Exchange of Fire

Exchange of Fire

P. A. DePaul

InterMix Books, New York

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

EXCHANGE OF FIRE

An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author

PUBL
ISHING HISTORY

InterMix eBook edition / August 2014

Copyright © 2014 by P. A. DePaul.

Excerpt from
Shadow of Doubt
copyright © 2015 by P. A. DePaul.

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eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-18094-9

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This book is dedicated to John and Jean McGee. Thank you for your unwavering faith in me.

I love you both very much.

Sierra Madre Oriental Mountains, Mexico

Wraith placed her eye next to the rifle’s scope. With her left hand, she activated her throat mic and whispered, “Cappy, two guards talking by the front entrance smoking cigarettes.”

“Check,”
a tinny male voice said in her earpiece.
“Talon and Romeo are almost in position.”

Wraith lifted her head slightly and scanned the scene with her own eyes. From her vantage point on top of this shithole of a building, life in the Mexican village seemed to go on as usual. The sun beat down in the late afternoon sky while a couple of children played with a partially deflated soccer ball between rusted trucks parked on the dirt road. Poverty ran rampant throughout the area, but she didn’t feel sorry for the villagers. They knew what went on inside the squat cement building and turned a blind eye anyway. She didn’t see any of her teammates, but really didn’t expect to either.

“Magician’s beacon shows her vitals are still registering,”
Cappy announced from his position high enough in the mountains surrounding the town to see the entire scenario.

Wraith let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding as a series of clicks sounded in her ear. By the “applause” from Talon’s and Romeo’s throat mics, they seemed just as relieved as she was to hear their teammate was still alive.

The scent of fried onions, meat, and something doughy lingered in the air, making her empty stomach rumble. Pushing the discomfort aside, Wraith used her scope to scan the area. Men in sweat-stained T-shirts and jeans lounged on rickety chairs outside ramshackle structures up and down the street, their hats lazily tilted to shade them from the sun, but she wasn’t fooled. They were all lookouts—not that they were very good at it. Anyone with half a brain could deduce the men were more preoccupied with watching the road than relaxing in the sun. Giant eighties-era walkie-talkies clipped to their belts also didn’t help them blend in.

The two men on the rooftops were another matter. They made no secret about who they were as they toted their bulky rifle and shotgun while scanning the area. They were positioned at the opposite ends of the village (not a great distance when the town basically consisted of ten buildings) and were more vigilant.

At go time, it was her job to take them out first.

She resisted swiping away the lines of sweat rolling down her face and ultimately pooling between her breasts.
Blech.
Lying in a puddle of perspiration definitely sucked, but she had long ago seasoned herself to deal with it.

After the team had set up their encampment in the mountains two days ago, she had spent the first day with her spotting scope, studying the guards’ patterns and configuring how she’d remain hidden among them. Camouflaging her custom-made Remington M24E1/XM2010 sniper rifle hadn’t been difficult. Scaling the wall with the already constructed, fifteen-pound weapon while staying concealed proved more of a challenge. The only way she had managed it was to wake up at three thirty a.m. and climb the back wall while the rooftop rangos were gone and the few guards present were at their laziest—most likely lulled into a false sense of security by the repetition of nothing happening day in, day out.
Surprise!

A rare breeze flitted over the tarp covering the construction supplies she now hid beneath. Taking advantage of the snapping plastic sound, she shifted her leg muscles to ease a cramp. Luckily the building’s edge sported a ledge, giving her rifle a place to rest while helping her to remain hidden. Wraith blinked and inhaled. The restless nap she had managed to catch since settling in this spot was beginning to wear off.

“Heads up, people, we’ve got movement,”
Cappy announced, his tinny voice tight in her earpiece.
“Truck coming in from the east. Romeo, confirm if this is our delivery.”

Three clicks. Romeo’s silent way of acknowledging the order.

While Wraith waited for her teammate to respond, she swept her scope over the windows of the cement building again. They weren’t the cleanest panes of glass, but she could see enough to find the warehouse floor was still empty. If their intel was right, it wouldn’t remain that way for long. Another shipment of girls was due to arrive, and they had to be “processed.”

