Diablo

by James Kent

  ‘Probably just hit my damn Buick,’ he said quietly to himself, shaking his head in frustration as he thought about what the guy outside was doing. ‘He’s disabling the vehicles . . . no means of escape now. Shit!’ he said.

  ‘What?’ asked Cricket. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Sshhh! Stop talking! I need to figure out where he is, how far away!’ He waited again, waited for another impact so that he could time the delay before hearing the report of the rifle that had sent it. Sure enough, another loud metallic thud, the same distinctive smacking thump like a sledgehammer hitting something solid. Decker counted off three seconds before he heard the rifle shot again. ‘I’m guessing about a mile,’ he said quietly, thinking, allowing a couple of seconds for the bullet in flight. Speed of sound over a mile, minus the flight time of the bullet. ‘What’s a mile away that provides good cover for someone with a big-ass rifle?’ He looked down at his weapon and realized it was useless against a concealed sniper at that distance. They were hopelessly outgunned, at least for the meantime.

  ‘That figures!’ said Cricket. Decker turned to him with a questioning frown. Cricket continued, ‘I located Pedro’s phone about a mile away. I think he’s in them hills to the southwest.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ asked Decker. ‘What’s Pedro’s phone got to do with anything? Who gives a shit about Pedro’s phone? Unless you’re trying to tell me it’s Pedro out there shooting at us??’

  ‘That’s what I was coming out to tell you about before you knocked me over crashing in through the door just now! The boss told me to come get you cos he wants to see you about it. Apparently, the guy who Pedro and Randall bumped into in Kingman now has Pedro’s phone and we think he’s killed Pedro. Maybe Randall too. He’s also got Eddie, or at least he knows where he’s at. We just figured it out because he rang the boss a few minutes ago. But we don’t know who he is or what he’s got to do with Eddie or why he’s after us. He might be a cop or something . . . although that doesn’t sound right either, does it? I mean, what kind of cop starts shooting at you like that? So he could be one of the boss’s old enemies maybe, come to settle a score.’

  Just then another distinctive crashing thud announced another vehicle hit. Three seconds later, the same distant rifle shot reverberated like thunder. They could smell smoke now. Lots of it.

  ‘He rang on Pedro’s phone?? What’s he playing at? Who the hell is this guy?’ asked Decker rhetorically as he thought about what Cricket had just told him. ‘Where are the other guys?’ he asked.

  ‘Out back, smoking weed,’ replied Cricket. ‘I saw them before, but I don’t think they know what’s going on yet, although they’ll know something’s happening by now because of all the smoke and noise.’

  Suddenly, two of the guys walked in through the rear door, crashing it open against the wall and putting a dent in the plaster where the knob smacked into it. They saw Decker and Cricket leaning against the hall-way wall, and made a beeline towards them. The two guys were carrying AR15s in their hands, both still chewing gum and smelling distinctly of wafted marijuana. The bigger of the two, Rudolf Knox, a known serial killer who’d joined Diablo’s crew four years earlier, exclaimed, ‘Yo! Who’s shoot’n at us? What’s with the smoke?’ He looked buzzed as he pulled the gum from his mouth and stuck it to the side of his leather belt to reuse when he felt the urge. He checked the action on his rifle, removed the magazine, checked the shiny brass rounds inside it, then reinserted it as though itching to get to work. He was completely wired. Decker stared at him with contempt. What a disgusting pig! he thought.

  ‘We’re under fire from some asshole out in the desert there somewhere. Sounds like a fifty he’s using to plug the rides. He’s set fire to the boss’s Caddie and it sounds like he’s done the same to my Buick. So go back out the way you came in. Split up and get a bearing on his ass. Get your binoculars!’ And I hope you get shot! he didn’t add as the two guys turned around and went back out to find their companions.

  Then Decker turned back to Cricket and said, ‘Ok, let’s go!’ He walked off towards the huge sun-drenched lounge where Silva was still pacing. Silva had lit up another stogie to calm his nerves and was holding it in that weird way of his. He turned around when he saw Decker walk into the room ahead of Cricket who looked disheveled as though he’d just been run over.

