by James Kent
Swann put the scope’s reticle on the guy’s body mass and paused for a few seconds, taking a long breath. Then he squeezed the trigger and sent a fifty caliber API round towards him. It hit the guy two seconds later and hurled him backwards off his feet like a dismembered rag doll. A reddish cloud, mingled with smoke and dust, erupted from the impact with his body. His rifle and binoculars went flying off into the distance and landed some yards away. One down!
And then Pedro’s phone rang.
Swann stared at the phone for a few seconds, which he could only just hear, and then he smiled to himself. It was the second time it had rung since he’d called Silva to wind him up, but he decided to answer it this time. He was curious. He rested the rifle, pulled the ear protectors from his ears and picked up the phone. He flipped it open and put it to his ear, but said nothing as he stared off into the sun-bleached desert, towards Diablo’s ranch. A dark, shimmering smudge in the distance.
40
Diablo’s ranch.
‘HAVING FUN?’ shouted Silva into the phone. There was smoke and dust everywhere, making him cough occasionally. His ears were still ringing from the loud explosion a few minutes before. He looked up at Decker with a cold, unblinking stare. Decker had squatted down beside him in the hallway.
*
A few minutes earlier, Silva had been sitting listening to Decker rabbit on about nothing, pissing him off. Then, suddenly, the large plate glass window exploded inwards. Silva had nearly jumped out of his skin. He accidentally tossed his cigar onto the floor behind him as he threw his arms up in fright. Decker ducked for cover after the first shot through the window. He dropped to the floor and snake-crawled out of the room, maneuvering as best he could with the AR15 in his right hand. He found Silva already lying there on the floor of the hallway, squealing like a stuck pig.
Then the whiskey cabinet took two direct hits, with some of Silva’s most expensive whiskies being smashed, and spilling out onto the floor. Glass shards went flying. The place started smelling like a distillery. A minute or so later came a deafening explosion. Silva wasn’t sure what it was until Decker said, more to himself, ‘Gas bottles! He’s obviously tapped them with incendiary.’ The whole place had vibrated from the blast. Windows on the western end shattered. Plaster fell from the ceiling of the lounge and the air filled with dust and smoke and propane gas fumes.
And then, like before, Silva suddenly composed himself and acted as though nothing more than an annoyance had tainted his otherwise normal day, nothing more than a wrong pizza delivery and that he was about to sort it out. He sat upright and leant against the wall with his short legs outstretched. He turned to Decker who was squatting in the hallway beside him, and demanded, ‘Give me your damn phone! I lost mine in there,’ he said, indicating the lounge with his thumb. ‘I’m gonna give this asshole an ear-bashing!’ Decker looked at him sideways wondering what the hell was going on in his head. But he reached for his phone anyway and handed it over with a “whatever!” shrug. Then Silva punched in Pedro’s number.
*
‘Yeah, I sure am having fun pal! How’s it for you?’ said the gravelly voice on the other end. ‘Enjoying my new home improvement program? I’ve got lots more in store for you! You’re gonna love it! How’s Decker doing? Is he there with you, or is he hiding in the closet crying like a bitch?’
Silva could sense the other guy was smiling as he taunted him. That made him angry. ‘Yeah? Then why don’t you come here for a chat, you damn coward? You think you’re safe out there with that big gun of yours, smashing up my joint. Come here and fight like a man! Decker and Knox will give you something to think about!’
‘I might just do that! Tell them to stay put till I’m there. But before I do, why don’t you send Cricket on his way and I won’t put a bullet in his ass? Or don’t. Whatever. I don’t really care either way. It’s just that I promised the Ferret I wouldn’t kill the little twerp. But, personally, you know . . .’ He left the sentence hanging.
‘Cricket ’aint goin’ nowhere!’
‘Suit yourself! Oh, by the way . . . you’re a man down. I just blew him away. Wasted a fifty cal on his ass. Maybe it’s Knox.’ Then the line went dead.
Silva looked at Decker again and frowned. Decker mouthed, ‘What?’
