Ghost Sniper (20 page)

47

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

09:30 HOURS

Forty-eight hours after the Land Rover impacted the surface of the Lishui River, Director of the CIA Robert Pope discovered that the Chinese Ministry of State had learned Gil's true identity through facial recognition and was in the process of searching the river for his body. Deep river currents had washed the Rover more than a half mile downstream before it was located, and by the time Chinese authorities fished it from the drink, all of the windows had long been broken out of it.

Pope sat before his computer, staring at the screen for a long time. At length, he took off his glasses and then sat looking out the window. It would be his responsibility to break the news to Marie Shannon. The poor woman had been through so much already, and now her ultimate nightmare had become a reality.

He rocked back in the chair, lacing his fingers behind his head.

So far the Chinese were not telling the outside world that they had identified an American CIA agent operating within their bor
ders, and Pope doubted very seriously they ever would. There were too many reasons to keep it secret, and almost nothing to gain by making it public. This meant he could take his time about telling the White House. Had Gil been captured alive, the political situation would have been much different, so the colder, more calculating part of Pope's persona took solace in the fact Gil had not been captured, and he hoped that his body would not be found, though he was certain the Chinese would make every effort.

There had been some initial confusion in Beijing as to what had happened to Lena Deiss, but the Ministry of State quickly tracked her to Taiwan, where she was now outside its reach. Pope briefly considered sending an agent to intercept her there, but something told him to let the sleeping dog lie for now. If Gil's body was found, and the Chinese decided to make a public stink about it, there would be time enough for looking into Lena Deiss.

Pope's most immediate responsibility was to Gil's widow.

He got up from the chair and went to find Midori in her office, where she sat collating intelligence files on their developing Saudi operations.

“Gil's dead,” he said quietly. “I'm going to Montana to tell his wife. I'll be back in twelve hours.”

Midori stared at him.

“He crashed off a bridge in Hunan Province,” he went on. “They're still searching the river for his body.”

“My God,” she croaked. “What happened? I mean . . . how?”

He shrugged. “It looks like he set some Russians on fire in a hotel. I don't know what he was thinking. Anyhow, the police caught up to him before he could get away this time.”

“Fire? What about Lena Deiss?”

“She made it to Taiwan.”

“Are we going after her?” Midori paid close attention to the drift of his gaze as he pondered his response.

After a few moments, Pope answered, “No. We've got enough to focus on.”

“What about Blickensderfer? If Gil's dead, are we going to resume the operation?”

“Keep him under surveillance for now. I'll decide about him later.” He returned to his office and called the airfield, ordering his Gulfstream G650 jet prepped for immediate takeoff.

48

GALLITAN COUNTY, MONTANA

14:05 HOURS

Marie Shannon was in the stable with her horses when she heard the rotors of the incoming helicopter echoing off the frozen foothills surrounding the ranch. The winter air was cold and crisp, so there was a sharpness to the sound that caused the hair to rise on the back of her neck. Her 120-pound Chesapeake Bay retriever, Oso Cazador (Bear Hunter), came trotting into the stable to stand protectively at her side, growling low in his throat. Helicopters had come to the ranch before, and they had always been harbingers of trouble.

Marie went to the door, her heart hammering in her chest as she watched across the ranch. A US Air Force Black Hawk helicopter was coming in low out of the east, a giant sky-blue dragonfly sweeping up contrails of snow along its approach. It set down a hundred yards from the stable, and as its door slid open, Marie prayed against heaven and earth for Gil to appear.

When a tall man with white hair stepped out of the aircraft, her
eyes flooded with tears, and she sank into a crouch, hugging the dog tightly to her. “Daddy's dead,” she whispered hoarsely.

Marie forced herself back to her feet, wiping away the tears as she stood in her maroon Carhartt and watched the man trudging toward her through the knee-deep snow, holding up the wide collars of his overcoat against the blowing cold.

By the time he arrived at the stable, he looked chilled to the bone. “Mrs. Shannon, how do you do? I'm—”

“Bob Pope,” she said, her brown eyes penetrating. “There's no one else you could be.”

He nodded sadly. “Yes. Yes, I am. I apologize for arriving unannounced like this. I'm afraid I bring bad news that I couldn't imagine sharing with you over the telephone.”

She steeled herself. “Where was he killed—or can't you tell me?”

“China,” he said quietly. “I don't have all of the details, but I'm willing to share what little I know.”

She swallowed the egg-size lump that had formed in her throat. “What was he doing in China?”

“The truth is, I'm not sure. I didn't send him.” Pope had not yet worked out whether to mention Lena Deiss. “He said something about BASE jumping from a popular mountain in Hunan Province.”

She crossed her arms, her eyes remaining steady. “Mr. Pope, please don't expect me to believe that my husband was killed in a BASE jump.”

“No,” he said. “That's not what happened. I'm not sure he ever made it to the mountain, to be honest.”

Marie had lived on the ranch all her life, and she was accustomed to the harsh Montana winters, but she felt suddenly cold. “We'll go inside,” she said softly. “I can see you're freezing.”

“Yes,” he said with a kind smile, his boyish blue eyes grateful. “I am.”

