Sniper One

by Roy F. Chandler

  "You hinted once or twice that you might have an idea who Tex was—or is, if he is still alive."

  Clicker felt a little uncomfortable. "I hate to guess at such a thing, but the more I think about it, the more I suspect that Tex is, or was, former Corporal Todd Gilroy."

  Maynard was quiet. Thinking about it, Bell guessed, so he continued.

  "The man had to be a good shooter, which Gilroy was. He had to be the kind of man who would shoot an innocent person, and I wouldn't put that kind of stunt past Gilroy—although I have no legitimate evidence that he would commit such a crime.

  "Tex seemed to have had a hate for me at a personal level. At least, that is the way the Wagners made it sound. Gilroy sure didn't like anything about me, so that could fit.

  "The biggest thing is that Gilroy knew where the hide was, and whoever was pointing up at me back there knew just where to point.''

  Clicker added, "Now there were two other guys on that radar site team, but I have always figured that they were not in it. Both were just guys. They went where they were pointed, and they left without more than the excitement of the getaway. The military is filled with those kinds of troops. Good men to have following you, but not ready for anything more. I don't see either of them being involved, and with Giacamo dead that leaves Gilroy."

  Maynard nodded. "We'll get serious about tracing Gilroy. If he is still alive, we'll find him."

  "How are you going to do that, Colonel?"

  "Plain old private detectives, Clicker. That's what they do. I'll hire a good one, and he will find Gilroy."

  When Henri Deladier read Todd Gilroy's letter he knew that his life had changed. If Gilroy's threat of exposure had been all, Deladier would not have worried unduly. He had no plans for removing Gilroy, and he would pay as he had promised.

  The real threat was that Gilroy might be willing to expose his own murderous activities if Deladier did not pay blackmail. Gilroy had not said as much, but the threat lurked within the sniper's knowledge of who was paying him.

  How had Gilroy found out? Deladier had believed that he had perfectly covered his tracks, but perhaps he had spoken of too many things, and Gilroy had put the words together, examined who could know such details, and believed Deladier to be the man.

  Could he ignore the letter which had no return address? If Gilroy contacted him he could simply claim to know nothing and to be completely unfamiliar with everything Gilroy was talking about.

  If he did, Gilroy might simply shoot him.

  What had his hunger to own the great shield gotten him into?

  Deladier gathered his wits and calmed his nerves. It could be that Gilroy would not ask for blackmail. If he did, Deladier could do his best to make the payments small, and over time, he might find a safe way to eliminate a persistent blackmailer without his miserable letter falling into the wrong hands.

  In the meantime, he would begin distancing himself from everything that had happened. He would retrench in his own country. If the worst occurred, he would deny, deny, deny. The American President had stayed in office despite incredible acts. Deny, delay and obfuscate, he would follow the master's example. If a public figure could succeed, he, an obscure businessman, should be able to match the effort.

  Within days, word from Baghdad shook Deladier to his core. Details were thin, but a firefight with parties unknown had occurred in the desert. Men were dead and vehicles were destroyed. All involved had been arrested. One was the American. What he was saying no one knew. Deladier could expect few messages because accusations were already flying, and he would be best served by receiving only innocuous calls via his usual business employees.

  If Gilroy was unable to contact his lawyer within a few days, the damning letter would be delivered to some level of law enforcement. Henri Deladier accelerated his withdrawal from the situation.

  Pleading wretched business developments and a need for cash, Deladier offered his share of the Sixplex ranch to Greg Maynard.

  Detecting urgency in Deladier's voice, Maynard bobbed and weaved claiming his own heavy financial investments during his recent California trip.

  Deladier did not believe much of the Colonel's disclaiming. Maynard had been interested in purchasing Sixplex shares for more than a year. Deladier had no bargaining time, however, and the deal was struck. Maynard assured his former partner that their attorneys could close the sale and purchase within Deladier's requested forty-eight hours.

