“I’ve got eyes on you,” LG said.
When she arrived, Nathan noticed she wasn’t the slightest bit winded. He gave her a nod. “Okay, Kilo Two, on the count of three, send two shots through the glass near the main entrance.”
“Kilo team, the man from the roof’s on the ground . . . he’s running south along Stewart Street. He’ll be at the south alley’s mouth in a few seconds. Be prepared to engage him if he turns your direction.”
Nathan copied and decided to hold position. The runner would either enter the alley or keep running along the sidewalk. He’d have his answer soon enough.
Nathan felt confident the runner was Tomas Bustamonte, given that his gambling cohort called him Mr. B, but fleeing the scene didn’t fit the CIA’s profile on him. Everything in Tomas’s file suggested he’d rather fight than flee. He knew profiles could be, and often were, wrong. Either way, Nathan didn’t intend to let him get away.
When he saw Bustamonte dart across the alley’s mouth, Nathan stayed in the east alley and began a full sprint, paralleling Bustamonte’s course.
While running, he said, “Kilo Three, regroup with Kilo Two inside the dealership. Clear the building floor by floor. We need to know if Ursula’s in there. Delta Lead, let me know when you lose sight of the rabbit. I’m going to try to catch him at the Expo rail line. If I move out of radio range, I’ll turn on my cell and mute it. Everyone copy?”
Everyone did and Harv added, “Proceed with extreme caution, Kilo One.”
“I’ve got this,” Nathan said, pumping his arms to generate more speed. If he could reach the end of the alley in time, he might get a glimpse of Bustamonte before he arrived at the Expo rail line.
“Delta Lead, is the rabbit still running?”
“Affirmative, but we just lost sight of him. I recommend you scale the fence at the end of the east alley and cross the tracks. The runner isn’t aware of your pursuit.”
“Will do. I thought I saw a huge recycling center bordering the Expo line. Concur?”
“Affirmative. He might try to disappear in there.”
“Do you know if the recycling center conducts night operations?”
“Negative.”
Nathan was almost to the fence when he heard Harv’s or LG’s handgun pop several times.
“Kilo One, do you need Kilo Three’s assistance?” Harv asked.
“Negative,” Nathan said. “Be prepared to bug out in a hurry if Delta Lead reports the police being dispatched.”
“All quiet so far,” Delta Lead replied.
For how long? Nathan wondered. Although all the gunfire had been suppressed, sooner or later, someone was going to notice the broken windows or the dark showroom, putting them out of business. And as LG had put it, that would be unsatisfying. He wanted Tomas and Ursula to experience the CIA’s tender loving care. A lengthy stay at Guantánamo Bay would fit the bill. Ursula had come within an eyelash of ending his life and he’d had a lot of time to think about it while recovering in San Diego’s naval hospital. LG was right: the woman had the emotional quotient of a copperhead and he hoped she was still in the building.
Nathan reached the end of the east alley and looked toward Stewart Street. He caught a glimpse of Bustamonte darting across the rail line. Directly ahead, Nathan saw he’d have no issue getting over the fence protecting the tracks. The problem was, he’d be in plain sight as soon as he did that. For now, Bustamonte wasn’t running at full speed, but that would change if he saw someone chasing him. Although Nathan wasn’t the fastest person for short bursts of speed, few people could outlast him in a prolonged chase.
Nathan waited a few more seconds, then hopped the fence. The sound of crunching gravel concerned him as he angled across the tracks, but it couldn’t be helped. Nathan knew he’d lose sight of Bustamonte in a few seconds because a block wall separated the recycling center from the Expo line and it extended all the way to Stewart Street where it turned the corner. He’d need to reacquire visual contact quickly. When Bustamonte disappeared behind the wall’s corner, Nathan made an all-out burst of speed to follow.
He didn’t like the illumination coming from streetlights, but there was nothing he could do about it. He stopped short of the corner, peered down Stewart Street, and saw his mark still running along the sidewalk. Given the sizable distance between them, Nathan had no choice. He took off in pursuit, but stayed in the street next to the parked cars. If Bustamonte looked back, he’d have a fighting chance to avoid being seen by ducking.
