Right to Kill

by Andrew Peterson

  What the hell . . . ?

  This man wasn’t Tomas Bustamonte.

  CHAPTER 22

  “I’ll take the left,” Harvey whispered. “Clear your right corner as we enter.”

  In a fluid movement, he opened the door and rushed inside. Scanning the room from left to right, he focused on a scene few people ever saw.

  Seated around an oval table, four men looked at him with shocked expressions—all but one. His expression reflected anger, not fear. Harvey zeroed in on him.

  “Hands where I can see them!” he yelled.

  Angry Face either didn’t speak English, or was trying to be a hero because he dropped his right hand below the table.

  Harvey nailed him in the middle of the chest with two quick shots.

  The expended brass clinked away on the stone floor.

  Angry Face became Pain Face.

  The man opened his mouth, but nothing came out except a strained uhhhh sound. Whatever discomfort Pain Face felt would soon end.

  Harvey spoke calmly. “Anyone else?”

  Wisely, the others remained frozen. The room smelled of cigar smoke and alcohol. Lots of it.

  Huge stacks of bundled bills dominated the gap between the players. He estimated each pile contained at least a hundred thousand dollars; all he saw were fifties and hundreds, no tens or twenties. There could be half a million dollars in front of him. Just like the man they’d questioned in the exit corridor had indicated, these men were engaged in a high-stakes game of Texas hold ’em and the flop had been dealt.

  Two empty chairs stood away from the table, but only one of them had cards in front of it. He looked at LG, pointed to his eyes, then pointed to the closed door on the far side of the room.

  The mortally wounded man slumped forward onto the table. Harvey hadn’t wanted to shoot anyone, but when the guy dropped his hand out of sight, it was lights out; no other outcome was possible.

  “I want nods from everyone. Do you speak English?”

  Everyone did.

  The guy sitting to the right of the dead man looked at the huge piles of cash on the table and pursed his lips. He obviously thought this was a robbery.

  Harvey pointed his pistol at the guy. “Who else is up here?”

  “No one!”

  Keeping his pistol aimed at the man, he eased across the room to a spot where he could shoot directly through the closed door where LG now stood.

  “If anyone’s behind that door, you’d better tell me right now.”

  “It’s just a bathroom, no one’s in there.”

  “Check it,” he said to LG.

  She moved to the edge of the jamb, crouched, and turned the handle. In a quick motion, she sprang up and disappeared inside. “Clear,” she called out.

  “I’ll be asking some questions and I expect truthful and immediate answers. Is the price of noncompliance clear to everyone?”

  More nods.

  “We aren’t here to rob you; all we want is information.” The men seemed to relax a little at hearing that. “There were two other men at this table. One of them left around five minutes ago and the other left around two minutes ago. Who left two minutes ago?”

  Pursed Lips nearly stuttered when he spoke. “Mr. B. He said he’d be right back, he had to take a call.”

  “He left the room after answering his phone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he say anything about coming back?”

  “He didn’t take his money.” The guy looked at the other men. “We just assumed he’d be back.”

  “He’s not coming back,” Harvey said. “Neither will the first guy who left. What does B stand for? Bustamonte?” Harvey watched the man closely. He could usually tell when someone lied to him.

  “We don’t know, we just call him Mr. B.”

  “Is there a woman up here?”

  “No.”

  “If you’re lying . . .”

  “I’m not, I swear!”

  “All right. Nobody makes a sound. If I hear a mouse chew cheese, somebody dies.”

  Harvey used the silent interval to listen for sound, heard nothing.

  Now that the initial urgency was over, he could see this was a very plush room. It looked a lot like his office at First Security, Inc., only bigger and with nicer furnishings. Looking around, there had to be two hundred grand in art and furniture alone. The floor was intricately laid marble, granite, and travertine. The walls were clad with beautiful zebra wood paneling. The only current source of light in the room was a crystal chandelier directly above the table. Huge glass windows overlooked the street.