Pope followed behind her and the dog as they crossed the ranch to the new house, rebuilt the year before, after Muslim terrorists had burned it to the ground.

Inside, the house was quite warm. A fire blazed in the fireplace, and the smell of an apple pie baking in the oven pervaded. Marie's mother, her long gray hair in a thick horsewoman's braid like her daughter's, stood in the kitchen doorway wiping her hands on a towel. She met Marie's forlorn gaze and realized that her son-in-law was dead. Lowering her eyes, she turned back into the kitchen.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Marie said, taking off her coat.

Oso trotted into the kitchen to see what kind of food he could score from Grandma, who spoiled him rotten.

“Thank you,” he said, taking a chair near the fire.

“Does your flight crew need some coffee brought out?”

What a fine woman this is
, Pope thought to himself.
What was Gil thinking, running off with the likes of Lena Deiss?
“No,” he said. “They're fine. The helo is warm enough, and I believe they brought a thermos, actually.”

“Okay.” She settled into the rocking chair opposite the CIA director. “I'd like to know what happened, please. Every detail.”

Again, Pope felt the stab of Lena Deiss. “I'm afraid I'm very short on details. I don't know how much Gil might have told you, but during his last mission for me, he took it upon himself to rescue a dozen or so young Russian women who'd been sold into prostitution. He killed quite a few members of the Russian mob in the process, and they put a price on his head. Judging from the intelligence I've gathered so far, it appears he ran afoul of three Russians during his trip to China and ended up killing them. There was a police chase, and Gil's truck crashed off a very high bridge into a deep river. I've been keeping tabs on the situation, and it appears his body was found just a few hours ago.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Will they send him home?”

“I can almost guarantee they will not,” he said. “I don't expect China to admit that Gil was in the country. He was traveling on a Canadian passport under another name, and for this reason, they have assumed, incorrectly, that he was there to carry out a mission for the CIA. For the Chinese to admit the CIA is carrying out op
erations so deep inside of their country would be embarrassing to Beijing. It could also complicate the trade negotiations now taking place between China and the US. As you probably know, China is accustomed to getting the better end of most trade deals, and they're not likely to risk the status quo over an incident such as this. Had Gil been captured alive, things would be very different, but that's not the case.”

“Luckily for the CIA,” Marie said, not kindly.

“For the CIA, yes,” Pope admitted. “For me personally, much less so. Gil was my friend, as was his father, and I hold myself partially responsible for what's happened. I've kept him extremely busy these past couple of years. I pushed him too hard, and I think he lost himself—lost track of what was most important to him. My apology doesn't even begin to make up for that.”

Marie ignored the apology. It was useless to her. “So that's it. No funeral at Arlington. No recognition. Nothing. He's just gone.”

“I'll tell the president when the moment is right. After that, I'm sure there will be a private ceremony at Arlington if you'd like to have one.”

“For what? To bury an empty box? To be given a goddamn flag in exchange for my husband?”

“Only if you desire it,” he said quietly.

“I certainly don't desire it!”

“I misunderstood. I'm sorry.”

Her tone turned accusatory. “I sometimes see drones over my ranch,” she said sharply. “I assume that's to keep an eye on my mother and me?”

“That's been done at Gil's personal request, yes.”

“Well, he's dead. So will the spying continue?”

“I think once his death is made public—perhaps in a few months—any danger to you will pass.”

“Then I should expect to see your drones until then?”

“I can order them to fly higher, if you like. You won't see them.”

“I would appreciate that.”

“Consider it done.”

She drew a breath, unsure if she truly wanted to ask the question that had been haunting her for months. “Can you tell me if he was seeing anyone?”

Pope did not hesitate. “To my knowledge, Gil was still very much in love with you. I have
no
knowledge of him spending time with any other women.”

She nodded, wiping her nose with a tissue. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“I don't believe so, but I'd like to leave you my card. I'll remain at your service for as long as I'm with the CIA.”

She felt her anger spike but conquered the urge to tell Pope just how much she despised him and the CIA. “That's very kind of you,” she said carefully. “Thank you.”

He stood to leave. “Is there anything else you would like to ask before I go?”

She looked up at him, heartbroken. “Those women you say he rescued—they're home now? They're safe?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“That's all, then. Thank you for coming.”

“It was my responsibility to come.”

“Yes,” she said. “It was. Have a safe trip back.”

A few minutes later, she stood beside her mother in front of the big bay window at the back of the house, watching the helicopter lift off. It flew away to the east, and only when it was gone from sight did she sink to her knees to weep.

Short and stout, her mother stood with her hand resting on her Marie's head, her own eyes full of tears as she stared off across the snowy linen landscape.

Oso whined to go outside.

49

TOLUCA, MEXICO

18:20 HOURS

With training over for the day, Crosswhite was drinking a beer with Vaught and three other policemen at the firing range when his satellite phone rang in his jacket pocket. Seeing that it was Midori, he ducked into the concrete building where they conducted their urban warfare training.

“Go ahead,” he answered. “It's me.”

“Brace yourself,” Midori said. “I have bad news.”

