Aim And Fire r5-3

by Cliff Ryder

  Nate extracted a lock pick and torsion wrench from his kit and went to work on the back door while Tracy kept an eye out for anyone. Minutes ticked by, until he finally engaged the last tumbler and was rewarded by the lock opening with a soft click. Nate froze, but when no one showed up after another minute, he put his picks away, drew his pistol and gently eased open the door.

  The inside of the house was stifling, with a pall of mar-ijuana smoke hanging over the rooms in a thick haze.

  Tracy muffled a slight cough as she came inside, drawing a glare from Nate. The hallway ran two-thirds of the length of the house, terminating in the living room he had been in yesterday. Next to the hallway was a staircase that went up to the second floor. Nate pointed up, where he could hear the far-off rattle of a window air conditioner. Pistol aimed at the second-floor landing, he cautiously stepped on the first stair, near the wall, so it wouldn’t creak. Part-way up, he reached over and unscrewed the single bare light bulb from the hallway fixture. He then proceeded up the rest of the stairs, sweeping and clearing the second-floor hallway before motioning Tracy up after him.

  This hall had five doors set in its walls, but Nate had eyes for the far one, the only one that was completely closed.

  Sweat soaked his mask, but he couldn’t wipe his face. The harsh smoke burned his lungs, as well, but he ignored the discomfort as best as he could while he watched the hallway.

  Tracy stood next to him after creeping up the stairs as quietly as he had. Nate motioned for her to follow, and they headed for the end door. Without being told, she took up a position on the far side, pistol at the ready.

  The sudden crash of the pull-down staircase as it dropped to the floor behind him made Nate’s heart race.

  He stepped over to Tracy, who looked as if she was preparing to take out whoever was coming down. Putting a finger to her lips, he pushed her into the shadowed corner as the wooden staircase creaked under someone’s every step. Nate half twisted and looked back to see the big man who had given him crap yesterday step on the floor with a thump that shook the entire landing.

  Muttering to himself, the hulking Latino lumbered down the hall to the stairs. Nate’s free hand held his pistol, ready to fire if necessary, but he let his hunch play out first, hardly daring to breathe. He felt Tracy’s body against his own, tense as a taut steel cable, her breathing light and rapid.

  Without looking up, the bruiser rumbled downstairs. As he had hoped, covered from head to toe in their black clothes and masks, Nate and Tracy blended perfectly with the thick darkness. They waited until the heavy thuds faded away on the first floor, then Nate was back at the door, warning Tracy to watch the stairs as he tried the knob again.

  Turning it very slowly, he made sure it was rotated all the way before pushing inward. The door didn’t move.

  Nate pushed harder, leaning his body into the wood and pushing as carefully as he could. It flexed a bit, but he knew from the resistance near the jamb that there was some kind of dead bolt or hasp lock holding it shut from the inside.

  Releasing the knob, he went back to Tracy. “Locked from the inside,” he whispered.

  “We need to abort,” she said.

  “Hell, no, we’re too far in now. Let’s—”

  The thump of approaching feet silenced Nate. He listened as the big gangbanger approached. “Stay here,” he whispered in Tracy’s ear. “Get your flashlight ready, and flip your goggles up when the door opens. Move only if he takes me down.”

  Nate crept back along the hallway, stopping only to push the attic staircase back into the ceiling. Stealing to the farthest door, he held his breath and pushed it open, slipping inside just as the man-mountain hit the first step below.

  A quick scan of the room revealed a slumbering form underneath a crumpled sheet on a queen-size bed. A slow-turning ceiling fan moved the hot air around. Nate closed the door most of the way, leaving a thin sliver to see through. While he waited, he found the inside lock button on the door and pushed it.

  The man reached the top of the stairs and stood there sweating for a moment, a bulging burrito in his fist. He took a huge bite, chewing noisily, then ambled down the hall. At the stairs, he looked up at the pull cord, then looked around at the other doors, for the practical joker who had pushed up his stairs. Seeing no one, he reached up for the knotted cord.