‘He said he’s just shot someone. Go see who it is. It’d better not be Knox!’ said Silva.
Decker stood and walked off to the eastern end of the building, keeping away from any windows, to see where Cricket and the other guys were. Silva sat there by himself for a minute, thinking what he should do. What could he do? He felt trapped and surrounded, even though there was just one guy out there somewhere pinning them all down. How can you be surrounded by just one man? he thought. It’s ridiculous! Then he threw Decker’s phone against the wall in frustration like he had done with his own not long before. It too left a dent in the plaster. It bounced off and skittered along the floor then came to rest a few feet away.
He got up and followed Decker down to where all the bunk rooms were, and where Eddie’s, now Cricket’s, computer room was located. He felt offended by the favoritism being shown towards Cricket from the guy with the gun. ‘What the hell is so special about Cricket?’ he asked of no one. ‘No one leaves!’
Silva pulled the Glock from his coat pocket and stomped into the computer room where Cricket was sitting staring into a computer screen which showed a topographical map. He had a packed bag on the floor beside his seat as though he was planning to make a run for it. Silva noticed it. He walked up to Cricket and put the gun to the back of his head. ‘Wanting to leave already?’ he asked. ‘You just got here! What’s the hurry? What’s with the packed bag?’ Cricket said nothing. His hands trembled, hovering just above the keyboard. Then Silva continued, ‘That dude out there with the big gun says I should let you go and that he won’t drill your ass! But why? Why does he care? . . . So, do ya wanna leave?’ he said with menacing emphasis. He pushed Cricket’s head forwards slowly with the barrel of the Glock, all the way into the screen. He held him there with it, pushing the barrel in hard. Cricket winced and shut his eyes, fearing the worst. ‘WELL DO YA PUNK?’ asked Silva loudly with a voice emulating Dirty Harry.
‘No! Of course not!’
‘I thought not. So maybe I’ll just put a slug in your useless excuse for a brain right here and now anyway for showing disrespect! It’ll save us all some drama! How would you like that? It’ll save that guy out there another bullet too, and the trouble! Least I can do for him.’
Cricket said nothing, fearing that to reply would risk Silva losing his temper. He knew that when Diablo was in one of these moods, anything could happen. He felt the hard barrel against his head.
‘So give me your goddam phone! I left mine in the passageway. I’ll ring our new friend out there and tell him you want to stay!’ said Silva with a crooked smile. ‘I knew you loved it here!’
Cricket took a chance and said, ‘I know exactly where he is!’
Silva pressed the gun harder into his head. ‘Oh yeah? So, spill the beans already! Where is he exactly?’
‘He’s in the low-lying foothills there . . . the closest point with overwatch, slightly less than a mile away, like Decker said he would be. I can place him to within a few feet using that device there,’ he said, pointing to the StingRay unit sitting on the desk. It had a yellow light-emitting diode blinking away. The map on the computer screen had a red marker, also blinking off and on, and a smaller window showed Pedro’s listed number. ‘It can locate a cell pretty close, but it takes a while is all. I used it to locate Eddie’s phone before, if you remember, so then I set it to trace Pedro’s just now.’ He paused a beat, then added, ‘Not that it would do much good since we don’t have anything that can reach him from here . . . too far away for what the guys have. But at least we know, which means we can watch to see if he moves down and heads our way.’
Just then, Decker walked in carrying his rifle still and said, ‘He’s shot Sanchez! Not much lef
t of him . . . Blown a huge hole in his torso. Obviously used a big caliber on the poor stupid bastard. He’s still smoking from the impact. Maybe another incendiary round for God’s sake! The other guys are dealing with it.’
‘Who cares?’ replied Silva looking sideways at Decker while he still held his Glock against Cricket’s head, still pushing him into the monitor.
‘I care because this asshole, whoever he is, isn’t fucking around! He’s ruthless and he’s obviously got some heavy-duty kit that he’s prepared to use. We need to end this! And now!’
Silva turned his attention back to Cricket. ‘So where’s your damn phone?’ he asked again, shoving his gun harder into the back of his head. The monitor screen started tipping over with Cricket’s face pressed up against it.