  Henri Deladier replaced his telephone with hooks in his guts. His need to act had cost him many thousands of dollars, and his problems were just beginning. There could be little doubt that his Iraqi contacts would be pulling back and covering their tracks. If they were unsuccessful, their lives could end. Worse in Deladier's eyes, his businesses in that confusing country would surely suffer.

  He was clearing out of the United States as rapidly as he could manage. Within the next two days he would fly out and probably never return. The possibility disgusted him, but....

  Perhaps he should take his family on an extended world tour.

  What of the wondrous shield? What could have happened? Could it somehow all be an exaggeration? Might it all work out without his fleeing?

  Not much hope there, Deladier knew. Iraqi authorities would not be gentle. Whatever anyone knew would be told. He doubted that Todd Gilroy would survive, and that thought gave him at least small satisfaction.

  +++

  Greg Maynard believed the world was finally shaping up. Clicker Bell had agreed to a walk instead of the run they should have been doing, and they had time to talk.

  There was much to discuss, and more than a little of it should not be overheard by casual ears.

  Maynard said, "Imagine, Clicker, Deladier practically handed me his share of this ranch. Not only is the stock market exploding with profits, one of my partners decides to drop everything and return to Europe. I almost feel sorry for him, but he offered, and I had to accept. The man must be pushed to the wall."

  "I thought he was as rich as Midas."

  "Not exactly, Click. A man like Deladier heads a number of businesses, but much of what he owns is invested in his companies. If they falter, his wealth dives, and with our international embargo on Iraq and Iran, who deal primarily with the French, he may be feeling the pinch."

  "I'm glad he is gone."

  "You never liked Deladier, did you, Clicker?"

  "Nope, never did. He was too slick for me. His eyes never held mine. I ... I just didn't take to him."

  Maynard changed the subject.

  "Shelby Grant called last night"

  "I am surprised he is able to think of anything but that shield. I've never seen a grown man wriggle with glee before."

  "Watching his pleasure was satisfying, wasn't it, Click?"

  "Yep, it was."

  "Anyway, Shelby has rounded up his experts, and they are starting their study of the shield."

  "Famous names?"

  "The most famous, but I'll go into that part later. They will do their work in secret, although they all expect that word of something big will leak."

  "They had better have professional security, or someone else will snatch that shield. Those professorial types aren't noted for disciplines like locking doors and cabinets."

  "Grant knows that, and they have set up shop in the vault of that bank that turned into a bunch of lawyers' offices."

  "How are they going to do anything inside a vault? They'll be bumping into each other just looking at the shield."

  Maynard was smug with personal satisfaction. "This isn't a typical vault, Bell, and I came up with the suggestion, so don't be putting it down.

  "The bank that moved out had this thing built for the storage of immense amounts of precious metals. That was their specialty, and they stored gold, silver, platinum and metal I don't know anything about. The vault is big, and I mean big. You could fit Amazon.com in it."

  "So, what have they found out?"

  "Not much, yet. They have jewel e
xperts in to evaluate because they want to take out big-time insurance on the shield. They are going with Lloyds, of course, but even then word will slip out."

  "How are they claiming they got the shield?"

  "Right now, that is all privileged—they are saying. They'll come up with something."

  "Yeah, and we will be testifying in court for the rest of our lives."

  "Only Grant knows of our involvement."

  "Boy, are you trusting, Colonel. I'll bet the military never gave you even a Confidential clearance."

  "I had an Atomic "Q" and an Alpha clearance, Bell. Grant will keep quiet. He has to or sure as hell the shield will be claimed, and he will be out in the cold."

  "You'd better hide those photos of us digging the thing out, Greg. One of those gets loose, and we will be in the soup."

  "They're buried in my bank box. Forget them."

  Their route had brought them to the ranch offices, and they checked their personal mail. They discarded the junk and sat on the porch to discover what was interesting.

  Maynard had nothing of importance, but he heard Clicker exclaim, "Holy Hell!"

  Maynard said, "Must be a big bill. Don't look to me. I've spent all of mine."