  ‘Where the hell have you been, you lazy bastard?’ he spat at Decker, staring at him. ‘What the hell is going on? Where’s all the smoke coming from and what’s with all the banging and crashing about?’ Decker walked right past him without responding, still carrying his rifle. He went to the side wall beside the large windows that looked out over the Cerbat mountains in the far distance. He had his back to the wall and craned his neck around to study the nearest low-lying hills. Hardly a mile away! he thought. He was looking for the most likely spot that a sniper might fire from, but it was too far away to identify a specific point. The guy could be anywhere. He’d have to wait until he fired again and hope to see a muzzle flash or puff of dust or smoke, although that was unlikely in full daylight and from that distance. And it was also risky.

  ‘He’s in those low hills there somewhere,’ he said, pointing with his forefinger for Silva’s benefit. Silva moved closer to the windows to see where he was pointing, but Decker shooed him away. ‘I wouldn’t stand there if I were you!’ he said. Silva looked at him with annoyance, but said nothing in reply. He stuck the stogie back in his mouth and moved away, taking his time about it, not appreciating being told what to do. He started pacing again; his nerves causing him to make random, unpredictable changes of direction like a blowfly on its skittish prowl looking for something that isn’t there. Then he headed towards his whiskey cabinet like he suddenly had a good idea. The solution to his woes.

  ‘He’s using a large caliber weapon,’ continued Decker. ‘Plugging the vehicles one by one. Got your Cadillac real good too!’ he added with a hint of a smile.

  Silva looked as though he’d just been electrocuted. He froze mid-stride, stared straight ahead, his black eyes wide and focused on the cabinet which he’d suddenly lost interest in. ‘HE SHOT MY RIDE?’ he shouted, turning on his heel to look at Decker again.

  ‘Yeah, it’s on fire as we speak!’ replied Decker, still smirking. ‘That’s what the smoke is all about. Pretty good shooting too if you ask me! Not many around who could do that. But that in itself tells us something . . . he’s obviously highly trained. Probably ex-military. Possibly a trained sniper to be that good. Shit!’

  Silva wasn’t listening. He went red in the face with anger, felt insulted and violated like he’d just been robbed or spat on. Yet he knew there was nothing he could do. He’d have to swallow it. He felt his entire world caving in around him. The walls closing in. And all because of Eddie and his damned girlfriend. That’s what had started all this trouble. Maybe he shouldn’t have stuck her in a barrel of oil after all, he thought, because none of this would have happened.

  Decker carried on explaining as though he hadn’t noticed Silva’s reaction to the news. ‘I counted five large-caliber rounds hitting all three vehicles. All disabled now. Sounded like fifty-caliber . . . probably API rounds,’ he added. Silva looked at him again with a blank stare; looking crestfallen, defeated, angry and upset all at the same time. He was red in the face and looked confused because he couldn’t fathom what was happening or why. Why him? It wasn’t fair.

  ‘Armor-piercing incendiary,’ added Decker helpfully as he too stepped away from the windows. ‘He obviously aims to trap us here by killing our rides. We’re next! If we run for it out in the open, we’ll be sitting ducks. He’ll pick us off, one by one. Unless we can stay out of sight until he decides to come closer and shoot it out with us . . . eventually he’ll have to and then it’s eight against one,’ he said with slight optimism, but not really believing it.

  ‘Eight?’ asked Cricket. ‘I ‘aint shooting!’ He quietly backed out of the room, catching the eye of Decker who nodded
at him, understanding his fear and realizing that Cricket would be more of a liability than a help anyway. He’d probably end up shooting someone else by mistake.

  Silva didn’t look pleased with the suggestion either and said, ‘I think you mean six against one? That’s your job! That’s why I pay your lazy ass! So, go do your damn job and end this thing!’

  Goddam coward! thought Decker. He ignored Silva and said, ‘Cricket says this dude’s killed Pedro and has his phone and that he rang you. Got Eddie too. Is that right?’

  Silva sat down on the sofa, exhausted. He crossed his legs as though he was about to watch a cheesy drama on TV, or maybe a reality show, and took refuge in his cigar that had by now gone out. He relit it, drew on it to stoke the red glow on the end, then he looked back at Decker with the stogie again filling his mouth, making him dribble spit down his chin as he spoke. Blue smoke enveloped him like a smoke screen. ‘Yeah he’s also got Randall. Or maybe he’s killed his ass too for all I know. Useless pair of assholes! Good riddance!’ He took another long drag and blew more bluish smoke into the space between them as he continued to stare at Decker. He’d finally regained some composure. He was back to his old self.

