Aim and Fire (15 page)

Kate didn’t let this revelation slow her down for a second. “Good. Now let’s get you out of there so you can debrief properly. You’re close to the shed containing the SUV—you might even be able to hear it idling now.”

The camera view of Lashti panned left, then right as he scanned the area. “Not yet. Where to next?”

“Go to the front of the hut you’re near right now, then go two more buildings down on your left. The SUV should be behind the second one.”

“Affirmative.” The operative skulked from hut to hut while Kate kept an eye out for trouble, both of them aware of the glimmers of sunlight brightening the eastern horizon with every passing minute.

“Alpha, freeze right now!” Kate ordered.

Lashti flattened himself against the wall as two men walked out of the hut, dressed in heavy coats against the chill mountain morning. The two men showed up as small moving blue dots on Kate’s screen, with tiny red dots for their faces. They turned left, away from Lashti, and walked down the street.

“Give them a few seconds.” Kate split her attention between the receding pair of men and the approaching Russians, who were searching the narrow alleys and squat, one-story buildings with precision. “All right, go to the back of the hut. Their SUV is inside the shed. There’s one man guarding it, but the others are only about forty yards from your position, so you’ll have to take him out silently.”

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“It’s never just as simple as catching a plane out of the country, is it?” Lashti whispered.

Kate sent a quick text message to the hacker. “No, but I think I might have a way to speed this up.”

Lashti silently reached the double doors, and both he and Kate could clearly hear the SUV’s purring engine.

“I’m here. Now I just need a way to get him outside without getting me shot in the process.”

“Just wait another few seconds.” Kate kept an eye on the two Russians, who were now only twenty yards away and getting closer by the second. The screen flashed as the hacker uploaded a sound file and message to Kate: “I can’t guarantee the translation accuracy, but this should do it.”

“Alpha, turn the volume on your phone to maximum and set it down in front of the doors and go around the side.

Incapacitate your target when he comes out,” Kate ordered.

She watched Lashti adjust the controls on his lifeline to her and set the phone on the rough, stony ground, then walk around the corner of the shed, his pistol drawn, but held by the slide and barrel instead of the grip.

God, I hope this works,
Kate thought as she played the sound file, broadcasting it over the phone. Several excru-tiating seconds later—even the state-of-the-art satellites could only transmit so fast—the low tones of Alexei Kryukov’s voice growled out from the phone’s speaker.

“Dmitri, come out here!” The Russian’s order was a bit choppy, because the hacker had cut the words from other conversations and strung them together in one file, but it should have been enough to attract the guard’s attention.

The only problem is that it might also bring those other two
running,
Kate thought.

Nothing happened for several seconds. The door remained firmly shut. Kate sent the wave file again, the lag Aim and Fire

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time just enough that it seemed the person outside had been waiting for a response. The two men were only ten yards away now, and Kate realized they had coordinated their sweep to end up back at the SUV. If the driver didn’t bite soon, Lashti would be stuck with the three of them.

She heard a scrape of wood on wood, and one of the doors swung inward. Peering around the corner with her operative, they both saw a man’s dark form stroll out, a crooked cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Alexei, where the hell are you?” In the rectangle of light from the shed, he noticed the phone on the ground and walked over to pick it up, his free hand slipping underneath his coat.

With three large, noiseless steps, Lashti crept up and brought the butt of his pistol down hard on the back of the other man’s head, smashing him to the street. He picked up his phone, then frisked the unmoving man, coming up with a SIG Sauer 9 mm pistol, which he slipped into his pocket. “Commandeering the SUV now,” he whispered.

Kate was struck by a sudden brainstorm. “Alpha, take that man with you.”

“Already thought of it, Primary.”

Kate watched as he dragged the unconscious body inside the building, which was remarkably exhaust free.

Lashti spotted the reason why, and disconnected a hose that vented the exhaust to the outside.

“Get out of there—Kryukov’s people are less than ten yards away,” Kate said.