  He’d seen something similar in the Gaslamp Quarter of downtown San Diego a while ago. But this place was far more lavish.

  Harvey considered his options. Although they’d inflicted a lot of damage on Cornejo’s operation, they didn’t have their objectives: the twins. Nate had moved out of radio range, so Harv had no way to know if Tomas Bustamonte was in custody. He didn’t want to risk calling his friend for an update. He was sure Nate had silenced his phone, but even a vibration at the wrong time could distract him enough to be fatal.

  Interrogating these men might yield something useful if they had time.

  There were two cell phones on the table, which meant there were two cell phones missing.

  The man with the largest pile of money didn’t have one in front of him.

  “I’m going to collect everyone’s phones and wallets. You.” He waved his pistol toward the guy with the most cash. “Stand up slowly and take three steps back from the table. Everyone else, place your hands flat and don’t move.”

  Keeping his hands about shoulder height, the man complied. Harv saw the outline of a phone in the guy’s pocket.

  He looked at LG. “Right front.”

  She stepped forward, liberated it, and tucked it into her waist pack.

  LG didn’t need to be told what to do next; she yanked the dead man from the table, toppling his chair in the process. Harv was a little surprised at her strength. The guy had to weigh close to two hundred pounds, but she dragged him across the floor easily. She frisked him, found his phone and wallet, and stashed them in her waist pack. She also found the compact revolver he’d been attempting to use.

  “Kilo team, you’ve got company. A sedan just unloaded four men armed with AKs at the main entrance. We couldn’t see the sedan approach on Stewart Street. They look like gangbangers. They’re climbing the security bars.”

  “Copy, Delta Lead, we’re on the move.” There were times to fight, and times to flee, and this was the latter. Harvey didn’t want to get trapped up here and have to shoot his way out of this building, night-vision advantage or not. Taking out all the overhead fluorescents in the hallways couldn’t be done easily.

  He looked at the men. “Pack up your cash and wait thirty seconds before leaving.”

  “Kilo team, another vehicle is speeding down Olympic toward this location. The four gunmen are heading for the stairwell.”

  Outside the gambling room, he fired three shots through the door in a direction he knew wouldn’t hit anyone. That ought to make the poker players think twice about following too quickly. He whispered for LG to shadow him, sprinted down the hall to the men’s restroom, and ducked inside.

  “Up you go,” he said. “I’m right behind you.”

  LG wasted no time scrambling up the ladder.

  Harvey was quite literally on her heels, his face inches from her very fine-looking . . .

  “Don’t even think about it,” she said.

  “The thought never crossed my mind.”

  “Of course not.”

  Once he grabbed the rim of the opening, he hooked his boot under the top step of the ladder and brought it up with him.

  He told LG to reach down and hold the ladder while he folded it. It wouldn’t fit through the opening otherwise. After pulling the ladder up to the roof, he closed the hatch. The damned thing made a loud clunk as it locked. There was no going back at this point;
the hatch could only be opened from the inside.

  “We’ve got eyes on you, Kilo team. Good thinking. The second vehicle is turning into the east alley. You’ve got a brief window to descend the latticework.”

  Rather than click his radio or reply, Harvey issued a wave.

  “It’s possible those gamblers know about the roof hatch,” LG said.

  “Even if they do, there’s no way they can jump up and grab it, not in the shape they’re in. The rim’s nine or ten feet above the floor. I’m not worried. We’ll be long gone by then. I’m sure Delta Lead will let us know if anyone follows us up here.”

  “Copy that, Kilo Two.”

  At the west side of the building, they looked over the edge at the latticework. He didn’t think it looked all that inviting. In fact, it looked like a five-hundred-foot vertical cliff.

  “We don’t need to rush this,” he said.

  “I’m okay. I did a little rock climbing in college.”

  “I’m assuming you don’t mean those wimpy artificial walls?”

  “Grand Tetons.”

