Ghost Sniper

66

Fields couldn’t believe his eyes.

“I send you two jamokes to do a job that should have taken you two minutes, and this is how you come back looking? What did you do, pick a fight with Manny Pacquiao?”

Fito was humiliated and angry, his broken tooth hurting him, but he resisted the urge to smart off, knowing they’d fucked up big-time. “A gringo showed up.”

“What gringo?”

“I don’t know. We’ve never seen him before.”

Fields sat looking back and forth between them. “One man did this to you? Why didn’t you shoot him?”

Fito looked at the floor. “He took my gun.”

“Took your gun.”

“He was a professional.”

“I’m sure he was,” Fields remarked. He described Crosswhite, but the cousins looked at each other, shaking their heads.

“No, he didn’t look anything like that,” Fito said. “This man had light-brown hair and light-colored eyes — almost gray.”

Fields had no clue who else it could have been. He looked at Memo. “What about you? You don’t talk anymore?”

Memo looked at the floor.

“His jaw’s broken,” Fito said. “We just came from the hospital. They wired it shut.”

“This is fabulous.” Fields got up from the edge of the bed in his hotel room. “One looks like he was hit by a truck, and the other one’s a mute.” He let out a sigh, longing for the days of the Cold War, when professional assets were plentiful and Congress never asked any hard questions.

“Listen,” he said, turning around. “There’s a woman in town; she’s getting some information from a contact. Once I’ve got the intel, you’re going to dispose of her. Is that clear?”

“How soon?”

“Within the next couple of days, but I’m having doubts as to whether or not you can even handle a girl.”

“We can handle her!” Fito insisted. “We just got surprised by this guy. You didn’t tell us there might be some crazy gringo running around down there.”

“Well, you’d better be able to handle her,” Fields said. “Because I’m not paying a dime for the ass kicking you two clowns received today. Did you even get into the house?”

“Yes!” Memo said through clenched teeth.

“I got in through an unlocked door on the roof,” Fito lied. “The house was empty.”

“This was before or after your spanking?”

Fito averted his eyes. “Before.”

Fields opened a file on his laptop, showing them photos of both Mariana and Jessup. “Here is a list of bars and clubs. That’s the motel he’s staying at. I don’t know where she’s staying yet, but she’s stalking him, so go find her and stay on her! Do nothing — and I mean nothing—until you’re given the word. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“About this gringo you ran into…” Fields stood thinking. “Did he say why he was there? Did you tell him anything — anything at all?”

Fito shook his head. “We just asked him what he was doing there, and he sucker punched Memo. I went for my gun, but he was too fast.”

When the boys from Baja were gone, Fields called Pope on the secure satellite phone.

“We’ve got a new player,” Fields said. “The Baja boys ran into a gringo outside Ortega’s place. He literally beat them up on the sidewalk in front of the house and left them lying there.”

“Sounds like something Crosswhite would do,” Pope remarked.

“That’s what I thought, but I described him, and they say no. This guy had light-brown hair and light-colored eyes.”

“You just described half the men in America.”

Fields chuckled. “You should see these two clowns. Whoever it was really worked them over. One has a busted nose; the other’s jaw is wired shut.”

“Has Mariana made contact with Jessup?”

Fields was startled. Goddamn that Midori! But he recovered quickly enough. “I don’t know yet. I’m expecting first contact tonight.”

“I don’t want anything happening to her,” Pope said. “She has a great deal of potential.”

Which is exactly why she has to go, Fields thought to himself. “That’s understood. You have no idea who this new player might be?”

“No. He must be working for Ortega. You still have no intel on who took his wife and kids?”

“Nothing factual, but it almost has to be Serrano. Or maybe that Federale captain — Espinosa, I think his name is — the crooked cop who turned Vaught over to Ruvalcaba’s people.”

“What about the leak at the PFM?”

Fields was not accustomed to Pope asking so many pointed questions. It meant that he was beginning to lose confidence. “I don’t know where that stands.”

“Three of their deep-cover agents have turned up dead,” Pope said. “You weren’t supposed to give them anyone but Mendoza.”

“I felt we needed to increase our odds.”

“How many names did you give him?”

“All of them.”

There was a short pause at the other end of the line. “I realize you have a tough job down there, Clem, and I realize you’re working with the junior varsity, but you have to do better.”

Coming from Pope, “you have to do better” was tantamount to an ass chewing. “I understand,” Fields said. “Do you have anyone you can send me?”

“I gave you Crosswhite, Vaught, Ortega, and Villalobos. Those four men were all you should have needed. Now you’ve pulled Mariana into the lineup. I want this operation wrapped in three days, Clem. That’s all I can give you. After that, I’ll have to call in a whole different team.”

Pope broke the connection without another word, and Fields threw the phone at the wall. Then he grabbed his jacket and headed out into the night for the first time in years.