“Shit,” he said, fearing that Mariana had gotten into trouble. “What is it?”

“Gil was killed two days ago in China.”

Crosswhite's stomach hit the floor. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“He set some Russians on fire in Hunan—on an elevator. The police chased after him, and he crashed off a bridge into the Li
shui River. We are hearing that they claim to have found his body a couple of hours ago.”

Crosswhite sat down on a concrete stoop, resting his forehead in his hand. “An elevator? Midori, what happened? That doesn't tell me anything.”

“That's all I know,” she said helplessly. “The Chinese are keeping a tight lid on it. Nothing has been released to the public, and I'm not the one who hacked into their system. Pope is the only one with access, but for what it's worth, I really don't think he's hiding anything on this. He's in Montana now breaking the news to Gil's wife.”

“Christ,” Crosswhite said. “After all the shit he's been through . . . to get run off a bridge in Jumbuck, China. How high?”

“Eighth highest in the world.”

“So pretty fuckin' high.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Pretty high.”

“That's it, then,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Gil's gone.
Fuck
, I can't believe it!”

“I'm sorry, Dan. I know you were close.”

“It's worse than that,” he muttered, lighting a cigarette. “He was my only friend.”
That's not true
, he thought.
Mariana's my friend
. “Well, it doesn't sound like they'll be shipping him back to the States, does it?”

“I'm sorry. I forgot to mention: the intel stream says he's already been taken to a crematorium.”

“Bastards!” he hissed. “So was he over there working for Pope?”

“No. We have no clue what he was really doing over there. Pope doesn't think we ever will.”

“What about the woman—the Swede?”

“She's Swiss.”

“Whatever!”

“She's back in Switzerland.”

Crosswhite spit in the dust. “Well, I just might have to pay her a visit myself one fine day.”

“If you do, be sure to keep me in the loop. I'd like to know what really happened. I won't tell the boss.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Thanks for calling. I appreciate it.”

Crosswhite put away the phone and looked up to see Vaught standing in the door with a beer in his hand.

“What happened?”

“Gil's dead. The goddamn Chinese ran him off a bridge. Can you fuckin' believe that?”

“Shit, man. I'm sorry.”

“Yeah,” Crosswhite said. “Everybody's sorry. You might as well cut out of here. Head for our embassy in DF and get yourself home.”

“What are you talking about?” Vaught said.

“There's no reason for you stay involved in this. Mendoza's dead, these cops are almost ready, and that sniper's out there gunning for you. You've seen his face.”

Vaught tossed the beer half-finished into a corner. “Yeah, and what happens to your family when he blows you in half like he has everyone else?”

“My family's taken care of no matter what happens to me—never mind how.”

“Good, but you're not getting rid of me. I owe that son of a bitch.”

Crosswhite smiled. “Don't you think you owe Serrano, too?”

Vaught waited to hear the rest of what was on his mind.

“If this caper's gonna work,” Crosswhite said, “three key people have to be taken out: the sniper, Serrano, and Ruvalcaba.”

“What caper?”

“Mariana and I are putting Castañeda in charge of the southern cartels. That'll give him exclusive rights to the narcotics trade.”

Vaught's eyes widened. “On whose authority?”

“Our own.”

“Why Castañeda?”

“He's honoring the truce. And he's willing to continue.”

“You bet your ass he is!” Vaught hated Antonio Castañeda. “Who wouldn't be with a monopoly on the drug trade?”

“Look,” Crosswhite said. “It's our only chance to salvage anything out of this entire fucking mess. If Serrano takes over the north,
border violence will resume. He hates the US. But with Castañeda in control, the CIA holds the reigns, and civilians don't get butchered. It's that simple.”

Vaught could see no other way. “So what's your plan?”

“You stay here and deal with the sniper; I'll go handle Serrano. Whichever one of us survives goes after Ruvalcaba. How's that sound?”

“Honestly? It sounds like Pope belongs on that list too.”

“I agree, but Pope's a bridge too far. So we'll go after Mexico's chief of station instead: Mike Ortega. We'll take his family and force him to set something up.”

“No way!” Vaught said. “Absolutely not. I draw the line at kidnapping.”

“We're not gonna hurt 'em, champ.”

“I don't care. Ortega might be a dumb-ass, but he's on our side. You're just pissed at him because he insulted your wife.”

Crosswhite smirked. “Okay. You come up with a better idea. I'll sit here and wait.”

Vaught was out of his depth, and he knew it. “You can't be serious. You can't really be willing to kidnap a man's family.”

“You have no idea the shit I've done for far less worthy causes. And I'll tell you like I tell everybody else at this same crossroads: this is the business we're in. You're either willing to do what needs to be done, or you're not.”

Vaught dug the Copenhagen from the cargo pocket of his trousers, putting a pinch of tobacco in his lower lip. “Your man Shannon: He did this same kinda shit?”

Crosswhite shook his head. “Gil had principles. He was a better man than me—by a lot—but I have to play to my strength.”

“Which is what?”

Taking a last drag from the cigarette, Crosswhite flicked it out the door. “I don't give a fuck about consequences. I never have.”