Ghost Sniper Read Free Page A

round weighing 45 grams and traveling at 2,800 feet per second. The bullet blasted off his left arm and shoulder, sending the appendage twirling up into the air. He fell on the concrete, locking eyes with Vaught as the life ran out of him. The arm and shoulder landed beside Downly. She shrieked in horror, scrabbling back to her feet and running frantically out into Avenida Reforma.
    Vaught and Uriah looked at each other from across the walk, knowing that to go after her was suicide. “Stay down!” Vaught sprang up and gave chase. He was almost halfway across the avenue when Downly exploded at the waist, her entrails whirling off in what seemed like all directions as the two severed halves of her hit the pavement in a twisted mess, with nothing but her spinal cord holding them together.
    Vaught had completely failed in his mission to protect his charges, and he’d lost nearly his entire team in the process. It might not have been through any error of his own, but he was still responsible, and he knew it.
    With the image of the bullet’s vapor trail—cutting through the morning air faster than the microscopic water molecules could get out of its way—seared into his brain, he knew now where the sniper was. Without pause, he spotted an abandoned taxi and sprinted past Downly knowing that to turn back would give the shooter a clear shot at a motionless target, even if only for a fraction of an instant.
    Vaught took cover beside the taxi and got on the radio to Uriah. “I know where the fucker’s at. He’s firing from the rooftop of the glass building on my side of the street at the end of the block. He doesn’t have an angle on you, so stay put. I’m going after him.”
    Uriah’s reply was immediate: “If he’s shooting from the glass building, he doesn’t have an angle on you either. Just stay outta sight and let the local heat handle this!”
    They could hear sirens now far up the avenue.
    â€œI’m going after him!” Vaught said. “You stay alive and make sure our people know what happened. Don’t let the Mexicans debrief you without somebody from our embassy being there.” He doubled-checked his weapon and jumped into the taxi, speeding off as a dozen federal squad cars and trucks came screaming down the avenue behind him.

2
    MEXICO CITY, MEXICO
    10:20 HOURS
    Vaught sped around the corner in the procured taxi, tires squealing, gunning the motor halfway down the block. Abruptly, he slammed on the brakes and bailed out of the taxi, shedding his jacket and making sure his DSS badge was still hanging around his neck. A half dozen curious bystanders stood huddled in a group at the end of the block. When he asked them in Spanish whether anyone had come out of the glass building, they backed away around the corner.
    A bored-looking old man sitting on a stoop and smoking a cigarette pointed up and said, “Francotirador.” Sniper.
    Vaught saw for the first time that the building was still under construction and that the lower floors were wrapped around with heavy plastic to discourage the general public from entering. He found a way inside and vaulted up a staircase, knowing he had twelve floors to climb. As he arrived at the tenth floor, a door clanged open up on the twelfth; he heard hurried voices descending, weaponsclanking against the steel railing. He peered up between the stairs and saw four shadowy figures circling quickly downward.
    Two masked men arrived on the landing directly in front of him, and he blasted them from ten feet, splattering the freshly painted white wall with bullets and dark crimson. Someone above fired down and missed, but he felt the spall from the ricochets cut into his shins and danced back out of sight, spraying a burst of fire upward. Sirens howled outside the building, and booted men were quickly mounting the stairs below. The men above retreated back toward the roof, and Vaught gave chase.
    He kicked open