Contract to Kill (36 page)

Nathan met her gaze. “Ten-meter separation: let’s go.”

She nodded tightly, and Nathan knew she was beginning to feel the gravity of what they faced. Recognizing Grangeland didn’t have Harv’s experience in this kind of operation, he stopped and waved her over.

“It’s gonna be okay, all right? You’re a proven asset.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous,” she said. “It feels like there’s a brick in my stomach.”

“I’m always nervous before ops.”

“So it’s not just me?”

“Hell no. Truthfully, I’d be worried if you weren’t nervous. You’d either be a sociopath or overly confident. Either one would spell disaster.”

She didn’t say anything.

Nathan put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’re going to kick their asses. Those clowns don’t stand a chance against us.”

Following the barbed wire, Nathan resumed their hike along the rim, losing elevation as they moved south. The borrow pit’s walls became lower and lower until the rim terminated in the flat area in the pit.

Once on level ground, Nathan showed her how to work the M1A’s scope. He reminded her again to keep her face against the soft rubber boot while it was powered on. It was an older model that didn’t employ a pressure switch to turn off and on when moved against or away from her face.

“No good-byes,” he said. “Check in when you’re in position and also give me a flash with your penlight. I want to know exactly where you are.”

“Will do.”

“Harv, status.”

“I’m about halfway up. I’ll have a clear view all the way past the Senator Wash Reservoir to the Imperial Reservoir. Ditto the area surrounding the access road and that dirt track we crossed on the way to the rim.”

“I’m heading for the conveyor. You won’t be able to see me, but Grangeland will from the south side of the access canyon.”

“I’ll check in from the peak.”

Nathan walked the perimeter of the pit, which took him around the lake. He made mental notes of the abandoned buildings in relationship to the wrecked cars. The central building was about the size of a two-car garage and probably served as the office. The smallest building looked like a prefab structure and could’ve been used for an on-site residence; he wasn’t sure. A metal frame was all that was left of the biggest building. It had probably been a service garage to repair the excavating equipment, loaders, and dump trucks. Building an earthen dam was a huge project, and the machines would’ve needed on-site maintenance.

Fortunately, the ground wouldn’t leave much in the way of footprints. It was largely composed of medium to small gravel, with a few patches of dirt scattered here and there. Thousands of spent .22 casings littered the entire area. Trash shooters had left the remains of their slovenly target practice. Broken glass, five-gallon cans, wooden pallets, and various other makeshift objectives plagued the area. All of the vehicles had dozens of bullet holes, and the walls of the buildings were pockmarked.

He diverted to the closest building, looked through the broken-out windows, and found what he’d expected—broken glass, trash, hanging wires, and a few fist-sized rocks. There was no need to explore the four derelict cars, but he created a designation for each of them.

“Grangeland, hold position and get eyes on me.”

“Copy.”

“I’m giving these rusted cars names for reference purposes. See the one I’m pointing at?”

“Yes.”

“We’re calling it D1 for Derelict One. Moving in a clockwise direction, we’ll call the others D2, D3, and D4, respectively.”

“Got it
.
”

“Harv, you can’t see it, but D1 is closest to field level, section three. Did you copy the references?”

“Affirm. D2, D3, and D4 are in a clockwise direction from D1.”

“Grangeland, after you set up your shooting position, I want you to practice sighting in on each designation. Randomly move from one target to the next. I want you to create an instinctive feel for each movement of your M1A. Do the same for the buildings. Imagine shooting three shots at D1, then adjusting aim for D3, etc. The building I’m standing next to looks like an abandoned office. We’ll call it the office. The one I’m pointing at looks like a prefab of some kind; we’ll call that one prefab. The metal-framed building without walls was probably a repair garage, so we’ll call it garage. Everyone follow? Office, prefab, and garage. You copy all that, Harv?”

“Affirm.”

“Practice adjusting aim from building to building as well.”

“No problem,”
she said.
“I’ll start doing that once I’m in position.”

“Your muzzle flashes will reveal your SP, so be ready to relocate. Have a backup location identified before you set up your SP. Everyone double-check their radio batteries. All of us should have ninety to ninety-five percent remaining.”

Harv and Grangeland confirmed that was true. “To save battery power, we’ll use acknowledgment clicks unless verbal copies are requested.”

His radio clicked, and he smiled. A second later, he heard a second click from Harv.

He looked up to the rim and assured himself that this wasn’t a coliseum, that there weren’t any lions being released. He knew preop jitters were normal and didn’t second-guess them. Holding a certain amount of apprehension kept him sharp.

He hustled over to the collapsed conveyor and circled its form. As he’d thought, it was about 150 feet long and lying in a north-south orientation with one end terminating about thirty feet from the man-made lake. Weeds and tall grass had grown inside the truss-like structure. Tactically, he liked it. In a crouch, he could run back and forth along its length and remain out of sight. And the combination of the deepening twilight coupled with his ghillie suit would give him excellent concealment. On the other hand, it didn’t offer bullet-resistant cover. He’d have to rely solely on stealth until the shooting started, then switch to mobility.

He chose a location near the end terminating at the lake and hollowed out a small area inside its lattice frame. He made it big enough to sit in a cross-legged position. As always, he checked for ants, a mistake he’d once made, at great cost.

“Grangeland, do you have my position?”

“Affirm, you’re inside the north end of the conveyor.”

It wasn’t dark enough for night-vision devices yet, but thermal imagers would work. The metal struts surrounding him would be brightly delineated. As long as he stayed behind the conveyor’s rubber belt, he should be okay.

