Free Ghost Sniper by Scott McEwen Page A

ever happen again, but I can’t move on Blickensderfer now. I’ve crossed a line. I’ve told you before I wasn’t trained for this James Bond shit.”
    â€œWell, if you can’t do it, you can’t do it,” Pope said, warmer suddenly. “You’re entitled to a mistake. You’re also entitled to a vacation. You’ve been operational for almost two years without a break. We’ll discuss things after you’ve had a couple months off. How’s that?”
    â€œOkay,” Gil said. He’d known Pope long enough to understand that the director likely wasn’t happy with this outcome, but hopefully he wouldn’t hold it over his head for too long.
    â€œSounds good. Have you checked on Crosswhite and Paolina?”
    Pope was silent again.
    â€œDid I lose you?”
    â€œNo, I’m here,” Pope said. “They’re both fine, but Crosswhite’s operational. A US diplomatic convoy was just ambushed in Mexico City. It was a cartel hit, and all of our diplomats were wiped out—most of the DSS team as well.”
    â€œYou know Paolina’s pregnant.”
    â€œI do, but I need him—and he owes me.”
    Gil didn’t entirely agree with that, but this was not the time to argue the point. “How deep does he have to get involved?”
    â€œThat remains to be seen,” Pope said. “There’s an ex–US Army sniper doing hits for the cartels, and it looks like he’s the one who pulled the trigger on our people. He used a fifty cal.”
    Gil was immediately pissed that one of his own had turned bad. “Do you have a name?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œGet me a name and a face to go with it. Then get me in-country so I can punch the fucker’s ticket.”
    â€œWe’ll have to see how things develop,” Pope said quietly. “I’m not sure Mexico is the place for you. You don’t speak the language, and Crosswhite’s a big boy.”
    â€œHe’s got vulnerabilities, Bob: a pregnant woman and a little girl to worry about.”
    â€œWhat did you expect, Gil? That I would pay him and not use him?”
    Gil let out an impatient sigh. “All I’m asking is that you consider his circumstance.”
    â€œI have,” Pope said. “It’s the circumstance he’s put himself into. Crosswhite doesn’t use his head when it comes to women. He never has. Be careful you don’t start falling prey to the same lack of judgment.”
    Gil was annoyed when they got off the phone, but he reminded himself that so far Pope had always played him straight and that he owed the man a lot.
    He was coming from the shower when the door to his room burst open, and three burly men covered in tattoos bum-rushed him, tackling him onto the bed and raining down punches. The blowslanded like sledgehammers against the side of his head, and he went unconscious.
    When Gil came around, he was duct taped naked to a chair, and his mouth was taped shut. Four ugly men sat around the room staring at him with vacant expressions. Blood was leaking into his left eye, and his head throbbed. At first he thought they were Blickensderfer’s people—which would have been bad enough—but then he took a closer look at their tattoos.
    They were Bratva — the Brotherhood. Russian Mafia.
    This is it , he told himself. And it’s gonna be ugly . He closed his eyes for a moment, just long enough to say good-bye to Marie and to promise himself that he’d go out with as much dignity as possible—but he didn’t have much in the way of confidence. These men were professionals at taking away a man’s humanity.

11
    ACAPULCO, MEXICO
    13:00 HOURS
    The gringo sniper’s name was Rhett Hancock, and he was no longer the innocent, towheaded little boy his mother had taken to church on Sundays. He was now afflicted with a sickness—a brutal sickness that went well beyond the