Cold Blooded III: Sins and Sanctions (Nick McCarty Assassin Series Book 3) (23 page)

“I’ve already found a place he invested in,” Nick related, turning his laptop screen for Gus to see. “Mr. Huxley has a beautiful mansion/farm estate. It’s located in out of the way North Charleston along North Highway 17. We start tonight if you’re in, Payaso. We download the data on our target. We move into a position I pick for both an intercept team, and for taking a shot when the time comes. You’ll hate every second of it. You’ll refuse to follow orders. You’ll whine every second you’re in the field, and you’ll make sarcastic remarks about my leadership. I don’t know whether to shoot you in the head now, or give you a chance to prove me wrong.”

By the time Nick finished outlining his predictions, Gus was roaring with laughter, and pushing the rest of his drink away. “I should have known you would create instant havoc. I can’t wait to see the home-folks’ faces when you plop this mission on their heads.”

“Rachel and Jean will love it. This will be just like old times. I’m looking forward to you interacting with Tina if you decide to come with me.”

“I’m the master of my house. You’ll end up promising Rachel things for her complicity costing you years into the future. I’m in, and I’ll remember this sacrilegious denigrating of my manhood.”

Nick hung his head in saddened form. “We will see the true emasculation after you tell Tina you have to go out tonight, and won’t be back for a while. I’ll probably have to intercede before she puts your collar and leash on.”

Gus gripped his pushed away drink again, downed it, and slammed the glass on the table. “Payaso wears no one’s chains, Muerto, you dog!”

* * *

“You can’t be serious!”

“I explained many times I may have to leave unexpectedly, Dear,” Gus replied. “Tonight is one of those nights. Nick and I will be back as soon as we can. It’s an ‘Adam’s Family’ early Halloween Special. You can even ride along with Rachel and Jean to drop us off.”

“C’mon, Aunt Tina,” Jean urged. “Dad and Gus are the good guys. They had to wait until Grandma Mona left to spring this on us. They need us to drop them off, and do a pickup. You’re part of the team now.”

Tina glared at Gus, but her expression softened at Jean’s words. “Okay, I get it. I soldier on. Is this where I tell Gus to come home with his shield or on it?”

“No, Tina,” Nick answered. “You tell him you love him, and say thank you for being one of the guys who will never be known, who help protect this nation.”

Nick’s words quieted everyone. “Gus and I are going to pack up. Anyone wanting to come along on the drop-off is welcome. We’re the Adam’s Family, except our Wednesday Addams is a blonde, and Pugsley’s still a bun in the oven. I know my Rachel will be behind the wheel – the perfect Morticia. I’m walking ‘Thing’, I mean Deke, before we leave. When I get back, those on this mission be ready to go. Those in opposition will silently stay watching movies. C’mon ‘Thing’. Let’s go clear our heads. These family meetings are very trying.”

* * *

The cold droplets began in a wet spattering pattern in the night as Nick and Gus approached the position Nick had perceived would be the logical place an interception team would appear. Nick led Gus toward the nesting position decided on, quickly at first, but as they drew nearer to Huxley’s house he slowed their approach to a literal crawl. Gus remained silent, enduring the pauses and excruciatingly slow pace Nick moved toward their chosen observation nest. Nick picked the position after an hour of studying satellite footage covering the entire Huxley holding. Gus kept a tight rein over anything he felt like saying, trusting implicitly his partner’s cold blooded killer instincts and expertise. Nick brought him along as a training exercise. Gus was sure of it. He had spotted for Nick before, but never on a stealth approach.

Gus concentrated on moving every hand and foot as Nick did. He doubted anyone could hear an approach in the rain beginning to come down, or see in the now pitch black darkness. He and Nick had night vision gear, but Nick pointed out they could be spotted from a distance when wearing them. They approached with active GPS readings. Nick stopped suddenly, holding up a hand. He turned to Gus, moving close with a whisper.

“Smell that, Gus?”

At first, Gus couldn’t imagine what the hell there was to smell other than ozone, wet vegetation and mud. Then he smelled it: tobacco smoke.
Son-of-a-bitch
! “No wonder Rachel hates you, mutant.”

