Ghost Sniper Read Free Page B

the door to the roof and stood aside, waiting for a hail of bullets that did not come. Stealing a quick look around the jam, he saw two figures opening another door on the far side of the roof a hundred feet away. One of them disappeared behind it, toting a Barrett sniper rifle. Vaught shot down the second man before he could slip inside; then he ran across. But before he could make it all the way, the Federales came pouring onto the roof behind him, screaming, “Alto! Alto!” Halt!
    Knowing they would not hesitate to shoot him, Vaught pulled up short, thrusting his hands into the air and turning around with his weapon dangling from the sling, his DSS badge glinting in the sun. “El francotirador se escapa!” he shouted. “Por ahí, amigos! Por las escaleras!” The sniper’s getting away! Over there! By the stairs!
    Seven hard-eyed Federales surrounded him, covering him with M4 carbines and shouting for him to get down on his knees. They didn’t seem to hear what he’d said. Vaught repeated it, and someone kicked him behind his knee to drop him. They shoved him onto his face and shackled his hands behind his back.
    â€œAre you deaf?” he shouted in Spanish. “The sniper’s getting away!”
    One of the Federales pressed down on his neck with a lug-soled boot, saying in a sonorous voice, “Cállate.” Shut up.
    Vaught was stripped of his weapons and radio, and then brought to his feet. He spit out what was left of the tobacco in his lip andlooked at the captain who’d stood on his neck. The patch over the man’s breast pocket read “Espinosa.” He was tall and muscular, with a black mustache and heavy-lidded, obsidian eyes.
    â€œTell me you’ve got men covering the stairs, Captain. Tell me you’re not just letting that son of a bitch get away.”
    The captain jerked his head toward the exit, ordering his men to take Vaught below.
    â€œWhat the fuck is going on?” Vaught demanded. “Those are our people down there dead in the street! You’re letting the bastard escape!”
    Below, Vaught was stuffed into the back of an unmarked car with black-tinted windows. He lowered his wrists and stepped through the cuffs to get his hands back in front of him, and sat watching as the captain spoke with two detectives in plain clothes. At length, they nodded and got into the car.
    Vaught asked in Spanish if the sniper had been caught.
    The man in the passenger seat said, “Everything is under control. Don’t worry.”
    â€œI need to be debriefed by my people immediately.”
    â€œFirst, you go to see our people.”
    â€œNo, that’s not how this works! I’ve got diplomatic immunity. You have to take me directly to my embassy. Are you federal cops or municipal?”
    â€œLa inmunidad diplomática,” the passenger echoed to the driver, and both men laughed.
    Vaught sat back with a sigh, muttering in English, “Fuck you both.”
    Within a few blocks, it was apparent they were not circling back toward the Federal District but were continuing on a course carrying them ever farther away from el Distrito Federal.
    â€œWhere are we going?”
    When they ignored him, Vaught lunged over the seat for the steering wheel, hoping to wreck the car. The man in the passenger seat was ready, jamming a high-powered stun gun into Vaught’sneck, shocking him over and over until finally he lay crumpled on the floor behind the seat, virtually paralyzed.
    â€œCabrón!” the passenger cursed, throwing the stun gun onto the dash and straightening his tie. Asshole!
    Ten minutes later, Vaught was dragged from the back of the car by two different men and taken into a building at the end of an alley. There was no doubt that he was now in the hands of the cartels and that he likely didn’t have long to live. He made up his mind to take out one of the bastards the very first chance he got, but with his