  Easing the door open, Nate slipped out, making sure to close it behind him. As soon as it clicked, he charged full speed ahead, his booted feet pounding the thin carpet.

  Even with only about five yards between him and his target, Nate got up a good head of steam before he lowered his shoulder, knowing he had to make this count.

  The gangbanger had just started to turn at the noise behind him when Nate plowed into his back. Already off balance from reaching for the cord, the massive gang member staggered, aided by Nate shoving him forward with all his might. The burrito went flying, disappearing down the hall as the hulk crashed into the locked door with every one of his 350 pounds moving at an unstoppable velocity.

  The door broke under the impact with a splintering crack, as Nate rode the big guy down to the floor.

  “Lights!” he hissed, flipping up his goggles and switching on his flashlight. Scrambling to his feet, he ran at the bed in the center of the room, shining the blinding beam into Lopez’s groggy face. Nate was aware of at least two women, one fumbling to cover herself with a sheet, the other lying motionless, dead to the world. But he only had eyes for the man in front of him.

  “What the hell—?” Lopez threw up an arm, squinting at the harsh glare. His chest was covered with tattoos, and as the sheet flew off him, stolen by the woman, it revealed that he was dressed only in red satin boxers. His other arm reached under his pillow, withdrawing a pistol just as Nate brought the butt of his own gun down on the man’s shoulder. The collarbone cracked under the blow. Lopez’s shout of pain was cut off by Nate sticking the barrel of his gun in the Mexican’s mouth as he knocked the pistol—a cheap Smith & Wesson knockoff—out of the punk’s hand.

  Sweeping his flashlight over the dirty nightstand, Nate spotted Lopez’s cell phone. He dropped the light and swept the phone into his pocket.

  “Get up if you want to keep breathing.” Using the gun as a prod, he guided Lopez out of bed and over the unconscious man he had used as a battering ram.

  In the hallway, Tracy covered the doorways with her flashlight, making sure no one poked his head out. Nate removed his gun and whipped his arm around Lopez’s neck. “Tell your homies to stay put—otherwise, we shoot the first face we see.” He nodded at Tracy to check the stairs, and she slipped by them to cover the landing.

  Lopez relayed Nate’s instructions, more loudly than Nate would have liked. “Whoever you are, you’re a dead man, pendejo. I’ll hold your fucking heart in my hand before this is over,” he growled.

  “Move it,” Nate said. Keeping the pistol jammed into the gang leader’s neck, he moved past the doors, making sure to keep the man between him and other rooms at all times. Tracy was halfway down the stairs when she seemed to slip just as a flash and boom roared from the living room, chopping the banister to kindling and making her grunt in pain.

  “Out the back, now!” Nate shouted. He forced Lopez down the stairway, catching up to his partner. “You all right?”

  “Caught some pellets—in my vest. I’ll be fine,” Tracy said, wincing.

  “Watch our backs.” Nate tightened his hold on the wiry man’s throat. “Tell them to drop their guns and slide ’em over, or I’ll redecorate the hallway with your brains,” he told Lopez.

  Lopez issued rapid orders in Spanish, and moments later a short-barreled shotgun and two pistols came clattering down the hallway.

  “Let’s go.” Nate kept Lopez in the hallway, blocking the other gang members’ views of him and Tracy. “Get the door.”

  Keeping her right arm near her side, Tracy went to the door and cracked it open, leading with her pistol before opening it all the way. “We’re clear.”


  Nate kicked all three guns out into the yard. He turned to Lopez. “All right, we get outside, and you run like hell with us. If you don’t, I blow your elbow out, and you still run like hell. Got it?”

  Lopez hesitated, then nodded once. Nate looked at Tracy, who nodded.

  “Go!”

  Tracy took off into the darkness. Nate gave her three steps, then shoved Lopez out and followed right behind him, keeping a tight hold on the gangbanger as they ran.

  The backyard was only about ten yards from the door to the other house, but it felt like the longest distance Nate had ever covered in his life. Even though they had taken out the roof guard, and the guys in the hall would have to fumble around to find their weapons, the gang would not take this lying down. And as he expected, just as they hit the alley between the two houses, gunshots exploded in the night.