Securing the man’s hands behind his back with his belt, Lashti shoved him into the back of the SUV, then slipped behind the steering wheel. He eased the vehicle into gear, moving out of the shed slowly. As soon as he was free of the building, he gunned the engine, the wheels slipping on the rocks as they fought for traction. A shout echoed 138

behind him, and Kate saw the two men running after the vehicle, shrinking in the distance as they pursued with guns drawn. They didn’t have the chance to shoot, since Lashti had quickly pulled out of range.

“Stinks in here—damn Russians, all of ’em chain-smokers. I’m going to reek like an ashtray by the time I get out of here,” Lashti said.

“Worry about the clothes later—you’re not safe yet—

you still have to make it out of the town and north, across the border. That military base isn’t going to look too kindly on you if they spot you trying to leave through Kashmir,” Kate said.

“Leave that to me—after this little escapade, getting into China will be the easy part. Thanks for the assist, Primary, I appreciate it.”

“Anytime, Alpha. I’ve downloaded your route to your phone. It should avoid all of the army patrols on both sides of the border. Be careful, and you should be in China by this time tomorrow, if all goes well. Turn over your captive to our operative at the border. I’m sure he’ll be able to extract any useful information from him. Report back in when you’re clear, or if you discover something. Primary out.”

Kate disconnected the call and sent a quick note of thanks to the hacker, telling her to keep monitoring Alpha until he got out safely. She also updated Pai Kun, who promised to have people ready to get Lashti across the border.

Leaning back in her chair, Kate tried to slow her heartbeat. Although her voice had never changed from a calm, modulated tone as she had talked Lashti through his escape, her heart and mind had been racing a mile a minute, always analyzing, planning and discarding several options and variables. Oversight was a part of her job that Aim and Fire

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Kate simultaneously loved and hated. She loved it for the immediate, real-time access it gave her to the operatives, and hated it for the powerless feeling she got at the same time. Every time she slipped on her headset and Web-viewing glasses or opened those windows on her touch-screen, she couldn’t help feeling that although she was a powerful force multiplier for her people, at the same time, she was sitting in plush comfort in her New York City town house while the men and women of Room 59 were out there risking their lives every day. And if they got into inescapable trouble, there was absolutely nothing she could to do to help. She had watched operatives die right in front of her, and had accepted that as part of the job. But she absolutely hated that.

This time, however, was one of the good ones, she thought. With a sigh, Kate peeled herself out of the chair she had been sitting in for hours, took off the headset and went to take a shower, hoping nothing else came up for a while so she could get some rest before conferencing with Denny Talbot about the Texas operation.

Nate kept his hat brim pulled low over his face as he drove through the Segundo Barrio in south-central El Paso. Just a hop and skip away from the border, this was the main territory of the Barrio Aztecas, the predominant Hispanic prison gang in the city. Although there were many other places he’d have rather been at one-thirty in the morning, this was the best place to find the information he needed, and right now every minute counted.

Rubbing grainy eyes, Nate drained the last of his rotgut coffee, crushed the paper cup and tossed it on the Bronco’s floor. He’d been cruising the streets for several hours, shaking down his contacts and confidential informants for any word about Middle Eastern men crossing the border or any other recent suspicious activity. But for all his questions—and subtle threats when necessary—he had come up completely dry.

Normally he would only come here in the daytime, but he knew the clock was ticking, and he needed something solid to get this potential incident taken seriously. That Aim and Fire

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feeling in his gut was growing stronger—something was going to go down, but without evidence, his hands were tied.

The sidewalks were filled with the usual denizens of the barrio—scattered gang members, streetwalkers, wandering homeless and several low riders cruising the streets.

The thump and blare of brassy music echoed off the houses and apartment buildings. He turned left on East Sixth Street, driving toward the north end of Marcos B. Armijo Park, which he would definitely not enter at this time of night. At Ochoa, he turned right and continued down until it ended, with a small cul-de-sac to his right and the street continuing off to his left. Small clusters of Mexicans sat on the porches of several houses along the street, and a few dozen yards away a train rumbled past on tracks running parallel to the border.