  “Why am I not surprised. An athletic sorority girl like you? A rock climber? I can totally see it.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  He grinned. “You know what tétons means in French?”

  “Good grief, is that all you guys ever think about?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “If you two don’t mind the interruption, one of the two gunmen from the car in the east alley’s on the move. He’s circling the building to the south. We think he’s heading for the main entrance. The other guy’s running toward Olympic. Looks like they’re bracketing the building.”

  Throwing caution aside, they made the descent. If they got caught on these pipes, they’d be toast. The first part was a little tricky because the top of the latticework ended three feet below the parapet. Fortunately, the pipes were a few inches out from the wall, which allowed them to get good footholds and handholds. Once they got the hang of it, it wasn’t tough going.

  “The four gunmen who entered the showroom are now heading up the stairwell. The gunman running toward Olympic stopped. He’s checking out the blood trails.”

  “Kilo Three, cover my six.” He dropped the last eight feet to the sidewalk and sprinted to the corner of the building to get eyes into the south alley.

  Holding his assault rifle in one hand, a young man ran directly toward him.

  He maintained position, peering around the corner with one eye.

  When his opponent closed to ten yards, he stepped out and fired two center-mass shots.

  The gunman spun, tumbled, and lay still.

  Harvey motioned LG over. “We’re going to find out how fast you can run. We’re making an all-out sprint to the Expo rail line. We’ll turn east from there and come back for Nate’s Lincoln. I don’t want it around when the cops arrive.”

  They took off.

  “Delta Lead, how long before that other guy clears the corner of Olympic onto Stewart?”

  “Ten seconds; we recommend you hide between the parked cars.”

  “Affirm, we’ll do that, but I want to put more distance between us and the dealership. Give me a five-second warning.”

  “Copy, but don’t cut it too close . . . Stand by . . . Now! Get cover.”

  They cut to the right and crouched between some sort of small import and an SUV. He lifted his head high enough to see the gunman turn the corner and race down the sidewalk toward the main entrance.

  “Follow my lead,” Harvey said. “He doesn’t know we’re here. If he heads into the south alley to check his downed man, we’ll take off again and stay in the street. The line of parked cars will give us some cover.”

  “Kilo team, we’ll lose sight of the gunman if he does that. We won’t be able to warn you before he reappears.”

  “Short of slaughtering him, we’re low on options.” Harvey didn’t like killing needlessly. It wasn’t his thing, or Nate’s.

  “Understood. You’ve got eyes on him?”

  “Yes.” As the gunman closed the distance, Harvey saw how he was dressed.

  LG must’ve come to the same conclusion because she whispered, “Gangbanger.”

  “Yep. It explains why there are so many of them.”

  “Why don’t we just shoot him?”

  “No need.”

  “If you say so.”

  Sure enough, the gunman stopped at the corner and looked into the alley. Harvey listened while the guy called the dead man’s name and got no response.

  When the gunman entered the south alley, he said, “We’re moving.” They resumed their sprint toward the Expo line. Harvey thought it would take the guy at least ten seconds to check his downed colleague and return to Stewart Street. “Stand by, Kilo Three, we’re taking cover again.”

  For the second time, they crouched between parked cars.

  Waiting for the gunman to reappear, Harvey thought about LG’s comment, knowing Delta Lead had heard it. He understood her indifference about killing these men because he felt it too. But Cantrell was right. The more power a person had, the more accountable they had to be. Could he have justified shooting the other gangbanger? Absolutely. Would he have to answer for it? No. In the wrong hands, that level of power became intoxicating, even addictive. Nate and he had experienced it firsthand as a sniper team. It turned his stomach thinking about it. Just because this guy was a worthless criminal today, it didn’t mean he’d always be that way. It wasn’t his role to play God. People could, and did, turn their lives around. As much as Hollywood lionized it, there was no glory in the business of killing—just ask any combat soldier with a conscience.