As predicted, Bustamonte veered to the left, heading for the recycling center’s wall. Nathan watched the guy scale the eight-foot barrier and disappear over the top.
That’s a good trick, he thought, and Bustamonte made it look easy.
Would his prey keep running deeper into the facility, or try to hide and wait the situation out? If Bustamonte had a car parked at the dealership, he wouldn’t likely circle back to get it. At least not tonight. Like Nathan, he’d expect the police to be dispatched—along with a helicopter—and it would definitely search the entire neighborhood with one of those super-bright spotlights. If Nathan were in Bustamonte’s shoes, he’d put several miles between himself and the car dealership, call a cab, and come back for his ride later.
Nathan ran several yards past the location where Bustamonte had gone over, then hoisted himself up for a glance. Seeing no sign of his mark, he scaled the wall, dropped into the recycling center, and immediately liked the increased darkness. Apparently, recyclables weren’t high on thieves’ bucket lists.
He deployed his night-vision scope and scanned the yard, confident that the dark would prevent Bustamonte from seeing him.
Familiar with the recycling center’s layout from his review of the satellite photo, he knew where the prominent buildings were located. As always, everything looked different from ground level. The wall bordering the Expo line held garage-sized, three-walled bins for holding various types of recyclables. Parked between the bins and the buildings, recycling trucks formed a long row.
If Nathan were the runner, he would’ve headed toward the large buildings to the southeast. They offered the most cover. There were security lights mounted on the walls, but they weren’t bright and most of them were burned out or turned off to save energy.
Nathan estimated he’d scaled the fence approximately ten seconds after Bustamonte. That put his mark at least fifty yards distant in any given direction, assuming the guy had kept running at a medium pace and hadn’t stopped to hide somewhere.
Rather than randomly take off in the wrong direction, Nathan stayed put. With only eight rounds left in his pistol, he decided to reload. The closest building was at least 250 feet away and he now believed his prey hadn’t run that direction. Off to his right, several front-end loaders sat dormant against the wall, providing a good place to hide.
If he fired a few shots under the loaders, it might flush Bustamonte out.
He was two seconds from pulling the trigger when motion caught his eye.
Got you.
Bustamonte stepped out from the closest three-sided bin, looked around, and began a jog toward the main building.
Using the line of recycling trucks for cover, Nathan took off in pursuit.
“Delta Lead, do you still copy?”
“Affirmative, Kilo One. Status?”
“I’m inside the recycling center, half a click south of SME. Pursuing the runner in a southerly direction.”
“We’re still all quiet here. No fire or police traffic.”
Nathan listened to Harv and LG exchange radio traffic and wasn’t worried. Harv was a capable operative, and he’d conducted these kinds of ops many times. The wild card was LG, but under Harv’s leadership, she’d be okay.
Bustamonte reached the corner of the main building and Nathan lost sight of him again. He flipped his NV up and made a full sprint over to the building. He stopped short of the corner and took a quick look to make sure Bustamonte hadn’t stopped. He hadn’t. Nathan arrived in
time to see Bustamonte disappear around a far corner. Nathan began running again. Just ahead, a large roll-up door hung open and a good amount of light spilled out. Could somebody be in there at this early hour? Given the open door, it seemed likely. If no one were in there, that door ought to be closed and locked.
Hustling past the large opening, he glanced inside. An incredible sight greeted him. Workers standing along an elevated conveyor belt were sorting various types of recyclables and tossing them into large bins. A smaller front-end loader worked the backside of the bins, scooping up the various plastic bottles, aluminum cans, glass, paper, and cardboard. There had to be thirty or forty workers stationed along the conveyor belt, half of them women. They were too engrossed in their work to notice Nathan sprint past the twenty-foot-wide opening. It was also noisy in there; most of the workers wore ear protection in addition to masks over their mouths.