  ‘We got no rides ’outta here now so what are you going to do about it?’ asked Decker, staring him down. ‘I didn’t sign up for this shit!’ he added.

  No one spoke for a while. Nearly a minute. Silva dragged on his stogie staring into space as though contemplating the universe. Then Decker said, ‘We were supposed to be making money out of Eddie’s hacking skills. How long did that last? A few mil. So what? But he’s disappeared, and now we’re fighting some other random asshole who turned up from nowhere! We don’t even know who he is or what he wants or why he’s even here trying to pick us all off! Is he one of your old pals we don’t know about, out settling scores?’

  Silva turned to look at him, but before he could answer, the large floor-to-ceiling plate-glass window suddenly exploded, shattered into millions of crazed fragments sending small pebble-sized pieces of toughened glass flying into the room like a cascade. A jagged hole appeared in the wall opposite. About three seconds later, Decker heard the familiar sound, similar to the one he’d heard five times before, but not as loud.

  A distant rifle shot echoed from a mile away.

  39

  Foothills of the Cerbat mountain range.

  All three vehicles were out of action for the cost of five rounds of armor piercing. A good trade. A result anyone would be happy with. The Cadillac burned away, completely engulfed. Completely destroyed. The others had just smoldered for a while, then settled down and went out. Insufficient volatile gasses and liquids to take hold. Maybe the Caddie’s engine had been hot already, or it was leaking oil. Whatever, thought Swann.

  He had his scope on the open front door of Diablo’s ranch, left it there for a few seconds, maybe a minute, then he moved it to the left until he came to the huge plate-glass scenic windows that would give a decent view of the mountain range to the west, and the low foothills where he was lying prone. No doubt they would have figured out that that’s where he was. Where else would he be? They would be trying to find his exact location with powerful binoculars from a mile away. Not a chance! he thought. Or maybe Cricket is trying to hook into Pedro’s phone, hoping to pin it down to within a few feet. But he doubted he was on for long enough for him to get an exact fix.

  He scanned again hoping to see the five other guys who had been patrolling with AR15s slung over their shoulders, but they had disappeared. Swann wasn’t sure if they’d moved out of range before or after he’d starting smacking the vehicles. It didn’t really matter because they were all now pretty much trapped unless they decided to take a chance and run for it out in the open. They’d probably wait for darkness and then scatter into the desert, make for the main road which was a decent walk and hope for the best. They’d use the old rusting car and the tin shed as temporary cover. Still not a problem for someone with a night-vision scope which he had in the rifle case, set to the same aim point as the others. But he had no intention of letting things drag on that long and allowing the possibility of one or more sneaking away unobserved. There were two tall gas cylinders secured to the outside wall of the ranch like giant detonators just begging for a Lapua magnum round to set them off . . . Fourth of July all over again. He would just tap one, or both, with a couple of hot rounds and set the whole place ablaze. That would send everyone running into the desert where it would be easy pickings.

  He moved the scope back to the large windows and waited. The heat shimmer made it look as though the whole place was floating in mid-air like a mirage, hovering just above the ground. It was too dark inside the building to see who was behind the plate glass; Maybe it was tinted, thought Swann. He waited patiently, hoping to see faint movement. Maybe he’ll get lucky and a face will appear nearer the glass, looking out, trying to see where he might be. If need be, he’d put a round right through the glass to shatter it, to stir things up. But still he waited.

  Then he saw a movement to the right. A head appeared to the side of the window. Someone was obviously standing with his back to the wall on the inside and craning his neck around, trying to get a bead on his position. Then another movement as someone else appeared right in front of the glass, not even trying to stay hidden. A short, fat guy. ‘Diablo!’ whispered Swann to himself as he smiled. He settled the scope’s reticle on his head and held still, letting out a long breath. But before he could begin taking up the slack of the trigger, the guy disappeared again and was swallowed up by the blackness inside. Swann let his breathing return to normal as he went back into wait mode.

