turned to Raul, who was lying on his back, eyes closed. Hu-Shao snapped his fingers. “Let’s go.”
Raul stood and walked to the Dragunov, which was set up on its bipod and trained at the Suburban. He got down on his stomach and studied the vehicle through the high-powered thermal night scope. The two Americans were chatting again. Finally, one of the men climbed into the sedan. He pulled a U-turn and sped away. The other man climbed into the front seat of the SUV.
The Suburban was blocking some of the heat of the man’s body, and Raul wasn’t getting a very good heat print in the scope, but he was getting enough. He was, he guessed, just under a mile from the target. Raul rubbed his finger along the steel trigger. Then he fired.
A low boom exploded from the Dragunov as the high-powered rifle kicked back and a 7.62mm Kevlar-tipped cartridge ripped from the muzzle of the rifle. He heard nothing; yet through the scope, he watched as the front side window shattered.
“What happened?” barked Hu-Shao.
Raul said nothing as he retargeted the scope and prepared to fire. He concentrated, searching for the heat spot of the target. Then he found it, in the same place it had been before; he’d killed the American.
“Bull’s-eye,” he said. “Let’s go. We have four hours until he’s discovered.”
* * *
At the polo house, Alvaro took the horses from Dewey and Jessica. They walked beneath the darkening sky back along the gravel road to the ranch. Inside their suite of rooms, they took showers, then dressed for dinner in the main house.
* * *
Raul drove the Land Cruiser in a slow, circuitous arc toward the back of the ranch. The headlights illuminated knee-high grass, night bugs, and darkness. His destination was a field of low hills at the back of the ranch house. Had they moved in a direct line, the route would have been just over a mile. Instead, they drove in a two-mile arc.
Raul stopped when Hu-Shao gave the signal. They climbed out of the SUV.
On foot, Raul, Hu-Shao, and Chang traveled light. Hu-Shao and Chang carried assault rifles and handguns. Raul carried the Dragunov, strapped across his back. He also packed his sidearm, a well-worn Colt .38 Super “El Capitan,” with a custom snub-nose suppressor in the muzzle, his most prized possession, a present his father had given him on his ninth birthday. He tucked it between his belt and back.
From the Land Cruiser, they moved in the darkness, Hu-Shao navigating with his phone. Eventually, they came within sight of the ranch house, far in the distance, its yellow lights twinkling.
Hu-Shao took out his night scope and scanned the house.
“Here,” he said, pointing at a small grassy knoll.
“What’s the distance?” asked Raul.
“Half a mile.”
Raul sighted the sniper nest atop the knoll, setting the Dragunov on its bipod. He spent several minutes calibrating the scope as well as adjusting for bullet drop. Once he had the rifle good to go, he moved it slowly back and forth along the back of the rambling stucco mansion.
Chang pulled an MRE from his pack and ripped the tinfoil lid from it, then stuffed the food into his face.
“We have three hours before the dead guard is discovered,” said Hu-Shao.
Raul listened, studying the house, looking for signs of life.
“What if I don’t get a shot?” asked Raul.
“Then we hit the house. If you haven’t killed Andreas in two hours, we move in.”
Raul pulled his eye from the end of the rifle scope. He stood up.
“Where the hell are you going?” said Hu-Shao angrily.
“To take a piss,” said Raul, pointing to his crotch. “I might work for you, Chinaman, but he doesn’t.”
* * *
As Raul walked off into the darkness to pee, Hu-Shao put the scope to his eye, pretending to study the house; but his eye glanced sideways, watching Raul as he walked away.
Hu-Shao removed a 9mm Strike One from his shoulder holster. He reached into his front pocket for a suppressor,
Raul stood and walked to the Dragunov, which was set up on its bipod and trained at the Suburban. He got down on his stomach and studied the vehicle through the high-powered thermal night scope. The two Americans were chatting again. Finally, one of the men climbed into the sedan. He pulled a U-turn and sped away. The other man climbed into the front seat of the SUV.
The Suburban was blocking some of the heat of the man’s body, and Raul wasn’t getting a very good heat print in the scope, but he was getting enough. He was, he guessed, just under a mile from the target. Raul rubbed his finger along the steel trigger. Then he fired.
A low boom exploded from the Dragunov as the high-powered rifle kicked back and a 7.62mm Kevlar-tipped cartridge ripped from the muzzle of the rifle. He heard nothing; yet through the scope, he watched as the front side window shattered.
“What happened?” barked Hu-Shao.
Raul said nothing as he retargeted the scope and prepared to fire. He concentrated, searching for the heat spot of the target. Then he found it, in the same place it had been before; he’d killed the American.
“Bull’s-eye,” he said. “Let’s go. We have four hours until he’s discovered.”
* * *
At the polo house, Alvaro took the horses from Dewey and Jessica. They walked beneath the darkening sky back along the gravel road to the ranch. Inside their suite of rooms, they took showers, then dressed for dinner in the main house.
* * *
Raul drove the Land Cruiser in a slow, circuitous arc toward the back of the ranch. The headlights illuminated knee-high grass, night bugs, and darkness. His destination was a field of low hills at the back of the ranch house. Had they moved in a direct line, the route would have been just over a mile. Instead, they drove in a two-mile arc.
Raul stopped when Hu-Shao gave the signal. They climbed out of the SUV.
On foot, Raul, Hu-Shao, and Chang traveled light. Hu-Shao and Chang carried assault rifles and handguns. Raul carried the Dragunov, strapped across his back. He also packed his sidearm, a well-worn Colt .38 Super “El Capitan,” with a custom snub-nose suppressor in the muzzle, his most prized possession, a present his father had given him on his ninth birthday. He tucked it between his belt and back.
From the Land Cruiser, they moved in the darkness, Hu-Shao navigating with his phone. Eventually, they came within sight of the ranch house, far in the distance, its yellow lights twinkling.
Hu-Shao took out his night scope and scanned the house.
“Here,” he said, pointing at a small grassy knoll.
“What’s the distance?” asked Raul.
“Half a mile.”
Raul sighted the sniper nest atop the knoll, setting the Dragunov on its bipod. He spent several minutes calibrating the scope as well as adjusting for bullet drop. Once he had the rifle good to go, he moved it slowly back and forth along the back of the rambling stucco mansion.
Chang pulled an MRE from his pack and ripped the tinfoil lid from it, then stuffed the food into his face.
“We have three hours before the dead guard is discovered,” said Hu-Shao.
Raul listened, studying the house, looking for signs of life.
“What if I don’t get a shot?” asked Raul.
“Then we hit the house. If you haven’t killed Andreas in two hours, we move in.”
Raul pulled his eye from the end of the rifle scope. He stood up.
“Where the hell are you going?” said Hu-Shao angrily.
“To take a piss,” said Raul, pointing to his crotch. “I might work for you, Chinaman, but he doesn’t.”
* * *
As Raul walked off into the darkness to pee, Hu-Shao put the scope to his eye, pretending to study the house; but his eye glanced sideways, watching Raul as he walked away.
Hu-Shao removed a 9mm Strike One from his shoulder holster. He reached into his front pocket for a suppressor,
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