  They waited a full thirty seconds for the gunman to return. When he didn’t, they resumed their sprint south.

  In the distance from their right, deep booms of gunfire rang out.

  Nate!

  This wasn’t the man who’d kidnapped LG’s husband in Caracas. It was also clear this man was younger than Tomas by at least ten years.

  “You’re not Tomas Bustamonte,” Nathan said. “Who are you?”

  The man coughed up blood and grimaced. “Brother.”

  “You’re Tomas and Ursula’s brother?”

  The man nodded.

  “Why did you make me shoot you? You could’ve given up.”

  “No . . . she’d kill me.”

  Nathan put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “What’s your name?”

  “A-Ashton.” The man shivered.

  “Where is she? Where’s Ursula?” It was worth a try.

  “Mounnnn—”

  The man’s eyes became unfocused, then lifeless. Their brother had effectively committed suicide rather than face Ursula’s wrath. The word chilling came to mind.

  The wail of a second siren penetrated the neighborhood.

  Nathan searched the man, found a wallet, a cell phone, and some keys. Without examining them, he put the items in his waist pack, then used his phone to take a picture of Ashton’s face. After checking the picture for clarity, he stowed the 1911, grabbed Ashton’s collar, and dragged him over to the hedge paralleling the building.

  He hefted the body over the hedge and placed it where it couldn’t be seen from the street. A quick scan with the TI confirmed no one was around. He returned to the vehicle with the broken windows and picked up his expended brass. Using his ski mask, he did his best to sweep the broken glass under the car. He couldn’t get all of it, but took care of the biggest pieces.

  Time to go.

  He wanted to run, but if anyone happened to see him, it would bring the police into this area. The first officers to arrive should be tied up at the lowrider. At a brisk pace, he walked south, back toward the Expo line.

  The approaching sirens made him extremely uneasy.

  Although tempted to circle back and get within radio range, he decided that was the wrong direction to go. Once Harv left the dealership, his friend would make contact via cell. Speaking of, he needed
to call Cantrell using the encrypted phone.

  She answered on the fourth ring. “I’ve got you over a click away from the dealership.”

  “Any word from Harv and LG?”

  “Not yet. It’s my next call. What’s your situation?”

  Being as brief and concise as possible, Nathan recounted the foot chase, the gunfight with the gangbangers, and the final shootout with Ashton Bustamonte several blocks away.

  Cantrell said, “It’s surprising to learn that Tomas and Ursula had a younger brother. There’s nothing in their files about him. I’ll have our people look into it. He might have lived in the area.”

  “Maybe we can use this to bait the twins.”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “You wanted us to disrupt Cornejo’s dealership—consider the mission accomplished. The showroom is absolutely trashed. Multiple fatalities. If Tomas and Ursula weren’t in the dealership, it’s safe to assume they know about the attack. Or will shortly.”

  “I’m counting on it,” she said.

  “I’ve got Ashton’s cell phone, but I haven’t looked at it yet. I wouldn’t be surprised to see recent texts or calls to Tomas or Ursula.”

  “Clear the immediate area first. I’ll be in touch.”

  The call ended.

  Nathan angled across the Expo tracks and looked at the intersection with the shot-up lowrider.

  Nothing had changed.

  Seeing the carnage in retrospect felt wholly different, a harsh reminder of how deadly he still was.

  He pulled off his NV visor and goggles and stashed them in his waist pack. There was nothing he could do about his black tactical clothing but duck into the shadows should a police cruiser arrive.

  Avoiding streets, he made his way south toward I-10. Every twenty yards or so, he formulated a new escape plan, by looking for shadowy places, walls, or parked vehicles to hide behind.

  He now counted at least four sirens coming from every direction. To err on the safe side, he decided to put more distance between himself and the Expo crossing.

  A few dogs around the neighborhood answered the sirens, but he didn’t notice any lights coming on; this wasn’t an area where sirens were uncommon, but the automatic gunfire was.