Nathan continued to the corner of the building and took a quick look. Parked cars obscured his line of sight to the far end of the building, so he moved into the parking lot’s aisle for a better look.
He spotted Bustamonte just as he cut around the far side of the building, heading back to the north, toward the Expo rail line. That surprised Nathan. He’d expected his prey to bolt through the open gate onto the street along the south property line. Maybe Bustamonte didn’t like all the light out there. Nathan played another hunch. Rather than follow the same path, he backtracked, ran across the opening, and stopped at the corner.
Sure enough, Bustamonte appeared at the far side of the building and made a beeline for the middle section of the bins along the wall bordering the Expo line.
It was time to end this pursuit. He had a clear shot without risking a stray bullet hurting anyone. Nathan brought his Sig up, activated the laser, and painted Bustamonte’s hip. His mark must’ve seen the red dot because he glanced over his shoulder, saw Nathan, and doubled his speed.
The laser sight gave Nathan an advantage, but because he had to aim out in front of his mark, it took his beam off-target.
Doing his best to estimate a twenty-four-inch lead, Nathan popped off three shots.
All missed.
Because his rounds didn’t make supersonic cracks, Bustamonte had no clue how close he’d come to being drilled.
The man bolted through the line of recycle trucks and Nathan lost sight of him again.
Nathan didn’t beat himself up for missing. It was a low-odds attempt, but worth a try. The man had to be at least a football field away. At a full sprint, that was a ten-second lead. Nathan couldn’t let it grow any bigger.
He heard the diesel engine just in time.
Harvey felt some concern about his friend being on his own in a foot chase against Bustamonte but, mano a mano, few people in the world stood a snowball’s chance against Nathan McBride. Right now, he had to concentrate on ending the threat inside this dealership. If Ursula was upstairs, she posed a serious threat. People with little or no emotion were totally unpredictable. And with her résumé? Lethal.
His immediate vulnerability came from the remaining gunman who’d gone to ground somewhere. Harvey got low and looked underneath the cars but didn’t see the guy’s feet. He’d either ducked into one of the offices, climbed into one of the cars, or concealed his feet behind a tire. Given the options, Harvey put his money on the offices.
“Kilo Three, do you have eyes on me?” Harv whispered.
“Affirm.”
“Stand by to advance. I’m going to flush out our last gunman. Be ready to put suppression fire on the gunman outside the main entrance.”
His radio clicked.
Starting at the east end, near the elevator, Harvey began firing rounds through the glass windows of each office. One by one, the windows shattered and fell.
Halfway through his salvo, the gunman bolted from the office closest to the elevator, firing as he ran.
The gunman on Stewart Street must’ve seen his comrade’s predicament because he fired his Mac-10 through the glass. Once again, huge cascades of glass fell.
Crouching, Harv yelled, “Kilo Three, get down!”
Chaos erupted again as dozens of bullets slammed into metal, glass, leather, fiberglass, and wood.
None of the rounds came close to him, but LG was in the line of fire.
“I’m okay,” LG said.
Harv ran in a crouch along the aisle between the cars toward the offices. He knew the remaining gunman inside the showroom intended to climb the security bars and flee the scene. Unfortunately, as long as that guy outside kept spraying bullets, he wouldn’t be able to get a bead on his target.
“Kilo Three, give me suppression fire at the main entrance. Don’t try to be precise, just pound the area.” He heard LG copy his request over the banging metal and breaking glass.
He heard the claps of her pistol begin a steady rhythm.
More waterfalls of glass fell along the street as some of her bullets found the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The salvo from the exterior gunman went silent.
“Keep firing. He’s probably reloading.” Harv straightened up enough to see over the tops of the cars and fired a few rounds in the general direction where he thought the other gunman was hiding between the cars near the offices.
Movement outside the entrance caught his eye.
The gunman jerked, as though stung by a hornet. He grabbed his neck and crumpled to the ground.
“Great shooting,” Harv whispered. “Hold your fire. Copy?”
Since the showroom had gone silent again, she clicked her acknowledgment.