Decker interrupted, ‘Where’s mine? I thought you had my phone a few minutes ago to ring that dude!’
‘I left it in the hallway you moron!’ replied Silva. ‘That’s why I want Cricket’s!’
‘It’s in the bag,’ mumbled Cricket. His hands were still trembling. He shifted his gaze up to Decker with a pleading look in his eyes, hoping he would do something to distract Silva. Decker looked back at him, but said nothing to help. Silva was too unhinged and unpredictable, but, even so, Decker doubted he would pull the trigger. At least not until he knew it was all over and then anything could happen. Cricket would be worthless to him then. And so would everyone else.
Decker cursed quietly then walked back out to retrieve his phone.
Silva took the gun away from the back of Cricket’s head and reached down for his bag. He tipped it all out onto the floor and kicked everything aside until he found the phone. He picked it up, switched it on and waited for it to boot up. Then he dialed Pedro’s number yet again.
It was answered on the third ring, but Silva kept talking to Cricket. ‘Tidy up your goddam mess!’ he said indicating the contents of his bag that he’d just tipped out all over the floor. Then he turned his attention to the guy with the big gun.
41
Foothills of the Cerbat mountain range.
Swann had the binoculars on the place, watching for movement. The hot sun had moved around and was now quartering on his left, at his eight o’clock, but it was still high enough in the sky. Hot and dry. He was perspiring under its fierceness. The westerly breeze did little to cool him. The distant scene still shimmered through the lenses of the binoculars. Swann felt a drip of perspiration on his right eyebrow, threatening to impede his vision. The Cadillac still smoldered, and dust and smoke still hung over the remains of the gas cylinders and the western end of the building a mile away. The insects still buzzed as though they didn’t care, and the occasional bird chirped and cared even less. It was a peaceful setting that belied the unfolding drama that was about to become more violent and noisy.
Pedro’s phone was lying on his backpack just in front of him; its battery was getting low. Then it rang again. Swann picked it up and looked at the screen. A number he didn’t recognize, but he answered it anyway and said nothing. He heard Silva’s voice talking to someone else, something about tidying up a mess. Swann grinned. This guy has issues! he thought. ‘Yeah, I’m still having fun, fat boy! What took you so long?’ he said with a chuckle. ‘And whose phone have you stolen this time?’ He put the phone on speaker and placed it back on his pack, then he picked up the binoculars again.
‘Cricket ‘ain’t goin’ nowhere!’ Silva’s voice sounded tinny and thin, hardly the menacing tone expected from someone with such a sinister nickname.
‘Whatever!’ replied Swann as he watched through the binoculars. Then he saw someone leaning over the body of the guy he’d shot earlier; he was dragging the body away by the collar, towards the house. Another guy went to retrieve the dead man’s rifle. They were pretty quick doing it.
‘Oh and you shot Sanchez! Not that I give a shit. Good shot by the way. He was useless so it’s no loss to me. You’ll have to try harder!’ he laughed. ‘So why don’t ya come on down here for a friendly chat? We can work it out together! Maybe I’ll even give you a job because you’re obviously more competent than these losers,’ continued Silva, ‘Or are you a chicken-shit coward?’ There was a slight pause, then Silva asked, ‘Who the hell are you anyway? Why do you care so much?’
‘I don’t!’ replied Swann. ‘You’re nothing to me. I’m just a dude out here having fun at your expense,’ he laughed. ‘Think of it as your unlucky day!’
‘Yeah! Whatever! We know exactly where you are, you damn coward!’
‘Big deal!’ replied Swann with another laugh. He put the binoculars down and reached for the L115 sniper rifle, moving the big fifty caliber weapon aside. He quickly unclipped the nearly depleted magazine, removed the unspent round from it then he snapped in a fresh magazine, placing the unspent bullet on the mat. Its brass shone brightly in the sun. Then he moved the still active phone onto the mat beside the brass and rested the weapon again on his pack. He settled back in behind the scope, worked the bolt and tried to re-acquire the targets.