  Nate hunched instinctively, expecting to feel the impact of a bullet in his back at any second. Adrenaline-charged blood pounded in his ears, making it difficult to pinpoint where the shots were coming from. He saw Tracy racing for the truck, and followed her as fast as he could, propelling Lopez in front of him with hard prods of his pistol.

  They burst out from between the two houses and headed for the vehicle, their shoes slapping against the pavement. Lopez stumbled and went down hard, shouting in pain as he skidded across the pavement, almost taking Nate with him.

  “Get up right now!” Nate grabbed his shoulder, trying to get his prisoner off the street.

  “Fuck you, asshole. I think I broke my ankle!” Lopez rolled back and forth, clutching his lower left leg. Nate glanced back to see lights and motion in the alleyway. The truck roared to life a few yards away. Leveling his pistol at the alleyway, he squeezed off several shots, making the approaching gangbangers duck and cover.

  The truck roared as it powered over the curb to skid to a stop next to him. Tracy rolled the passenger window down. “For Christ’s sake, get him in here and let’s go!”

  Nate was already moving. Wrenching open the back door, he hauled Lopez up and threw him into the backseat, then scrambled in himself. “Go!”

  Tracy slammed the gas and spun the steering wheel, making the Silverado buck and sway as it ran over the curb again.

  “Take the second street on your right!” Nate said while prying Lopez’s hand away from his ankle and raising it to where he could handcuff him to a restraining bar set in the ceiling. The truck skidded as she took the turn a bit too fast, making Nate fall into Lopez as the big vehicle rocked back and forth. Behind them, they heard the loud pop of gunfire, but no bullets struck them.

  “Go up two blocks and turn left on Seventh!” Nate began patting Tracy down, his hands roaming over her sides, back and chest.

  “What the hell are you doing?” She tried to shrug him off as she whipped the wheel to the left.

  “Seeing how badly you got shot, dammit!” Under her legs, his probing fingers found something soft and mushy.

  “Shit, did that hurt?”

  “No, but it feels kinda wet and warm. Why, what’d you find?” Tracy, while still breathing hard, had slowed the vehicle down to a respectable speed while keeping an eye open for police cruisers.

  “I don’t know—it’s too thick to be blood.” Nate held his fingers up to his nose. “Refried beans—what the hell?”

  He felt Tracy’s body shake in her seat, and for a panicked moment he thought she was going into shock. But as she drew breath, he realized she was laughing—tinged with just a hint of hysteria, but laughing all the same.

  “Must have been that huge burrito. I slipped on it when I went down the stairs. Just as the shotgun went off. Damn thing saved my life.”

  Already strung out by their narrow escape, Nate sat back and guffawed at the ludicrous thought. “Saved by Mexican food. Who’d have thunk it?”

  Tracy’s mirth had subsided and she looked back at Nate.

  “I think I’m all right—we can check later. I’ve got a T-intersection coming up—which way?”

  Shaking his head, Nate pointed. “Hang a right on Oregon, and we’ll head up to Missouri, where we can get on the highway.” Still chuckling, he kept a close watch behind them as they sped through the dimly lit streets with their prize.

  Holy shit, it’s a good thing Paul can’t see me now, Tracy thought as she drove the Silverado through the neighborhoods of north El Paso. He’d probably think I’ve gone completely insane.

  She blinked rapidly, trying to slow her racing pulse. Her senses were on input overload. Everything around her— from the flashing traffic lights to the oncoming cars to the hum of the off-road tires as they propelled the truck down the streets—seemed preternaturally sharp and bright and loud. She took a deep breath, held it for a second, then let it whoosh out of her lungs. She took another one, and felt her pulse begin to slow.

  She had lost count of the laws they had broken. She concentrated on their goal of getting the information they needed to make sure that nuke didn’t go off. She told herself if that meant busting the chops of some low-life gang members who were already breaking half a dozen laws when they got out of bed every morning, that was a trade-off she could live with.

