Ghost Sniper

64

Officer Robles appeared in the doorway to Chief Diego’s office. He was in his late twenties, a clean-cut-looking kid. “Sergeant Cuevas said you wanted to see me, Chief?”

“Go see Agent Vaught out back,” Diego said, seemingly preoccupied with paperwork. “He requested you ride with him tonight.”

“Sí, señor.”

A few minutes later, Robles found Vaught waiting for him in the back of an armored black-and-white pickup truck. The truck bed was enclosed with a roll cage, which allowed officers to stand up during patrol and to rail-mount a light machine gun. He climbed up into the back dressed in his SWAT gear and shook Vaught’s hand. “Thank you for requesting me.”

“Sure,” Vaught said, pulling the black balaclava up over his face. “We’re expecting trouble tonight, and I want a good man with me.” He reached out and took the helmet from Robles’s head. “Better let me trade with you. Your helmet’s marked up.”

“No, it’s okay,” Robles said, reaching for his helmet back. “It fits my head.”

“It’s cool,” Vaught said, strapping the helmet on. “We wear the same size.”

Sergeant Cuevas climbed into the back of the truck, donned his helmet, and pulled up his balaclava. “Better put that helmet on,” he said to Robles. “We’re patrolling the north side.”

The north side of town was the worst, the area where they suspected the gringo sniper to be hiding among Ruvalcaba’s people.

“We’re going to draw the sniper’s fire,” Vaught said with a grin. “Try to flush him out.”

“I’d like to have my helmet back,” Robles said, his good humor beginning to fade. “I don’t like wearing other people’s helmets.”

Vaught laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t have lice.”

“I’m serious,” Robles said, putting his hand out. “Give me my helmet.”

The driver of the truck got out of the cab and stood watching.

“Sorry,” Vaught said. “I’m keeping the helmet.”

Robles looked at Sergeant Cuevas. “Tell him to give me my helmet.”

“Why?” Cuevas asked. “What’s so special about it?”

“It’s mine. I have the right to wear my own equipment.”

“It belongs to the department,” Cuevas said. “I’ve reassigned it to Agent Vaught.” He took the other helmet from Vaught’s hand and thrust it toward Robles. “I’ve reassigned this one to you. Now put it on. We’re patrolling the north side.”

Robles stood looking between the two men, realizing he’d been discovered. “I quit.” He turned to dismount the truck, but Sergeant Cuevas whacked him over the head with the Kevlar helmet, and he went down.

The driver jumped into the back, and the three men wrestled Robles into a pair of handcuffs. Then Sergeant Cuevas produced a roll of duct tape and taped Robles’s mouth shut. They pulled the balaclava over his face and stood him up, shackling his hands to the roll bar behind the machine gun, making him look like the gunner — the first man the sniper would likely shoot. Vaught put the helmet on Robles’s head and pulled the chin strap good and tight.

“It’s you and me tonight, baby!” He turned to Sergeant Cuevas, switching back to Spanish. “You’d better dismount, Sergeant. There’s no sense giving the sniper more than one target to choose from. We’ll let our man Robles here take all the risks.”

Robles shook his head furiously, protesting as best he could with his mouth taped shut.

Vaught drew a razor-sharp folding knife from his harness and pressed the point to Robles’s throat. “You’d better stand up and face this like a man.”

Robles began to cry, shaking his hands, begging to be set free.

Revolted by the traitor’s cowardice, Sergeant Cuevas stepped into him, kneeing him in the groin. Robles sagged against the back of the cab with a groan and threw up in his mouth. They had to peel the tape off fast to prevent him from aspirating: sucking vomit into his lungs.

He retched once more, and they allowed him to cough himself out before applying a new strip of tape. This time Robles made no attempt to protest his fate.

“You earned this,” Vaught said, pulling the balaclava up to hide the younger man’s face. “So accept what you have coming. If you fuck this up, I will stab you, I swear to God.”

Sergeant Cuevas got into a black-and-white Dodge Charger with three other officers, and both vehicles rolled out, with the pickup in the lead.