  Bell was lost in what appeared to be a letter that had been enclosed within another envelope. Maynard waited expectantly.

  To his annoyance, Bell began rereading the two page letter without explanation. Maynard waited some more.

  Finally Bell lowered his letter and sat gazing across the mountains. Annoyed, Maynard said, "What in hell is it, Bell?"

  Clicker's answer was strange. "You could have gotten Deladier's share of this place a lot cheaper if you hadn't been in such a hurry."

  "What? What in hell are you talking about?"

  Bell offered Gilroy's letter.

  Maynard read with astonishment and his own, "Holy Hells!"

  The Colonel, too, reread before he was ready to talk.

  "So it was Gilroy, just like you figured."

  "Yep, so you can call off your detective."

  "Like hell! You don't know if you got him or not, Bell."

  "It doesn't matter now, does it? With everything out in the open, and the law after him for murdering Giacamo, we won't see any more of Todd Gilroy."

  "He sounds crazy in this letter, Clicker. All of his hating makes no sense—at least as he has written it here. So, maybe he isn't dead, and maybe he will come again just out of meanness."

  Bell thought about it for a long instant. "Maybe you'd better keep that detective looking for a while yet."

  They sat in silence, Maynard rocking in his chair, Clicker with his feet on a rough pine coffee table.

  Maynard said, "The Deladier part is a stunner, isn't it, Click?"

  "I didn't like him, but plotting murder is a different ball game. I never dreamed of anything like that."

  Clicker quickly added, "Maybe Deladier is the one who should be hiring detectives. Gilroy sure didn't trust him, and if he is alive, Gilroy may be blaming Deladier for his troubles. He might square things by shooting the Frenchman before he comes here."

  "You do think he might be alive and vengeful, don't you, Bell?"

  "Vengeful? Yes. Alive? Darned if I know.

  "If he survived the bullet I aimed at him he will be in the hands of the Iraqis. Whoever lived was stuck out there in the desert without transportation and with dead men laying around. Gilroy is unlikely to walk away from their investigating without a world of hurt and probably a long prison sentence."

  "Yeah, Americans aren't popular in Iraq. According to this letter, Deladier paid Gilroy a lot of money. I wonder if the transactions are traceable?"

  "Gilroy said he got cash, but who is going to investigate, anyway? I doubt our state cops are going to do anything since Giacamo was shot in another jurisdiction, and what proof is there, other than this letter? It would take a lot of digging to get more than the sources of the telephone calls. Coincidence, Deladier would claim, or even that Gilroy had contrived them."

  Maynard added, "And Gilroy will not be here to testify."

  "So, we report this letter to the police immediately, even though it says they will also receive a copy."

  "You did note that he mentions Iraq and a search for our old hide and the possible presence of a golden shield, Clicker?"

  "Yeah, I noted that. There goes our plausible denial claims, and our passports will show that we went to Jordan at just that time, and ... NUTS!"

  "Nuts is right." Maynard was vehement.

  "I didn't like that Gilroy from the first moment I saw him. I'll bet it was him that shoved me out of that chopper."

  "Don't start that again, Colonel. You jumped out to lighten ship and....

  "Like hell I did, Bell. I was pushed. I wish you'd listen just for once."

  Chapter 15

  Todd Gilroy was taken to the Baghdad airport and escorted to his plane. There were no handshakes or well wishes. Stone faced, the Iraqi security police watched him board and stayed watching until the flight left the ground.

  It had been a brutal month, and Gilroy's clothing hung on his frame like a wearied scarecrow. His forehead was permanently scarred from the slash of the bullet-shattered windshield, and his cheeks had been pitted by other glass shards. Gilroy could not imagine passing through life with his currently mangled face. His scars might be eliminated through clever cosmetic surgery, and Gilroy resolved to make the try.

  He had told the Iraqis everything they asked the first time around. He had pleaded abject ignorance and stuck valiantly to his claim that he was just a former United States Marine Corps Corporal who had been asked to return to Iraq to identify the site of a hide-out used during the late Gulf War. He had entered the country legally, and he had been met at the airport by official-looking vehicles and individuals who appeared to be in charge of whatever it was they were doing.