  Everything was still and quiet. The pimped-out Cadillac was still burning, sending black columns of smoke into the air. The other vehicles still looked fine from a distance, but of course they wouldn’t be. They would have cracked engine blocks or major pieces would be smashed to bits under their hoods. Completely undriveable.

  But it was time to rattle the cage. It appeared they were going to wait him out and hope for a shootout later when they would have the advantage of numbers. They probably imagined that he would lose too much daylight by waiting, wasting valuable time, and that he would have to make his way down to deal with them one at a time, up close and personal. Better for them, harder for him. Swann kept his scope on the large plate-glass window where he’d seen Diablo looking through a few minutes ago. He held it steady and gently squeezed the four-pound trigger. The powerful Accuracy International L115 rifle bucked slightly, sending the .338 Lapua Magnum bullet towards the ranch a mile away. It covered the distance in slightly less than two seconds, impacting the plate glass and shattering it into millions of splinters and fragments.

  Swann immediately worked the bolt to chamber another round and resettled the scope’s reticle on the now open void, looking for a specific target. He saw chaos as two people panicked and ducked for cover. He caught a glimpse of Silva, throwing his arms up and bounding off the sofa in panic then crawling away for cover towards the right; he could move surprisingly quickly for a short, fat guy as he disappeared behind a wall on the eastern side of the room. The other guy he’d seen craning his neck earlier had also disappeared. Swann thought he’d glimpsed him dropping to the floor, but then he’d lost sight of him and wasn’t sure where he had gone.

  Swann moved the scope to the right slightly and settled the reticle on what looked like a drinks cabinet. Probably contains expensive whiskies! What a shame. He sent a Lapua magnum round crashing into it. He quickly worked the bolt again and sent another one into the tall glass doors that fronted the cabinet. Glass and liquids exploded into the room. He moved the scope back again to the left, hunting for human targets. No one there.

  Then he moved further to the left, looking for the gas cylinders chained to the outside wall of the building. He put the scope on the nearer one and squeezed the trigger. Two seconds later, the cylinder vented in a massive and violent eruption of thick, white gas that burst from near th
e top. But no explosion followed. Swann put the rifle aside and changed back to the bigger weapon, the fifty-caliber. He inserted the new magazine containing the armor-piercing incendiary rounds, then he rocked himself back into position and reacquired the target through the rifle scope. He took a long, slow breath and squeezed the trigger, sending a high velocity incendiary bullet into the still venting propane gas bottle. The round penetrated both cylinders, instantly causing a massive fireball as the escaping gasses under high pressure, and mixing with the outside air, were ignited by the burning zirconium powder in the bullet. About five seconds later, the pressure wave of the explosion hit Swann with a loud BOOM!

  Large pieces of debris from the two cylinders blew high into the air. Some landed many yards away in the dirt, kicking up dust from their impacts, other fragments landed on the roof of Diablo’s ranch. A heavy chunk of metal from the feeders and tap assemblies crashed into the rear window of the Buick, smashing it completely. Other parts dented its roof and door panels, some pieces cut jagged holes like shrapnel through the thin metal. The western section of the building, where the cylinders were chained up, was completely demolished, and all nearby windows were blown in. Somehow, the place wasn’t on fire, but it had the advantage of rendering that end of the building uninhabitable which meant that everyone would now gravitate toward the opposite end. All in one place. People tend to head away from a disaster, toward what they think is safer territory which meant Diablo’s men were no longer spread out but all in one general area. That made it easier for Swann.

  He kept the scope on the carnage for a few seconds then moved again to the right, hunting for more targets. He saw no one, so he continued further to the right, towards the eastern end of the ranch. Maybe the sleeping quarters. There were four windows facing him, towards the south. No movement. He moved further to the right again, to the end of the building and saw a guy squatting down, leaning out around the south-eastern corner. He was looking through a pair of binoculars, looking directly at his position, but Swann was sure he wouldn’t have been able to see anything. He had a rifle across his knees as though he figured on taking a long shot. Good enough! thought Swann. The guy was now an armed combatant, so he was fair game. He didn’t particularly want to shoot the guy called Cricket if possible, for Eddie’s sake, so he felt obliged to take some care. He figured Cricket would probably not be armed. But then, you never know. Due diligence. Whatever.