The Sniper and the Wolf

17

Ryder woke up slightly hung over in his DC hotel room and took a shower. Then he sat naked on the bed, eating cold pizza from the night before. Pope’s meeting at the White House was scheduled for three thirty that afternoon, and it was his job to make sure the meeting never took place. He chased the pizza with a cold beer from the minifridge and got dressed, and then unzipped his bag and took out the USP .45 ACP he had picked up from a CIA contact the night before.

He broke down the brand-new pistol to make sure that it was properly lubricated from the factory. Then Ryder put it back together, loading the twelve-round magazine with 230-grain ammunition. Racking a round into battery, he dumped the mag again to load a thirteenth round and then tossed the readied pistol aside on the bed. Next, he took an SWR HEMS 2 suppressor from the bag and disassembled it, lubricating the internal parts with wire pulling gel. He did this because a “wet” suppressor was slightly more silent than a “dry” one (the lubricant absorbing the heat of the expanding gas), and Ryder wanted there to be as little sound as possible during the hit on Pope.

He put the pistol into the small of his back, slipped the suppressor into his jacket pocket, and then went to the window for a peek through the curtain. What he saw caused every nerve in his body to sing with alarm. The sexy Latina from the airport the day before was walking across the mostly empty parking lot carrying a McDonald’s bag. The sky was heavily overcast and threatened rain. He watched her cross to a room on the far side of the lot, knock twice at the door, and then enter. A second later, someone peeked out briefly through the curtains.

He stepped back and took his cellular from his pocket, calling Peterson. “I’ve been made!” he said.

“I doubt that very seriously,” Peterson replied calmly. “I’m the only one in the agency who knows anything about you. What’s got you worried?”

Ryder told him about the girl and the military-looking guy who had been on the plane the day before, and that they were now staying at the same cheap hotel. “Which is hell and gone from the airport!”

“Let me see if I understand you,” Peterson said. “A pair of travelers are staying at the same hotel as you — and that’s got you worked up.”

Viewed from that angle, Ryder felt a little silly. “It’s not as simple as that. They sat right across from me in the airport.”

“And they were on the same flight, were they?”

“Yeah, like I just told you.”

“So two people who were on the same flight as you are staying in the same hotel. Look,” Peterson said, “I don’t want to get in your business, but it might be time for you to lay off the marijuana. You don’t need the paranoia working your nerves, and I don’t need you calling me with these kinds of episodes. There’s no way you’ve been made. But ya know what? Let’s suppose for a second you had been. What the hell would you expect me to do about it over the goddamn phone?”

Ryder was embarrassed, but his discomfiture quickly morphed into a simmering anger. “Seeing as how you’re in command, I thought you’d want to know.”

“You’re not in the army anymore,” Peterson said, “and you’re not working for Obsidian Optio. You’re a freelance operator, which means you think for yourself. Got it? Now shitcan the dope and call me when the job is done.”

“I haven’t smoked in three—” Ryder realized that Peterson had already hung up. He threw the phone at the pillow. “Fuckin’ asshole!”

Crosswhite opened the McDonald’s bag and took out a sandwich. “Any movement across the lot?”

Sarahi shook her head and sat down at the table to paint her nails. “Car’s still there.”

“Yeah, I saw it.” He took a bite and continued talking with his mouth full. “So far everything fits the profile. We have to keep a close eye on him now so he doesn’t give us the slip.”

She looked up at him. “Didn’t you put that tracker thingy on his car last night?”

He nodded, sitting down on the bed in his underwear. “But we gotta keep close to him.” He looked at the sandwich in disgust. “This must be two hours old. Would you hit the Coke machine so I can wash this shit down?”

She dipped the tiny brush back into the red bottle. “Gimme a sec.”

He dropped the sandwich back into the bag and got up. “Gonna get dressed in case he rolls out soon.”

She sat blowing on the nail for a moment, and then took a dollar from his wallet and went out the door.

Ryder was watching through a thin crack in the curtains when Sarahi stepped out, looking directly toward his room. “Paranoid, my ass!” he said, taking a folding knife from inside the waistband of his jeans and thumbing open the three-inch black tanto blade.

He watched as she made her way toward the Coke machine in the corner where the hotel made an L shape at the halfway point between their rooms. He waited until she took the can from the machine and started back before slipping out and moving swiftly after her. She was still blowing on her finger when he caught up to her just outside the room.

She glanced back at him and let out a startled gasp, dropping the Coke as he swiped expertly at the side of her neck with the knife. The tip of the scalpel-sharp blade caught her carotid artery, and he swept past her up the walk as though nothing had happened.

At first Sarahi didn’t realize she was even cut; she simply stood there with her hand over her beating heart watching Ryder walk away, but then she realized she was gushing blood from the left side of her neck, and she started screaming bloody murder.

Crosswhite jerked open the door to see her standing there spurting blood all over herself. “Holy Jesus!” He pulled her into the room and sat her down in a chair, snatching a towel from the floor and pressing it to the side of her neck. “Hold that tight, baby!”

He grabbed the phone and punched 0 with a bloody finger to get the front desk. “Call 911! Room 14 — arterial bleed!”

He dropped the phone and clamped his hand back over the towel, pressing as tightly as he could. “Hang on, baby! They’re comin’! They’re comin’!”

“Please don’t let me die,” she begged, her strength beginning to fade. “Please, don’t let me die, Danny!”

“Shhh,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Relax, baby, relax. We gotta slow your heart down. You gotta keep calm.”

When the paramedics appeared in the doorway fifteen minutes later with their latex gloves and boxes of equipment, he was still standing there beside the chair clutching her lifeless, blood-soaked body against him, a thousand-yard stare in his eyes.

“Jesus,” one of the medics murmured.

Crosswhite blinked once, his gaze sliding into focus as he looked at them. “There’s nothin’ you guys can do here. Never was.”