Ghost Sniper by Scott McEwen Page A

thrusting the pistol forward.
    â€œ Hoo -yah!” he growled, emptying the pistol rapidly into the windshield of the oncoming car. The bodies danced around in their seats. One man bailed out the back door, and Gil shot him through the neck as he rolled to a stop. The sedan plowed into a snowbank and stalled.
    The only one still alive was in the guy in the passenger seat—the same guy who had intended to remove Gil’s private parts. He was bleeding from two holes in his chest and one through his cheek. Most of his teeth were shot out, and it was obvious that he was paralyzed, probably due to a bullet nicking his spinal cord.
    Gil opened the door, reaching inside to snatch the Russian’s pistol from his lap. “Watch close now.” He shot the Russian in the face and jerked his body from the car, dragging it to the guardrail and throwing it over the cliff. He did the same with the other three bodies.Then Gil got into the car and took off after Lena, who, to his surprise, had pulled to the side of the road to wait less than a mile beyond the curve.
    He pulled up beside her, his adrenaline still pumping but glad she’d waited. “Thought I told you to keep driving.”
    She grinned, her blue eyes shining. “If this is going to work, you’ll have to get used to me not doing what I’m told.”
    â€œRoger that. Can you hide me in Switzerland?”
    â€œAbsolutely.”
    He put the car in motion toward the cliff and stepped out, watching it drop over the edge and go careening downhill into the tall mountain pines. The sky was dark, threatening snow, and he knew that no one would likely spot the vehicle before spring.
    The second he got back into Lena’s car, she leaned across the seat and planted her mouth on his, pulling at his belt.
    â€œLena, we gotta go.”
    â€œWhy?” she said, aggressively yanking at the buckle. “Didn’t you get rid of the evidence?”
    â€œWhat about Sabastian?”
    â€œHalfway to Stuttgart by now.” She was openly wanton, biting at his lips. “I’m not kidding, Gil. Take your pants down!”

16
    MEXICO CITY, MEXICO
    12:03 HOURS
    Paolina practically threw Vaught’s breakfast at him as she brought it from the stove, shoving the plate across the table to smack against his glass of orange juice. Crosswhite had left before sunrise without telling Vaught where he was going, and Paolina hadn’t said more than two words since he’d gotten out of bed. He didn’t bother to thank her for cooking, knowing she’d only spit his words back at him. He was afraid of her and didn’t want to antagonize her, particularly when Crosswhite wasn’t there to protect him. Her resentment was palpable now, and he felt it was probably best to leave as small a footprint in her world as possible.
    If Crosswhite didn’t return before he finished eating, he would wash his own dishes, and then go back to the guest room and shut the door. There was a television back there to pass the time. He was curious where Crosswhite had gone, believing it must have something to do with the operation, but he knew that Paolina was too loyalto tell him anything Crosswhite didn’t want him to know. Oddly enough, this didn’t really worry him. Crosswhite was so straightforward about everything that Vaught couldn’t help trusting him. What you saw was what you got with Crosswhite.
    He drew a breath and stood up from the chair, making his way to the sink.
    â€œLeave them,” she said without turning around.
    â€œThank you for breakfast.” The words slipped out before he could pull them back, and, of course, she didn’t answer.
    He went back to his room and closed the door, switching on the television. The news came on shortly, and within fifteen minutes, Chance Vaught learned that he’d been reported dead to the entire world. He knew it was coming, but the report still hit him hard, and he panicked for a