He saw one guy still hanging around the scene, but trying to keep out of sight. He was leaning back against the eastern wall and craning around with a pair of binoculars again, like the first guy. Except that he wasn’t squatting. Swann put the scope on the guy’s binoculars and prepared to squeeze the trigger. Suddenly the guy ducked back and was lost to sight. Perhaps he had seen Swann’s head, or he had seen enough of his visible profile to pinpoint his position. But it wouldn’t make any difference unless Diablo’s men had high-powered rifles. If they were limited to AR15s, thought Swann, they could pop away all day and never even come close!
Swann kept the scope on the same spot for a while, waiting to see if the guy reappeared.
‘You still there creep?’ asked the tinny voice over the phone.
‘Yeah I’m here.’ Swann looked at the phone and noticed the battery was going flat; down to one bar. He slowly reinserted his ear protectors, hardly moving, and waited for the guy.
‘Come down off them there hills and we can talk. Bring Eddie! There’s no need for any more unpleasantness!’
Swann didn’t hear him. He wasn’t interested in what he had to say anyway. And then the guy suddenly showed himself again. He had his binoculars up on Swann’s position. Lens to lens. Observing each other. Seconds passed.
Swann fired. The guy’s head bounced off the wall beside him as though he had been hit by a sledgehammer. Swann saw binocular fragments explode outwards and a red mist appear in the air momentarily about the guy’s head as he crumpled to the ground and collapsed forwards onto his face, his arms askew and bent at awkward angles. The bullet had ripped through the binocular’s right lens cluster and into the guy’s right eye, shattering his skull and killing him instantly.
‘What the hell was that?’ asked the tinny, little voice over the speaker.
Swann didn’t hear the question, but his next comment answered it anyway. He removed his ear plugs then said, ‘You’re another man down pal! Better go fetch him!’ He heard some yelling and other noises of sudden action in the background. And then the line went dead. He removed the magazine, reinserted the leftover round then he snapped the full magazine back into the bottom of the rifle. Good to go!
42
Swann picked up the binoculars just as his own phone vibrated. He dropped the binoculars back on the mat, reached down into his pants pocket and pulled out the phone. He flipped it open and checked the number dialing, but he didn’t recognize it which confused him. He put it to his ear anyway and said nothing. Who else besides the Ferret knows this number? he asked himself, frowning.
‘Boss, it’s me, Eddie!’
‘Why are you ringing on a different phone?’
‘I went out to buy another one because I think Cricket must be monitoring us by now. He’ll know my number, and Silva’s old one of course.’
‘Who cares? I already know he is so I don’t give a shit! I’m about to put a round up his ass!’
‘Y
eah but I’ve got some news about that other matter, the investigator chick.’
‘Fine! So shoot! I’m busy!’ But Swann was keen to hear it. He was still staring out across the hazy, shimmering mile to Diablo’s ranch as he listened. He was starting to get bored with picking off the odd guy and wanted to get on with it.
‘I completely trashed her shit!’ said Eddie in an excited tone. ‘I burned the lot! She’ll be pissed off big time by now . . . but I left her a cute trail to follow so she’ll go off in the wrong direction!’
Swann said nothing for a while as he thought about it. ‘How much damage? Did you go outside the brief?’
‘Total! Nothing left. And no, it’s just her shit. Honest! She was onto you by the way . . . had a file on everyone there including the office secretary, you know who I mean . . . but so far still no name, as in yours, but she’ll join the dots if she hasn’t already. But, ahh, I did something else, which I hope you won’t mind.’
‘What? What else?’
‘I made copies of everything . . . you know, in case you wanted to see what she was up to. Or whatever.’
Swann smiled a crooked smile. He hadn’t considered that angle. ‘Interesting!’ he said. ‘Ok keep the files for now. And don’t be tempted to do anything with them or I’ll feed you to the dogs!’
‘Sure thing boss!’
Swann nodded his head slowly as he thought through the implications. He will definitely have to talk to Pearman later, to see how close she got to identifying him. He might need to put the wind up her a little, just in case.