“Remember what I told you long ago. Nothing travels further or pinpoints a human being better than tobacco smoke,” Nick whispered. “They’re close. They can’t hear us, but I can smell them. We’ll follow the smell to a better vantage point than I picked out. Neat, huh, Payaso?”

“Are they amateurs then?”

“Not necessarily,” Nick replied. “Pros have bad habits too, and develop the worst one of all – overconfidence.”

“Do you think they’re American agents?”

“Don’t know, don’t care, Payaso. They were sent to wax my ass. If I had to guess, I’d say no. You’d laugh or take me through a ten minute diatribe of why I’m nuts.”

Gus grabbed Nick’s arm. “Spit it out, Nick. I don’t laugh at anything you dream, conjure, or predict. I’m here to learn how the deadliest asshole I’ve ever met thinks.”

“Sorry, partner. I’ve smelled that brand. It’s not an American blend. I’ve smelled it before in the Middle East and Europe. It’s a British American brand. I don’t believe they’re amateurs. What I think is they’ve underestimated the job. I’ve worked with guys like that in the past. None of them are alive now. Stick with me, Gus. You’re doing real well.”

Gus followed Nick in every movement. They crawled, crouched, and at points ran when the thunder and lightning started. Gus smiled inappropriately as even through the rain, he could now smell the smoke. The wooded area provided pitfalls where missteps could make a distinguishing noise, but they also shielded the rain to a point where the smoke could still travel. Then he saw it. The red glint through the trees of an inhaled cigarette. In the absolute darkness, it was like a beacon. Nick stopped, and quietly positioned his Remington MSR.

“It’s okay to spot now, Gus,” Nick directed. “Watch for any attention in our direction. There are two targets. I want everything from you. Give me what I need, Spotter.”

Gus read off the particulars. There was no wind – the distance negligible. Nick eased into position, only making slight adjustments from experience while sighting in on his rearmost target. “Watch the guy in front. When he looks anywhere away from his partner, say now.”

“Acknowledged.” Gus watched the front spotter exclusively. The man checked the area in front of Huxley’s house, sweeping slowly, point by point to his left. “Now.”

Nick squeezed off a silenced hollow point .300 Winchester Magnum round. It dropped his target with barely a sound. Nick shifted to the spotter while working the bolt action load into firing position. He put the next round through the man’s shoulder, which he knew would pass through part of his back on its way out.

“He’s down, and not moving,” Gus said. “The other guy’s head is pulped. Did you have a question for your survivor? I know you didn’t wound him by accident.”

Nick was already packing up the Remington. “I know Paul wants to find out who the hell has the inside track in his department, and has been selling us out to the highest bidder. Unfortunately for the survivor, I can’t take ‘I don’t know’ for an answer, even if it’s true. It would be big if this guy knows who the traitor is, and how Huxley’s drug empire is connected with CIA assets.”

The two men jogged toward their dead and dying adversaries while stopping at intervals to check out the area. When they reached the two man interception team, it was obvious the one Nick shot first was dead. His partner writhed on the wet ground, his silently agonized features making it plain Nick would have a difficult time accessing information. Nick knelt next to the man, putting on Nitrile gloves, and moving him into a position Nick could look directly into his pained features.

“Hi. I’m Nick, and my partner here is Gus. You and your dead buddy were sent to kill us. Would you like to make your passing less painful by telling us who ordered this?”

In the intervening seconds, the man controlled the pain lacing through his body. “Could I buy my life with a name?”

“You can if it’s a name you can prove,” Nick lied. “Give me a name I can check with my admittedly vast resources, and my partner and I will load you for hospitalization. We will have to make you disappear into another country though. If you expected to get a vacation spot here in the USA, that ain’t going to happen. Let me know if you agree so I can make the deal with my handlers. If you’re going to make this into a ‘Let’s make a deal’ con I will disembowel you and piss on your entrails.”

Nick’s hushed recitation, coupled with the waves of pain from his wound, convinced the man a gamble of any kind was far better than the hinted at torture. “Ken Schilling. We were told… to anticipate a sniper team… getting into place for a shot at David Huxley when he arrived.”

