Ghost Sniper

53

The neighborhood around Agent Mike Ortega’s house was mostly untouched by the earthquake, but the damage to the shopping plaza just a few blocks away had been considerable, and electrical power still hadn’t been restored to the area. Even cellular service remained spotty at best.

“You gotta be smooth,” Crosswhite warned Vaught, the two of them sitting in a car just across the street. “This woman won’t be a pushover. I’m sure Ortega’s told her how to keep an eye out for kidnappers.”

“I’ll be smooth enough.” Vaught got out of the car and shut the door, hating why he was there.

A few seconds later, he rang the bell to the Ortega house.

Nancy Ortega came out and stood inside the locked gate. She was tall, a Mexican American with short dark hair. “Can I help you?” she asked in Spanish.

Vaught offered his badge and identification to show he worked for the Diplomatic Security Service. “Mrs. Ortega,” he said in perfect English, “I’m agent Vaught with the DSS. I’m afraid there’s been an emergency involving your husband, Mike.”

She stepped forward and took his identification, examining it carefully. “What kind of emergency?”

“He’s been abducted. We’re not sure by who yet, but I and another agent are here to bring you to a safe location.”

She handed his credentials back to him and took her phone from her back pocket.

“Mrs. Ortega, before you do that—”

She looked up, her gaze fearful.

“It’s not likely you’ll get through to Mike, but if you do, keep in mind we don’t know who might answer his phone. The abduction hasn’t been made public, so you could jeopardize our chances of getting him back. Please take that into consideration.”

Nancy Ortega was in a quandary, holding a wrist to her forehead as she tried to decide the best course of action. “We’re not supposed to leave the house if there’s an emergency. We have security measures built in.”

“I’m aware of that,” he said easily. “But so are the police — and they’ll find a way in. Believe me.”

“The police?” She glanced around warily. “Are you saying he was taken by the police?”

“Nancy,” he said, deciding to make the conversation personal, “Mike was working with us to catch Alice Downly’s killer. We’ve discovered that corrupt police officials were involved — and, yes, that’s who we think took him, but we don’t know for sure. That’s why it’s imperative we get you and your children out of here as soon as possible.”

“But …” She glanced at her phone. There was no signal. “But we’re not supposed to leave if anything happens. We’re supposed to lock down the house, and …”

“And what?” he asked patiently.

“Wait for help from — from the government,” she said lamely.

“Nancy”—he pointed across the street to Crosswhite and then back to himself—“that’s who we are. I’m sorry we’re not the US Marines, but that kind of rescue would probably cause an international incident.”

She stood biting the inside of her cheek. “I can trust you?”

“Of course,” he said, feeling like shit. He and Crosswhite were taking on a huge responsibility using Ortega’s wife and children as pawns.

“Where will we go?”

“To a safe house in Toluca. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s out of the way. We’re working very closely with the police there.”

“And you trust them?”

“Ninety-nine percent.”

She allowed a thin smile. “I didn’t know any police in this country could be trusted to that degree of certainty.”

Vaught felt even more like shit. “We’ve been working with these men to fight the cartels. They’re very brave and very dedicated.”

“I need some time to get my children ready.”

“Ten minutes,” he said. “No more than that — please.”

“Okay.” She went inside.

Vaught went back over to the car. “She’s getting the kids ready.”

Crosswhite glanced at the rearview mirror. “So she bought it?”

“For now, but if she gets a signal on that phone, she’s gonna call Ortega. I saw it in her eyes.”

“Even after you told her it might get him killed?”

Vaught nodded. “She’s already breaking protocol by leaving with us, and she knows it.”

“Well, this way is better than going in there and taking them against their will.”

“Nothing happens to them,” Vaught said, pointing his finger. “You got that? Nothing!”

“Relax,” Crosswhite said. “They can stay with Paolina and Valencia. I’ll give Pao the same cover story you just gave Ortega’s old lady, and they’ll get along like peas in a pod. The kids can eat pizza and chase around after the puppy.”

“Shit!” Vaught hissed, having second thoughts. “After this, I’m a goddamn kidnapper; for the rest of my life I’m a goddamn kidnapper.”

“Hey, champ! Do you wanna let Serrano get away with having Downly and your whole fuckin’ team blown away? Get in the fuckin’ car, and let’s go.”

Vaught remembered seeing his men rocketed and shot apart before his eyes, and the anger of that day came back in a rush. True, the gringo sniper, the Ruvalcabas, and the crooked cops had all played their part — but the operation itself had been Serrano’s call.

“We’re gonna have to disable her phone,” he said quietly. “We’ve got cellular service in Toluca.”

“I’ll take care of her phone,” Crosswhite said. “Just get ’em in the car, so we can get back. The last thing we need is to run into a narcobloqueo after sundown.” A narcobloqueo was a common type of roadblock set up by narcotics traffickers to create civil panic and disrupt emergency services.