Reminding himself it was dark in here and the remaining gunman didn’t have night vision, Harvey charged the offices, firing periodically as he ran. He purposely aimed low, skipping his rounds off the floor. He couldn’t do anything about the glass shards crunching under his boots, and the sound echoed through the showroom, making it hard to pinpoint the source.
Harvey reached the edge of the cars at the south end of the showroom. Tempered glass from the broken office windows covered the granite floor like translucent carpet.
There was no sign of the interior gunman.
“Delta Lead, do you have eyes on the last gunman in here?”
“Negative.”
Harvey ducked low and looked for the man’s boots.
Nothing.
In a whisper, Harv said, “Kilo Three. Eyes on me.” He knew the last gunman couldn’t leave without scaling the bars.
In the green image of his NV scope, Harv watched her come up from a crouch. She too had her device pivoted down to her eye. He gave her a hand gesture like that of a quarterback calling for a huddle.
“Copy,” she whispered. “On my way.”
He didn’t like leaving the exit corridor unguarded, but Delta Lead had the outside of the building covered. If any new threats arrived, he’d send LG back.
The eastern side of the showroom didn’t have any broken glass on the floor and LG was able to make a silent approach. Most of the damaged cars were toward the center of the showroom. Harv reloaded his Sig and moved east to meet her.
She arrived a few seconds later.
“I think the last gunman ducked into one of the offices again. I need you to cover the elevator and stairwell door while I flush him out.”
“Shoot to kill?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Harv gave her shoulder a squeeze and eased toward the offices, keeping layers of cars between himself and the gunman.
He stopped about fifty feet short of the offices and began walking his shots along the three-foot half-walls below the broken windows.
It worked.
With his Mac-10 slung over his shoulder, the last gunman made a mad dash for the security bars at the entrance.
Harv yelled at him to stop, but the man kept running.
When the guy reached the security bars and started to climb, Harv shot him in the ass twice—once for each cheek.
This turd would’ve killed me without a se
cond thought, Harv told himself. And nearly did. He ran toward the entrance, careful not to slip on all the glass shards.
The guy fell to the floor and tried to unsling his weapon.
“Don’t do it,” he said in English. “It’s over. Don’t make me kill you.” Even if this guy didn’t speak English, the message couldn’t be mistaken.
With two bullets lodged in his butt, the gunman couldn’t sit so he plopped over onto his side and extended his arms above his head.
Harv kept his laser painted on the gunman’s head as he approached.
“Habla inglés?”
“Poquito.”
In Spanish, Harv asked if there were more gunmen in the building. The man said no, and Harv believed him. The tone of urgency in his quick answer rang true.
It was a good thing LG had suggested they bring disposable cuffs, because they came in handy right now.
The man grunted as Harv secured his arms behind his back. Harv searched the guy, found a knife, a cell phone, and a wallet. All three items went into his waist pack. Harv could’ve dragged the guy through the glass, but kicked it aside as he pulled the man into the closest office.
He used a second set of plastic cuffs to secure the man to the leg of a heavy granite-topped desk. Harv tested its weight and could barely lift it. Confident the wounded man wouldn’t be able to get free, he returned to LG’s position.
“Delta Lead, all threats on the showroom floor are neutralized. I left one alive in the office closest to the entrance.”
“Copy, Kilo Two. We recommend you climb the security bars and drag the dead gunman on Stewart Street around the corner into the south alley. He’s in plain sight. No vehicles are approaching, so you’ve got a good window if you go over the bars quickly. No police-radio traffic yet.”
Harvey wasted no time scrambling up and over the security measures. He grabbed the dead man by the collar and hauled him along the sidewalk to the corner of the building. Halfway down the south alley, he saw some recycling bins and dragged the body over to them.
Harvey reentered the showroom and met up with LG near the elevator.
“We’ll leapfrog up the stairwell. Let’s turn our NVs off; the stairwell’s bound to be brightly lit. How’s your ammo?”
Right to Kill Page 15
