that Lazaro Serrano was running interference with government officials.

To plan the assault, Ruvalcaba had chosen one of his most ruthless killers, a man in his late thirties whom everyone called El Rabioso: the Rabid One. Though his loyalty to the cartel was unquestioned, El Rabioso was picked because of his love for killing policemen. To El Rabioso, la policia were nothing more than mangy dogs to be shot dead in the dirt. He had murdered more than thirty of them across southern Mexico over the past ten years, and his name and face were well known.

He sat behind the wheel of his gray Ford Excursion, holding a cell phone, his slow eyes staring balefully up the street at the station where the police were in the midst of shift change.

“How many are inside now?” he asked.

“Twelve or so,” answered a paid spy within the police force, the same spy who fingered Chief Juan for Rhett Hancock. “I told you they don’t all come in at the same time for shift change.”

“Twelve is enough,” said El Rabioso. He took a radio from his lap and gave his men the order to move: “Fuera!”

Four SUVs converged on the police station. Four men deployed from each vehicle, all of them hurling grenades at the entrance. The nearly simultaneous explosions essentially tore off the front of the building, destroying the security door and causing a breach.

El Rabioso watched with excitement as the raiders, wielding AK-47s, stormed inside. The sight of muzzle flashes and the sound of gunfire were too much for him to sit still. His anxiety got the better of him, and he pulled from the curb, clipping a passing car. The smaller car spun around wildly, and the young female driver was knocked senseless by the force of her airbag.

El Rabioso continued up the street in the big Ford, swearing foully at the stupid bitch for getting in his way.

A bullet came through the windshield, and before he could react, a second bullet took off the rearview mirror. A third round hit El Rabioso in the shoulder, and he cut the wheel hard to the left, crashing into a parked car. He jumped out and took cover behind the engine, gripping a Taurus 9 mm as he tried to figure out who was shooting at him.

Automatic fire tore into the hood of the truck, and he realized he was taking fire from the roof of the police station. The truck sagged on the far side with both tires shot out, and El Rabioso broke cover, running to the small car and yanking the young woman from behind the wheel. Using her as a human shield, he screwed the pistol into her ear and began backing away down the street toward the shadows.

The girl squealed in pain, screaming for help.

“Callate, puta!” sneered El Rabioso. Shut up, bitch!

He saw a muzzle flash on the roof of the station and was struck in his gun arm. The humerus bone shattered, and his arm fell limply to his side, the pistol clattering on the pavement. The girl broke free and ran. The pain from the shattered bone dropped him to his knees, and he vomited in the street.

When he looked up, he saw four heavily armed Mexican cops staring down at him. Chance Vaught was among them, a scoped M4 resting over his shoulder.

“Guess who fucked up!” Vaught said in English.

El Rabioso reached lamely for the Taurus with his left hand, but one of the cops stepped on the pistol.

“Es El Rabioso,” said the cop.

“Never heard of him,” Vaught said in Spanish, leveling the M4 on El Rabioso. “But there’s only one thing to do with a rabid dog. Take your foot off the pistol.”

The cop did as Vaught said, and El Rabioso reached again for the weapon.

Vaught shot him through the heart the second his fingers touched the grip.

Back in the police station, Crosswhite stood with his hand on Chief Diego’s shoulder, the two of them staring at the bodies of Ruvalcaba’s men piled upon themselves in the corridor where they had fallen under the withering fire of the ambush.

“You’ve won your first battle, Chief. Well done.”

“The next one will not be so easy,” Diego said, sick to his stomach at the blood congealing on the tile, the smell of raw shit thick in the air. “The gringo sniper will return now.”

Crosswhite clapped him on the back. “That’s the plan, amigo.”

The other cops were busy searching the bodies for money and identification — in that order.

“Oye!” Diego barked. Hey!

They looked at him.

“The money goes to the Church! Understood? Every peso!”

His men nodded reluctantly, continuing the bloody search with noticeably less enthusiasm.

Crosswhite turned his back to the men. “May I make a suggestion?”

Diego nodded. “Of course.”

“Let them keep the money,” Crosswhite said quietly. “You need their loyalty, and they did really, really well tonight. We didn’t take a scratch.”

“You’re probably right.”

Diego stepped forward. “You can keep the money,” he announced, “but divide it evenly with the men on the roof.”

The cops grinned at one another and went back to their grim work with renewed gusto. Ruvalcaba gunmen always carried wads of cash.

Vaught showed up a few minutes later, helping to drag the body of El Rabioso up to the back entrance, where Crosswhite stood smoking. “Turns out this clown was one of Ruvalcaba’s top dogs. He’s wanted in five states as a cop killer.”

Crosswhite nodded. “You and I need to disappear for a couple days, champ. The Federales are gonna be all over this shit looking for an after-action report.”

Vaught shook his head. “Not for more than a day. Normally this would be front-page news, but not right now. There’s too many people dead in the quake, and the Feds are stretched to the limit. You can go look after Paolina, and I’ll stick around here. I look the part.”

“Okay, but if the Feds start asking questions, be sure to disappear. Diego knows the drill.”

Vaught put a dip of tobacco into his lip and tucked away the can. “How long you think before the sniper shows?”

“Hard to say, but what we did here tonight is gonna piss Ruvalcaba off something terrible, so I don’t expect it’ll be too long.”

“How soon ’til Shannon shows?”

Crosswhite dropped the cigarette and stepped on it. “I got a bad feelin’ he might not show at all.”