Taking the opportunity provided as his victim paused to deal with pain in a tight lipped, face contorted grimace, Nick texted Paul at an on-line drop known only to them. Moments later, he received a reply allowing for the possibility. Nick removed a syringe from his pack, and injected the wounded man with part of what it was filled with, causing instant unconsciousness.

“Okay, Payaso. This is where our duty gets tough. Remember the spot I had picked out to kill Huxley from?”

Gus used his range finders to sight in the spot with a clear field of fire at Huxley’s front door at a slight angle, nearly a hundred and fifty yards away from the house. Nick’s choice of a sniper’s nest to take out Huxley lay nearly a hundred yards distance from where they were now. Gus cursed. Instinctively, he knew what Nick had in mind.

“That’s a long way to drag our dead corpses.”

“I didn’t kill this guy. He needs to be alive when he kills Huxley, Payaso. Unfortunately, we will not be able to drag him either. I’ll patch his wound. We’ll leave his buddy in place, but without that fine looking M110 rifle the boys brought to snuff us with.”

Nick carefully took the aforementioned M110 Knight’s Armament Company rifle away from the dead man, handing it to Gus. He then put the still alive spotter’s range finders near the dead man’s nerveless left hand fingers. Gus kept watch around them while Nick took a black plastic bag out of his pack, cut a head hole in it, and put it over the wounded man.

“You get the equipment, and I’ll pack our soon to be Huxley shooter. I’m going to take a roundabout way to where I want us to wait for Huxley. I’m hoping Paul can find Schilling. I don’t like being in position, waiting for my shot with a loose end like Schilling free.”

“Understood.” Gus shouldered the equipment. Nick positioned the wounded man with Gus’s help into a fireman’s carry position.

Nick led the way, trying to move toward his intended position leaving as little sign as possible. It took him nearly twenty minutes to arrive at his chosen sniper’s position with Gus following closely behind. By the time they reached it, the wounded man groaned nearly constantly. Nick let him down on the ground, and used the syringe once again to render the man unconscious. He then checked his surroundings with satisfaction, while breathing deeply.

“Yep, this is the spot, Gus. We have a clear view, but great wooded cover from here all along our line of retreat. I’ll text Paul to have the shipment hit immediately. If we’re lucky, our man Huxley will head here the moment he hears about the raid, and the rain will keep falling.”

“Remind me never to go camping with you, Muerto.”

“Oh crap, you’re not going to start whining already, are you?” Nick began setting down his ground cover. “I have to take a few practice shots with the M110. Try and keep the whining down to a minimum, Payaso.”

* * *

David Huxley sat in the back seat of his BMW 7 series sedan, his fists clenched in fury, listening to the news of a major DEA raid on his container ship. Tipped off by the container ship Captain, Huxley called in two of his most trusted lieutenants. They packed everything he would need for an extended visit to his estate until the lawyers he paid a fortune for, straightened the container ship fiasco out.

The three men left immediately with the news helicopters circling the container ship as the pre-dawn raid continued into the early Sunday morning hours. He knew something very wrong had happened when Banning was found in the ludicrous position by the flagpole, seemingly having committed suicide. There was no way in hell that self-centered idiot would take his own life. Then Banning’s crew gun each other down. Something beyond his grasp was in play, and Huxley needed time to figure out what it was. He figured to call Dalman Monday morning. He needed a scapegoat now more than ever.

The Sunday morning sky, streaked with red reflections over slate gray storm clouds, washed the streets with a steady light rain. They passed only two cars heading in the opposite direction along North Highway 17 while approaching the estate. The wet morning muggy drabness added a prophetic flavor of trouble yet ahead to Huxley’s seething thoughts. Someone had crossed him.

“Craig. I need answers. Is anyone new on the docks? You and Banning used the same guys to stash the drugs in the furniture crates at the warehouse before loading, right?”

“We used the same guys, boss. All eight men are handpicked cartel soldiers. They’d slit their own throats before messing with a shipment. What about the couple who work for you? Do you think they nosed around the warehouse, and saw something?”