He looked toward section nine of the borrow pit’s rim. The massive cliff face was highlighted against a watercolor sky of orange and blue. He liked evening twilight, but liked morning twilight better. A gradually lightening sky appealed to him—maybe it signified a new beginning, or something even more intangible, but Nathan never took a single day for granted.

His radio crackled to life with Harv’s voice.
“I’ve got a caravan of three SUVs moving north, paralleling the river. Here we go.”

CHAPTER 34

“Do you see any other vehicles?” Nathan asked.

“Negative, just those three.”

“Grangeland? You all set?”

“Affirm. I’m between two large boulders directly across the canyon from the saddle. I’ve got a good shooting lane down to the bottleneck and the flat area of the borrow pit.”

“I can’t see you. Give me a signal with your penlight.” A few seconds later, he saw the camera-like flash. “Affirm. I’ve got you. I want you to add thirty-six clicks on the elevation knob. Confirm?”

“Copy, adding thirty-six.”

“Let me know when you got that dialed in.” He waited for her to come back on the radio.

“Okay, I added the clicks.”

“That will zero you pretty close to the center of the pit. Now add six clicks to the right for the wind.”

“Got it.”

He was tempted to ask Grangeland which way she turned the windage knob, but he didn’t want to rattle her confidence by asking. She knew her way around rifles. “Harv, you concur?”

“Yeah, that’s close enough for center-mass stuff. I’d have her add two more clicks for wind. Her bullets won’t be sheltered by the pit until their last 150 yards or so and that canyon amplifies the wind
.
”

“Grangeland, add two more right clicks.”

“Will do.”

“Nate, do you want me to drop down to the saddle opposite Grangeland?”

“Not yet. I need you looking for more vehicles. Let me know if any of the SUVs stop.”

“They’re about two minutes from turning onto the access road up the canyon to the pit.”

Nathan didn’t know if the SUVs belonged to Alisio or the South Koreans, but if the caravan drove straight up here without stopping, he felt confident it wouldn’t be Mason and his crew. Based on the time it took to drive out here from San Diego, though, they could be arriving any minute.

Nathan waited through a silent interval.
Patience
, he told himself.

Harv said,
“The caravan just turned onto the access road. They’ll be passing Grangeland’s position in
. . .
ninety seconds. They’re moving slowly.”

“Headlights still on?” Nathan asked.

“Affirm.”

Definitely not Mason, then. “Grangeland, do you have eyes on the caravan?”

“Not yet.”

“Let me know when they pass your position and again when they’re ten seconds from the pit. Harv, come up on the radio if something changes or if you see additional vehicles enter the area.”

“I see them,”
Grangeland said.
“Their headlights are bouncing like crazy. It looks like a pretty rough ride. Wait
. . .
They’re stopping.”

“What are they doing? Is anyone getting out?”

“Yes, one of them is opening a gate.”

“What gate?”

“It’s almost invisible. It’s just three strands of barbed wire attached to a post.”

“Is there a fence on either side of the road?”

“Yes, but it stops following the road farther up. It angles away on both sides. Okay
. . .
the guy got back in, and they’re moving again. They left the gate open.”

“Harv, any other vehicles?”

“No, just those three, but I lost sight of them in the canyon.”

Half a minute later, Nathan received his ten-second warning from Grangeland.

His body tightened with adrenaline. If he had any doubts about being in the lions’ den, it was just confirmed. He took some deep breaths and loosened his grip on the Remington.

The crunch of tires interrupted the silence, and headlight intrusion swept the north tiers of the pit.

Nathan followed the arriving vehicles with his field glasses as they made sweeping turns and parked facing the exit.

Each SUV disgorged four Hispanic-looking men. Ten of them carried compact automatic weapons, one had a sniper rifle, and one sported a white fedora and a huge gold-plated sidearm.

Alisio
.

Confirming Nathan’s suspicion, six of the gunmen formed a loose circle around the man with the fedora.

The cartel boss was a short, heavyset man with a thin mustache and goatee. His diamond stud earrings had to be four carats each. Below a double chin, huge gold chains hung like Broadway stage curtains. His fingers were lousy with gold—every one of them. Even his hat sported a band of gold. This guy wore enough jewelry to feed an orphanage for twenty years.
What a friggin’ douche bag
, Nathan thought.
Look how rich I am
. The words “slimy” and “pimp” came to mind. No other description fit.

Nathan could imagine the guy giving the order to kill Special Agent Hutch as easily as ordering a club sandwich.

Alisio’s men carried Heckler & Koch MP5s, bad news for anyone on the business end of those things. Nathan might be able to take down four or five of them before the others returned fire, but even with a vest on, and even if he avoided a head shot, he’d be bleeding from multiple holes. Not a nice thought.

Several of Alisio’s gunmen strolled over to the derelict cars, then diverted to the abandoned structures before returning to the SUVs.

A single gunman walked toward the conveyor. Halfway there, he turned right and headed for its south end, away from Nathan’s location. Expecting the gunman to circle the conveyor, Nathan bent low until his head nearly touched the ground. He pulled his suppressed Sig from his waist pack and held still.

A smile touched his lips.

If forced to, he was ready to send the first of Alisio’s men to the underworld.

Harv wished he could be closer to the action, but he understood the need to maintain a lookout position. Despite the circumstances, it was a beautiful view from up here. The Colorado River weaved through the desert landscape like a never-ending snake.

Like Nathan’s, his ghillie suit offered him ideal cover. Its beige colors blended perfectly with the parched desert environment. Clearly the area hadn’t received its first winter downpour yet. The tall grass pockets and low vegetation were still brown, and the reservoirs were low: the result of a three-year drought crippling the Southwest. In the deepening twilight, the ghillie suit’s colors wouldn’t be as critical.