For six months they had been trying to take this ring down. Only after Magician allowed herself to be captured were they able to follow the movements from Ohio to this godforsaken place—Wraith and the rest of the team barely ate or slept, knowing Magician relied on them to get her out safely. Bile burned in the back of Wraith’s throat at the thought of what Magician went through, what she sacrificed so they could end this sex-slave ring for good. Just imagining these creeps stripping her teammate and friend to “inventory” her features for their sick catalog inflamed her.

“Car coming in from the west,”
Cappy announced.
“Sanchez is in the car. Repeat. Sanchez is in the car.”

Wraith’s adrenaline spiked. One half of the ruling heads of the Osvaldo Cartel had finally arrived.
Guess his brother decided to stay behind in Miami.
Both were equally responsible for building the sex-slavery ring into a mini empire.

“Delivery confirmed,”
Romeo whispered.
“It’s the same pair who took Magician.”

Wraith grinned. Those sons of bitches didn’t realize they were now on borrowed time.

“
Remember the mission is to capture Sanchez, Romeo,”
Cappy warned, but Wraith could hear his smile.
“Don’t take too long sending the abductors back to Hell.”

Two clicks—meaning
yes
.
Wraith inwardly chuckled. Romeo got the message, but it would remain to be seen if he heeded it or worked off his rage on the men who dared touch his partner.

“Talon, you have a location on Magician yet?”
Cappy asked.

Silence.

Wraith followed the truck’s progress as it meandered up the street until it finally stopped with its back end lined up to the front door.

“Talon,”
Cappy barked.
“Running out of time. Report.”

“Sorry,”
Talon’s gruff voice whispered.
“Had to dispense a nosy guard.”

“He hidden?”

“Check,”
Talon responded, affronted.
“Magician’s being held in the basement. Hold on.”

Ten tense seconds later:
“I’m back. Another guard down.”

A shiver stole down Wraith’s spine. Talon’s codename was born from his deadly skill with a knife. What that man could do with a blade was awesome, if not downright scary.

“She’s locked in a cage with three other women, and I use that term loosely. Some of them appear to be as young as fourteen.”

“Bastards,”
Romeo cut in.

“Yeah. I counted three cages, but only two are filled.”

A Mercedes-Benz parked in front of the truck. The car rocked heavily as the driver clambered to get out. He was a hulk of a man who was all fat, no muscle, and Sanchez’s nephew.

The doughboy’s beady eyes began sweeping the area, and Wraith stilled. When his gaze slid over her without a flicker, she almost laughed. Man, he sucked big-time in discovering potential nooks and threats for surveillance.

“Sounds like the third cage is reserved for this shipment,”
Cappy replied.
“Heads up, Talon, on what’s happening outside. Sanchez’s nephew has parked in front of the delivery truck and is now talking to Sanchez through a rolled-down window in the back.”

“Check.”

“I’d estimate you have only minutes to take care of the guards and locate the best exit for the victims,”
Cappy continued
. “You have a chance to assess their condition yet?”

Talon audibly swallowed. Cold anger filled his voice as he replied,
“First look: It’s bad. Some of these girls have been beaten to the point of broken bones.”

Ice shot through Wraith’s veins.

“Magician?”
Romeo asked, his voice a mixture of fear and fury.

“One sec.”

Movement below caught Wraith’s attention. The delivery driver jumped down from the front cab of his truck and headed toward the back. Doughboy stopped his worthless surveillance long enough to open the back door of the Mercedes for his uncle to climb out.

Criminy, Sanchez was ugly. No amount of suave clothes could help him either—though he tried. Giorgio Armani should demand his suit back and give the bastard a full refund.

“Two more guards down,”
Talon calmly announced.

“Magician?”
Romeo asked again tightly.

“Fuck,”
Talon muttered.
“She’s alive, but she’s been beaten. Cappy, be prepared with the duffel. All of the women have been kept naked and they’re dirty as hell.”

“Check.”

Bastards,
Wraith silently snarled.
Damn them all to hell.

A door sliding up metal tracks cut into her visions of ripping Sanchez’s balls off. “Driver opening the back,” Wraith murmured.

“That means it’s go time, people,”
Cappy said, tension tingeing his voice.
“Just like we planned. Meet you at the rally point.”

