Ghost Sniper

49

With training over for the day, Crosswhite was drinking a beer with Vaught and three other policemen at the firing range when his satellite phone rang in his jacket pocket. Seeing that it was Midori, he ducked into the concrete building where they conducted their urban warfare training.

“Go ahead,” he answered. “It’s me.”

“Brace yourself,” Midori said. “I have bad news.”

“Shit,” he said, fearing that Mariana had gotten into trouble. “What is it?”

“Gil was killed two days ago in China.”

Crosswhite’s stomach hit the floor. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“He set some Russians on fire in Hunan — on an elevator. The police chased after him, and he crashed off a bridge into the Lishui River. We are hearing that they claim to have found his body a couple of hours ago.”

Crosswhite sat down on a concrete stoop, resting his forehead in his hand. “An elevator? Midori, what happened? That doesn’t tell me anything.”

“That’s all I know,” she said helplessly. “The Chinese are keeping a tight lid on it. Nothing has been released to the public, and I’m not the one who hacked into their system. Pope is the only one with access, but for what it’s worth, I really don’t think he’s hiding anything on this. He’s in Montana now breaking the news to Gil’s wife.”

“Christ,” Crosswhite said. “After all the shit he’s been through… to get run off a bridge in Jumbuck, China. How high?”

“Eighth highest in the world.”

“So pretty fuckin’ high.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Pretty high.”

“That’s it, then,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Gil’s gone. Fuck, I can’t believe it!”

“I’m sorry, Dan. I know you were close.”

“It’s worse than that,” he muttered, lighting a cigarette. “He was my only friend.” That’s not true, he thought. Mariana’s my friend. “Well, it doesn’t sound like they’ll be shipping him back to the States, does it?”

“I’m sorry. I forgot to mention: the intel stream says he’s already been taken to a crematorium.”

“Bastards!” he hissed. “So was he over there working for Pope?”

“No. We have no clue what he was really doing over there. Pope doesn’t think we ever will.”

“What about the woman — the Swede?”

“She’s Swiss.”

“Whatever!”

“She’s back in Switzerland.”

Crosswhite spit in the dust. “Well, I just might have to pay her a visit myself one fine day.”

“If you do, be sure to keep me in the loop. I’d like to know what really happened. I won’t tell the boss.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Thanks for calling. I appreciate it.”

Crosswhite put away the phone and looked up to see Vaught standing in the door with a beer in his hand.

“What happened?”

“Gil’s dead. The goddamn Chinese ran him off a bridge. Can you fuckin’ believe that?”

“Shit, man. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Crosswhite said. “Everybody’s sorry. You might as well cut out of here. Head for our embassy in DF and get yourself home.”

“What are you talking about?” Vaught said.

“There’s no reason for you stay involved in this. Mendoza’s dead, these cops are almost ready, and that sniper’s out there gunning for you. You’ve seen his face.”

Vaught tossed the beer half-finished into a corner. “Yeah, and what happens to your family when he blows you in half like he has everyone else?”

“My family’s taken care of no matter what happens to me — never mind how.”

“Good, but you’re not getting rid of me. I owe that son of a bitch.”

Crosswhite smiled. “Don’t you think you owe Serrano, too?”

Vaught waited to hear the rest of what was on his mind.

“If this caper’s gonna work,” Crosswhite said, “three key people have to be taken out: the sniper, Serrano, and Ruvalcaba.”

“What caper?”

“Mariana and I are putting Castañeda in charge of the southern cartels. That’ll give him exclusive rights to the narcotics trade.”

Vaught’s eyes widened. “On whose authority?”

“Our own.”

“Why Castañeda?”

“He’s honoring the truce. And he’s willing to continue.”

“You bet your ass he is!” Vaught hated Antonio Castañeda. “Who wouldn’t be with a monopoly on the drug trade?”

“Look,” Crosswhite said. “It’s our only chance to salvage anything out of this entire fucking mess. If Serrano takes over the north, border violence will resume. He hates the US. But with Castañeda in control, the CIA holds the reigns, and civilians don’t get butchered. It’s that simple.”

Vaught could see no other way. “So what’s your plan?”

“You stay here and deal with the sniper; I’ll go handle Serrano. Whichever one of us survives goes after Ruvalcaba. How’s that sound?”

“Honestly? It sounds like Pope belongs on that list too.”

“I agree, but Pope’s a bridge too far. So we’ll go after Mexico’s chief of station instead: Mike Ortega. We’ll take his family and force him to set something up.”

“No way!” Vaught said. “Absolutely not. I draw the line at kidnapping.”

“We’re not gonna hurt ’em, champ.”

“I don’t care. Ortega might be a dumb-ass, but he’s on our side. You’re just pissed at him because he insulted your wife.”

Crosswhite smirked. “Okay. You come up with a better idea. I’ll sit here and wait.”

Vaught was out of his depth, and he knew it. “You can’t be serious. You can’t really be willing to kidnap a man’s family.”

“You have no idea the shit I’ve done for far less worthy causes. And I’ll tell you like I tell everybody else at this same crossroads: this is the business we’re in. You’re either willing to do what needs to be done, or you’re not.”

Vaught dug the Copenhagen from the cargo pocket of his trousers, putting a pinch of tobacco in his lower lip. “Your man Shannon: He did this same kinda shit?”

Crosswhite shook his head. “Gil had principles. He was a better man than me — by a lot — but I have to play to my strength.”

“Which is what?”

Taking a last drag from the cigarette, Crosswhite flicked it out the door. “I don’t give a fuck about consequences. I never have.”