Ghost Sniper (35 page)

89

BERN, SWITZERLAND

06:40 HOURS

Lena arrived home by limousine the next morning, a little drunk, utterly exhausted, and entirely relieved not to be married. The reception had been a truly gala affair, with many friends congratulating her and Sabastian for having had the courage and the wisdom to change their minds even at the risk of disappointing so many people. A number of opportunistic men had even had the bad taste to invite themselves into her life now that she had chosen not to wed, and she was sure that more than one or two women had made similar overtures to Sabastian, who was once again one of the most eligible bachelors in Bern.

She slipped off her heels in the foyer and mounted the staircase in her bare feet, holding the train of her wedding gown in one hand and leaning on the railing as she ascended the stairs. Her brother Joaquin, who now lived in Germany, was in town for the wedding, and she heard him showering in the master bath as she entered her bedroom, crossing to the walk-in closet.

She put her heels on the shelf and stepped back into the bedroom to see Gil standing in the bathroom doorway with a white towel wrapped around his waist.

She was immediately overcome. At first her shock was so complete that she couldn't cry or even breathe. Then her face contorted, and she sank to her knees, weeping into her hands.

Gil was nearly as stunned to see her as she was to see him, having expected her to be long gone on her honeymoon. He went to her, and she smacked him away, but then she grabbed onto him, erupting in a torrent of heavy sobs.

She eventually fell asleep in his arms.

He lifted her from the floor and was laying her down on the bed when her brother appeared in the bedroom doorway, his tie undone, hair a mess, and a half empty bottle of champagne gripped in his right hand.

Joaquin remembered Gil from when Lena had brought him to Germany ten days before, and knowing his sister as well as he knew her, he was no more surprised to find Gil in her bedroom than he'd been when she'd changed her mind at the altar.

He grinned, pulling the door closed as he left.

Gil stretched out beside Lena on the bed and watched her sleep. She slept for two hours, and when she awoke, she was still unable to speak to him, still not entirely convinced he was real. She opened her arms, and he lay down against her.

He awoke with her running her long fingers through his hair.

“I still had the key,” he said quietly. “I needed a shower, and I thought you'd be in Paris by now.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Isn't that where the honeymoon was supposed to be?”

She gripped his hair. “
Why
, Gil?”

“Oh.” He caressed her belly over the tight-fitting gown. “You said you wanted us to move forward—and there was no other way.”

“You could have told me.”

“No. You had to believe I was dead.
Everyone
had to believe it. Otherwise Pope would have known I wasn't.”

“Is he that smart?”

“Yeah, he is. He might figure it out yet.”

“You were at the wedding—you saw me see you?”

“I got there too late. If I'd shown myself . . .”

“You disappeared so fast,” she said with a sigh. “I thought it was my imagination.”

“Are you married?”

She pulled his head back to look into his eyes. “What do you think?”

He raised up onto an elbow. “Jesus Christ, you were beautiful. It was almost more than I could take.” He held his fingers a millimeter apart. “I was this close to exposing myself.”

She knew there must be some other reason he'd faked his death. If he had truly gone to all that trouble just for the two of them, he would have done whatever was necessary to stop the wedding.

“Do you love me?”

He kissed her. “I love you.”

“Is the real reason you faked your death anything I have to worry about?”

He smiled, loving that she was so intuitive. “Nothing at all.”

“Will you tell me why someday? When you're ready?”

“Yes.”

She wrapped her arms around him. “I told you we were destined to be together, Gil. Not even death could stop it.”

He chuckled, burying his face in her hair. “That's not at all wildly exaggerated.”

She laughed, twisting free and rolling to her belly. “Undo me. This fucking thing fits me like a suit of armor, and I want to consummate our relationship.”

He flipped her onto her back again, gathering up the train of the gown to expose her thighs. “Suit of armor or not, it stays on you—at least for the first run.”

Her laughter filled the room. She'd never been so happy.

EPILOGUE

PUERTO VALLARTA, MEXICO

19:30 HOURS

Five months after the Battle of Toluca, Rhett Hancock was fully recovered from his wounds. He now owned a fishing charter called the
Beetle
, and he was giving serious thought to taking it down the coast to Panama or Colombia, where he could go into business for himself without drawing attention. He didn't need the money, but he was bored most of the time now, and he thought it would be good to have people to talk to once in a while.

He still drank tequila, though not as much, and he was less haunted by the car accident that had taken his girlfriend's life years before. One problem remained, however: the nagging urge to shoot people. Not just anybody, but somebody.

With a casual wave to another fishing charter anchored a hundred yards away, he stretched out on the deck and pulled the stock of a suppressed M40A5 sniper rifle into his shoulder. He put his eye to the scope and scanned the shore where a naked Antonio Castañeda was partying on a private beach with seven equally naked young women. There was a bonfire and five bodyguards standing around. One of the guards had some kind of sniper rifle slung over his ­shoulder.

“Amateur hour,” Hancock muttered. “I'll pop your boss and put one between your eyes before you can scratch your nuts.”

“That'll be a piece a shootin',” said a voice from behind.

Hancock jumped to his knees, grabbing the rifle and spinning around. He wasn't fast enough to bring the weapon up before a man in a black wetsuit shot him three times in the torso with a silenced Glock 23. The .40 caliber hollow-points knocked him over backward, and the M40 fell from his hands as he sprawled against the gunwale.

Gil Shannon pulled back the hood of the wetsuit.

A longtime admirer, Hancock recognized his face at once. “What the fuck? You're supposed to be dead.”

“I know it.” Gil took a seat on an empty fish cooler, keeping the pistol trained.

Hancock felt the life quickly running out of him. “How did you—How did you know?”