Nate took a deep breath and made sure his pistol was near to hand, arranging the tail of his long-sleeved shirt to cover it. The
vatos
had sentries watching out for trouble, be it a rival gang or the police, and he figured he’d been made already, but he knew the leader of the Aztecas did not like trouble of the “shoot first, ask questions later”

kind, and would come down hard on any of their sergeants who acted up without permission. If he did get into trouble and had to shoot his way out, there was no way he’d be able to explain it. But there was no way he was going into the house across the street unarmed. He got out of the Bronco and ambled over, the multiple sets of cold eyes staring at him. The conversations among the stoop sitters had hushed at his approach, and Nate was acutely aware of the click of his boot heels on the pavement.

A tattooed, bare-chested group of Mexicans relaxed on the porch of the house, a rambling, two-story, white stucco 142

building with a bare patch of dirt in front of it. The young men, along with a few women, had been passing bottles around and laughing among themselves. Gang tattoos were visible everywhere.

As Nate approached, the group fell completely silent.

A barrel-chested Mexican in a tank top and baggy, wide-legged denim shorts and black horns tattooed on his forehead lounged on the front steps. He looked at the lanky Texan as he approached, one eyebrow raised. “
Bolillo,
you better pray you’re not lost.
¿Que chingados quieres?
”

Under the circumstances, the last part, “What the fuck do you want?” was as polite a greeting as Nate could have hoped for. “I need to see Lopez. Tell him Nate is outside,”

he answered in fluent Spanish.

The large Mexican rose from his seat, but instead of sending someone inside, he lumbered toward the border agent, who stood his ground, returning the gangbanger’s stare full on. “You should be more careful,
cabrón.
Coming down here by yourself, this time of night, all sorts of bad things can happen to
el rulacho
stickin’ his nose where it don’t belong.” As he spoke, the other gang members slowly formed a loose semicircle around the two men. The worst part was that Nate didn’t recognize any of them.

Jesus Christ, just what I need, a guy probably just out of
the pen trying to score points,
he thought.
If I flash my
badge here, I’ll never make it out alive.
Nate wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then hooked both thumbs into his jeans, his right hand only inches away from the butt of his pistol. “Just tell Lopez that Nate Spencer is here to see him.”

A flash of recognition crossed one of the girl’s faces, and she leaned close to the giant Mexican, whispering rapidly. Nate caught the words “Border Patrol” and “in his pocket,” or words to that effect.

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The man-mountain grunted and waved her into the house. “Hold on,” she said.

Nate just stood there, surrounded by members of the most powerful Mexican gang in El Paso. The one overwhelming thought running through his mind was that even though he’d done a lifetime of crazy acts, this had to be the craziest stunt he’d pulled yet. The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness. At last the screen door slammed, and the girl came back out and whispered in the big guy’s ear. He nodded, then slowly moved aside. “Go right in,
pendejo.
”

The others snickered, but Nate didn’t rise to the bait, knowing that even though he had permission to pass, dis-respecting the guy by insulting him back would just get him beaten or maybe killed. Instead, he pretended that he didn’t hear the slur, and walked up to the house, opened the door and entered.

The air inside was thick with blunt smoke and the smell of frying meat. A slow-turning fan in the kitchen did little to clear the haze, just pushed it around. A plump girl was busy at the old stove, and she nodded him toward the next room, where Nate heard the sounds of cursing and laughter, accompanied by the clink of bottles. He strode toward the doorway, steeling himself to take more shit from these lowlifes if it got him the information he was looking for.

A half-dozen men played out a hand of poker around a battered, felt-covered table with a pile of cash and gold jewelry in the middle. There were also two pistols on the green felt, and most likely a half-dozen more were hidden on the various players. Nate swept the table with his gaze, his eyes falling on the man directly across from him. He was covered in tattoos across most of his body, including his entire face, his eyes masked in black. On his bare chest 144