Ghost Sniper by Scott McEwen

chief of police shook his head. “Not like her. I wish I did not have to miss the party.”
    â€œWe agreed it was safer for the family if you didn’t go,” Diego said. “You’re not changing your mind, are you?”
    Juan Guerrero shook his head. “No. No, of course not. I’m just going to miss her, is all.”
    Diego chuckled and patted his brother on the shoulder. “She’s not growing up that fast, brother.”
    â€œNo,” said Juan Guerrero. “I know that. Let us go out the front with the family. It is such a beautiful day.”
    Diego looked at him, seeing a serenity in his brother’s eyes that he had never seen there before. “What is it, Juan?”
    â€œDo you remember when we were young?” Juan reflected. “When I first told you that I had decided not to become a priest? We were standing barefoot in the mud along the river where Señor Alvarado used to fish.”
    Diego remembered the day like it was yesterday. It had been his own day of personal deliverance. For if Juan had decided not to become a priest, then he too would be free to make that same decision. “Yes, I remember.”
    â€œYou trusted me then,” said Juan, his eyes bright. “And you’ve trusted me since.”
    â€œEver since, brother. Yes. Why are you saying these things?”
    â€œBecause I want for you to trust me now,” said Juan. “I want for you to trust that I know what I am doing.”
    Diego felt pressure begin to build behind his eyes. “I trust you, Juan. I will always trust you.”
    â€œThen promise me something very important.”
    â€œYes, anything.”
    â€œPromise me that from this day forward, you will listen to what our gringo friend has to teach you—and to live by the true meaning of our name.”
    â€œI promise, Juan. Of course, I promise.”
    Guerrero was the Spanish word for warrior.

15
    MALBUN, LIECHTENSTEIN
    14:30 HOURS
    Gil and Lena were headed for the airport in a rented car. Lena was driving, and Gil had a hand inside his jacket as they sped along the snowy mountain road, his eye on the side-view mirror.
    Lena kept a firm grip on the wheel. “Are you going to tell me why they wanted to castrate you?”
    Gil shivered involuntarily, flashing back to the pinking shears. “Thank you for saving my ass.”
    â€œIt wasn’t your ass that I saved—and you’re evading my question.”
    â€œI killed a bunch of their friends in Istanbul awhile back—freed some girls who’d been sold into prostitution.”
    She cut him a surprised glance. “The Russian rescue that was in the news? That was you ?”
    He still had his eye on the side-view mirror, a bad feeling rising up in his gut. “Me and a grumpy Spetsnaz guy, yeah.”
    â€œNo wonder,” she said. “You’ve brought them international attention, and it’s hurting their business. They won’t rest until you’re dead.”
    He shrugged. “It might not have been the smartest thing I ever did, but it needed doin’.”
    â€œThe Russian mob is everywhere. Aren’t you afraid they’ll go after your wife in the US?”
    He looked at her. “Somebody else already tried that. No. I’m not worried.”
    They were approaching a tight curve bearing to the left, and Lena downshifted to slow the car. “Sabastian will help them find you—because of me.”
    â€œWell, he hasn’t wasted any time,” Gil said, seeing a black sedan appear in the mirror. “This is them. Keep driving!”
    He opened the door and bailed out as they went through the curve, rolling into a snowbank and springing to his feet. He pulled the Springfield .45 from his jacket and charged the approaching the car.
    Shocked to see the American suddenly coming at them, the driver braked hard, putting the vehicle into a slide on the snowy road as Gil planted his feet,