Gil looked out to sea. “You bought your rifle from the wrong man.”

“Fuck me,” Hancock mumbled, feeling incredibly sorry for himself. “I knew there was somethin' about that guy I didn't trust. He's an ex-SEAL, isn't he?”

Gil nodded. “Want me to finish the job? Or you wanna ride it out?”

“I'll ride it out,” Hancock groaned. “Won't be long.” He sat staring at the deck where his blood pooled beside him, strangely numb. “Didja ever . . . didja ever just
need
to pull the trigger?”

Gil frowned. “No. I do it because I'm pissed.”

“Pissed?” Hancock gave him a queer look. “What at?”

“Dunno.” Gil was still staring out to sea. “Sometimes I think I was born pissed.”

“That's gotta suck.” Hancock began to swoon a little, blinking to keep awake. “What's with the Glock? I thought you swore by the 1911—least that's what everybody said.”

Gil looked glumly at the pistol in his hands. “I have to worry about covering my kill patterns these days.”

“I know what you mean.” Hancock chortled sardonically. “That's why I gave up the fifty.”

“You shoulda gave it all up, considerin' the fix you're in. No one had any idea you were still alive until you bought that rifle.”

“I guess I was stupid; the need just got to be too strong.”

“Well, you ain't gotta worry about it much longer.”

Hancock wiped at the blood leaking from the bullet holes in his torso. “You're right about that.” A warm feeling washed over him. “I think I'm about ready to give it up here . . . Why'd you do it—fake your death?”

“Robbed a stagecoach.”

Hancock's eyes glassed over. “Well, brother . . . your secret's safe with me.” His head sagged to the side, and he was gone.

Gil sat staring at him without seeing him, thinking of all that had come to pass. He hated to admit it, but he was glad to be dead, confident that he could trust Midori, Mariana, and Lena to guard his secret. Midori, because she needed him to protect her from Pope. Mariana, because she would need him to help look after Crosswhite. And Lena, because she and Gil were destined to be together—whether he believed that kind of crap or not.

He wondered idly if Mariana and Crosswhite had slept together. Crosswhite had said no, but Gil thought they must have. To his mind, nothing else accounted for the bond they seemed to share. But then, he hadn't known that many women, so maybe he wasn't the best person to judge.

In fact, he'd only ever shared a genuine bond with one woman in his life: his wife, Marie. And when that bond had inexplicably begun to dissolve, he'd found himself rudderless on what seemed to be an endless ocean, with only Pope to guide him through a starless night.

Then he met Lena, and he knew, just as sure as God made little green crocodiles, that he could never go home to Marie—to his wife, who would have waited for him until doomsday.

Why did I die?
he asked the sea.
It's simple. I died for Marie
, and only for Marie. Now she can mourn me and start a new life—a life with a man who hasn't seen the things I've seen; who hasn't done the things I've done. A man who can sit in front of the fire at night and hold her hand without feeling like he has to claw his way through the fucking wall for a breath of air.

He was still lost in the daydream when Sid Dupree brought his fishing charter up alongside the
Beetle
, smoking a joint and idling the motor. A few seconds later, he tossed Gil a line. “We good here?”

“We're good.” Gil got up to tie off the line and handed the rifle across. “Put that where she won't see it.”

Dupree stowed the rifle in a locker beneath a bench and tossed him a small charge of C4 with a timer. Gil took the charge below. Then he came back up and dragged Hancock's body into the cabin, shutting the door and stepping aboard Dupree's boat. He untied the line, and they motored away toward the setting sun.

Three minutes later, there was a muffled explosion, a flash of light beneath the greenish surface, and the
Beetle
went straight to the bottom in seventy-five feet of water, taking the gringo sniper with her.

Gil tossed the pistol overboard and glanced back toward the beach, shaking his head. “That ugly bastard has no idea how close he came to gettin' his head blown off.”

“If anyone deserves it,” Dupree said, “it's him. Is he that important?”

“At least for now, yeah.”

Dupree offered him a hit off the joint. “The fucker sells good weed, I'll give him that.”

Gil laughed and pushed the joint away, stripping out of his wetsuit and jamming it into the locker with the rifle. “She'll be wakin' up anytime now, so cut the chatter.”

The old Navy SEAL smiled. “You better hope she never finds out you drugged her.”

Gil waved him off. “I didn't
drug
her. It was just a little diazepam to make her sleepy. How soon 'til we're back in Baja? We gotta catch a plane.”

“Be there by mornin'. Where you guys off to, anyhow?”

“Ho Chi Minh City. I wanna lay low awhile longer, and I got some people to see.”

“Ho Chi Minh City?” Dupree took a deep toke from the joint and held it in. “Shit, ain't that where Saigon used to be?”

“Yeah, that's where it used to be.” Gil edged him aside and took the wheel. “Let me have the con, ya damn hippie. I don't wanna end up in Australia or some goddamn place.”

Dupree took a seat. “Shit, I was navigatin' the ocean in minisubs when you were still shittin' your drawers.”

“I hear ya,” Gil said, checking the compass and steering three points to starboard. “That's why you had us headed for Midway Island.”

“Eat me,” Dupree mumbled. “At least I've
been
to Midway.”

A short time later, Lena came up from below, looking well rested. “Sorry I fell asleep, guys.” She hugged Gil from behind. “The beer and the sun made me sleepy.”

He gave her a kiss. “It wasn't the beer. I drugged you so I could swim over to another boat and kill a guy.”

She chuckled, nipping playfully at his ear. “It wouldn't surprise me.”

What the hell?
he thought.
She can't say I didn't tell her the truth.

Don't miss the rest of the
Sniper Elite
series

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Sniper Elite: One-Way Trip