Wraith readjusted her scope. Both rooftop sentinels appeared more focused on the young girls climbing out of the truck than watching the area.
Idiots.
Made her job much easier. She exhaled and aimed for the farthest guard. As soon as he stepped back from the edge, she lined his head in her crosshairs and pulled the trigger. A soft cough emitted from her suppressed rifle seconds before the man jerked back and flopped to the roof. Before the other guard had a chance to react, she had him in her sights and took him out.

Thwump.
His body dropped hard onto the concrete roof.

Two of the guards sitting nearby looked up.

Shit.
The bastard’s foot hung over the edge.

The guards jerked to their feet and stepped into the street for a better view.

“Be advised. Clusterfuck warning,” Wraith announced. “Rooftop guard landed wrong. Two on the ground now alert. Kids still playing at opposite end of street out of their line of sight.”

“Check,”
Romeo answered.
“I’ve got the guards.”

Thirty feet down, a shadow separated from the rest. It crept along the edge of the building and Romeo emerged into the sunlight right in front of the guards. One started to shout, but Romeo gripped him around the neck and twisted. He then raised his silenced Glock and shot the second guard in the chest. Romeo dragged the man out of the street and dropped him in the shadows on top of the other.

By this time, the girls had been herded from the back of the truck into the warehouse. Sanchez stood inside along the perimeter with his finger tapping his chin while the delivery men followed the girls inside. Doughboy yelled at the driver and the delivery man yelled a derogatory comment back, causing his partner to laugh uproariously.

Two of the girls, who couldn’t be older than fourteen, cowered in the center, hugging each other. Another girl, about eighteen, sported a bruise on her cheek, while the fourth, about midtwenties, stood tall in torn clothes.

Romeo slid back into the shadows and continued toward the front entrance.

An alarmed shout echoed off the buildings.

All the men pretending to have a siesta jumped to their feet. The kids playing soccer scrambled, disappearing into the closest alley, while their ball rolled unbidden down the street.

Romeo engaged the two guards at the front entrance while more raced his way. Wraith picked off as many as she could in between keeping her eye on Sanchez inside. Bullets from the guards’ pistols pinged off the cement around her, but she wasn’t worried. She was buried deep enough, and their aim wasn’t worth shit at their distance.

Doughboy, who had been preoccupied with something in the warehouse’s corner, wrestled to get his gun free from his quadruple-extra-large shirt covering the holster. The deliverymen raced outside, right into Romeo’s waiting arms. Her teammate seemed to be having a lot of fun working off his anger on the two men while using them to fend off the other guards.

The young girls were screaming while the older ones tried to form a barrier in front of them. Sanchez slinked toward them. Wraith calmed her heavy breathing and kept her scope on the bastard. The second she had a shot, she was taking it. Consequences be damned. Her superiors could kiss her ass. He could not be allowed to escape capture again.

She blocked out everything and focused on the weasel. The fighting in the street receded, and she could faintly hear a voice in her ear yelling for her to back down. Whatever. She tuned it all out, slowed her heart and regulated her breaths.

Sanchez appeared aware of the windows by the way he held his body, not allowing her a shot. Damn him. He crept closer to the girls. The oldest captive noticed him first and kicked out. Sanchez easily caught her foot and yanked it to him. The girl lost her balance and landed on the concrete, her head bobbing twice from the impact. One of the younger girls wrapped her arms around the eighteen- year-old while the other stood frozen with her screams continuously echoing off the walls. Sanchez grinned and moved forward.

Exposure!
Wraith led him with the rifle and fired. Time slowed as the
pffft
sounded and the gun gently rocked back into her shoulder. Between one blink and the next her world went from mission to horror. She never factored in Doughboy. In his haste to get to his uncle, the stupid bastard knocked into the group of girls. They stumbled and pushed the screaming girl forward . . . straight into the path of her bullet. The bullet meant for a monster not an innocent, a victim.

Wraith would never forget the look of terror and confusion on the little girl’s face as her small body jerked back into Sanchez. Blood burst across her chest as she knocked the mastermind down.

Chaos ensued, but Wraith shut down. Not one thing happening below registered in her brain.