  Besides, the rush she had gotten when they had infiltrated the house and pulled Lopez out had given her a jolt that no amount of DHS training could. She had gone through the basic firearms training at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center, and she shot at the range at least twice a month to stay current, but that couldn’t compare to creeping through the pitch-black house using only night vision, but still feeling completely in control of the situation. Even when it had started to go bad, she hadn’t freaked out, but had stayed focused on the mission. She hadn’t held them up during their withdrawal. Maybe it’s time to consider a different assignment when I get back, something more field oriented.

  But first we’ve got to find out what this scumbag knows.

  Checking the rearview mirror, she saw Nate keeping an eye on Lopez, who was hunched over as best he could with his arm restrained, his head leaning against the window. “He all right? He might be going into shock,” she said.

  “Hey, Lopez, you gonna make it?” Nate reached out and grabbed the Latino’s chin to see his face, then yanked his hand back as the gang member snapped at him with his teeth. “Oh, he’s still got some fight left in him, don’tcha, bucko?”

  “I swear, my people are gonna track you both down, stake you out in the desert and leave you for the ants and the coyotes.” Lopez’s cold gaze flicked from Nate to Tracy and back again. “You and your puta are walking dead— you just don’t know it yet.”

  “I’d be more worried about you making it through the night yourself first, tough guy. After all, it’ll be hard for your buddies to do anything if they never find you again.”

  Nate leaned close to him, putting his face right next to the other man’s. “And you won’t be giving any orders from a shallow grave, pendejo. ”

  Tracy swallowed hard in the driver’s seat. She knew they were going to interrogate him, which meant they might have to resort to less-than-legal methods to get what they needed, but from the tone of Nate’s voice, she could have sworn that he planned to kill the man afterward, no matter what. The line between the necessary means and the ends, already blurred by what they had just done, stretched out in her mind. Was torturing a suspect to get information okay? Was killing him? She squared her shoulders and concentrated on driving. Once they got to the desert, she’d pull Nate aside and find out exactly what he planned to do.

  They left the city behind, and Tracy followed Nate’s terse directions as they headed into the rough Texas plains just south of New Mexico. As the lights of El Paso dimmed, the dark desert seemed to expand all around them until Tracy felt as if she were traveling through a dark alien landscape with the insignificant glow of the high beams illuminating only a tiny portion of it. She slowed down to turn off the main highway onto a two-lane paved road, then turned off several miles later onto a rough dirt r
oad, where she slowed even further to navigate the winding, narrow lane. Lopez had ceased issuing threats and now hunched in sullen silence behind her. Nate sat across from him, his eyes never leaving the gangbanger.

  Tracy drove for at least another dozen miles, until they were in the middle of nowhere.

  Suddenly Nate leaned forward. “Stop here.”

  She pulled the Silverado over as he unlocked the handcuff from the bar, but not from Lopez’s wrist. “Ow, man, that fuckin’ hurts!”

  Nate yanked the cuffs hard. “That was the point. You’re getting out here, and I don’t want any bullshit from you.

  Otherwise, I’ll drag you out by the cuff, comprende? ”

  Lopez nodded. “Don’t worry, I ain’t going anywhere with this busted leg, in case you forgot.”

  “Cover him while he leaves. I’ll meet you around the other side,” Nate said to Tracy. He slid out of his seat and came around the front of the vehicle. He gave Tracy a look that she recognized immediately, as she had been on the receiving end of it from Gilliam several times during her tenure at DHS—follow my lead, and don’t ask any questions.

  She nodded once, but her overriding thought as she turned the engine off, leaving the headlights on, was I’ll go along—for now. She kept her pistol out and trained on Lopez as he hopped out of the Silverado. He almost lost his balance, but managed to stay upright by leaning against the vehicle’s side. Out here, Tracy was surprised how chilly it was, the desert having rapidly lost the heat it had soaked up all day long. She shivered, glad for the long-sleeved shirt as she realized the other reason Nate had brought Lopez all the way out there.