  Gilroy immediately named Henri Deladier as his employer and denied any awareness of who had fired on them or why they were fired upon. All he could add was that the weapon used had been of large caliber. The Iraqis already knew that, anyway. Gilroy did not identify the rifle, but he knew from original debriefing that Bell had left the Barrett and the M40A1 behind. The .50 caliber bullet that had plowed through the windshield, wounded him, and killed the back seat occupant had, almost certainly come from the Barrett.

  Why had Deladier wanted to locate the hide? He had not been told.

  Who had been in the hole with him during the war? Gilroy had named them all, and added that although they had served together they were not friends, and he had seen none of them in many years.

  How much had he been paid? Gilroy chose a small figure and stuck to it. That point was not vigorously pressed, and Gilroy believed their failure to follow up showed that the Iraqis believed what he was saying and were merely making sure.

  The Iraqi questioning was not gentle. His wounds remained untended for too long, and were only belatedly disinfected, stitched, and bandaged.

  The officer who repeatedly beat his hands with a thick book-edge struck when Gilroy was least expecting it and often merely slammed the hard-edged volume onto the table top beside his hand.

  Gilroy made his flinching and fear as obvious as he could. His right hand ached almost continuously, and Gilroy feared the injuries might be permanent.

  During the worst of it, when his will faltered, Gilroy thought about former Gunnery Sergeant Clicker Bell.

  How he hated the man! It had been Bell in the hide. He knew that as surely as he knew he would pay it all back. All he needed was a plane ticket out of Iraq, and he would devote himself to vengeance. Gilroy rolled the word in his mind. Vengeance. How sweet it would be.

  A week earlier the questioning had stopped. Fearing the worst, Gilroy lay in his cell ignored, except for two small daily meals and irregular emptying of his soil bucket.

  Without announcement, he had been hustled to a large latrine and bath room. He had been told to shave and clean himself. A medic o
f some kind had removed the rotting stitches from his head wound and had given him salve to rub in. His clothing had been returned, and he was pleased that the shirt had been washed, which removed most of the blood stains that would surely have been questioned along his journey.

  The ride to the airport was long. He was crunched between two large men who smelled of a powerful cologne strange to his nostrils. He could see the contempt in Iraqi features, but he did not care. He would live if he could. Todd Gilroy had a mission to perform.

  Not until his flight had landed in Switzerland did Todd Gilroy accept that he was actually free.

  It was early October, and the Swiss air was brisk with the chill of approaching winter. Gilroy expected that it would be much the same in Wyoming's Big Horn Mountains. He scrubbed at his pocked and ill-shaven features. Should he raise a new beard? That would be wise.

  What of his letters exposing the plot? By now the police, Bell, and of course Deladier would have them. The police would wish to speak with him. Fat chance! Bell might believe him dead. Gilroy hoped that was so. It would make his target less alert.

  Deladier? That was a powerful question. Gilroy judged that the Frenchman would greatly prefer that his accuser never appear. If that were so, Deladier might still pay for his absence just as he would have for his silence.

  All of Gilroy's money had not been returned, but he had enough to get home, and he had established a number of small out-of-town bank accounts when Deladier had first exchanged cash for information.

  Gilroy's route would be to Mexico City, then to Dallas-Fort Worth. That border should not be looking for him. Once under the American umbrella, he would purchase a well-used car and slip into his house in Kansas to secure the equipment he would need. Then, he would head for the Big Horns.

  Gilroy judged that he would need less than a month. By then his beard would make him unrecognizable. He would familiarize himself with the area and plan his single shot in the best of sniper traditions.

  One shot, one kill, and that would be the end of Clicker Bell. Gilroy wished that he could look into Bell's eyes as he died but doubted that would be possible. Perhaps he would move in and place an empty cartridge on Bell's chest. There were huge lies by snipers who claimed to have done that in various wars.