you to death with his driving?”
“He was fine,” said Dewey.
Jessica turned to the agents.
“So who’s in charge?” she asked. “You, Morty?”
“Hi, Jess. We promise you won’t see hide nor hair of us. We’re going to run four-hour shifts. We’ll take up position at the driveway entrance.”
“I hope you brought a good book,” said Jessica.
“Jessica told us you’re a pretty good rider,” said Nico, looking at Dewey.
“I’m okay,” said Dewey.
“Would you like to take a ride after lunch?”
“We’d love to,” said Jessica.
Nico nodded to Alvaro, telling him to go get the horses ready.
The Sabellas gave Dewey and Jessica a tour of the mansion. They were the only guests. Their suite had a wall of French doors that overlooked a large garden filled with roses, and just behind it, a gunite swimming pool.
They went to the suite to change for the ride.
Jessica unpacked both of their bags while Dewey stared out at the peaks of Sierras Chicas through a set of binoculars. Halfway through unpacking her belongings, she came across a black, see-through teddy. Behind Dewey’s back, she surreptitiously removed her jeans and blouse, then put on the lingerie, while Dewey’s eyes remained transfixed on the mountains.
“This place is unbelievable,” said Dewey, still staring through the binoculars. “You’re the fucking best, Tanzer.”
Jessica walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around him.
“No, you’re the best, Andreas.”
“Can you believe we’re getting married?”
“Yes,” she said. “I can.”
14
CÓRDOBA
As the Gulfstream G280 taxied across the tarmac at the Córdoba airport, Raul sat back, unstrapped his seat belt, and put his feet up on the seat opposite him. He looked out the window at the terminal in the distance.
Raul wasn’t nervous, but it didn’t take a genius to realize this wasn’t a typical job. Something was bothering him.
He opened the weapons box and did a quick inventory:
Dragunov sniper rifle, PSO-1 scope, suppressor
SR-3 Vikhr assault rifle
AKMS-74 assault rifle, folding stocks
ASh-12.7 CQB assault rifle
Two Arsenal Strike One 9mm handguns, suppressors
Three Makarov PMM 9mm handguns
He shut the box and walked to the front of the jet.
“Any sign of them?”
The pilots both shrugged.
“Where’s the car?” he asked.
“In the lot,” said one of the pilots, “top floor. A black Land Cruiser.”
Raul went back to the seat. He looked at his watch. It was noon.
* * *
In the sky above Córdoba, at that very moment, the landing gear on the LAN regional from Caracas moved into place.
After passing through security, the Chinese agents moved to the private terminal. Inside the lounge, Hu-Shao felt his cell vibrating. He stopped.
“Where are you?” asked Ming-húa.
“We just arrived.”
“The sniper’s name is Raul. He has the weapons and the vehicle.”
“Do we have schematics for the ranch?” asked Hu-Shao.
“They’re on your phone.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. After Raul kills the American, kill him. Leave him on the ground.”
* * *
Raul watched through the round porthole window next to his seat as two men exited the private terminal and walked quickly toward the plane. One of the copilots opened the stairs to the jet. A few moments later, they entered the cabin.
The first agent nodded.
“You must be Raul.”
Raul nodded, saying nothing.
“Hu-Shao,” said the agent. “This is Chang. Where are the weapons?”
Raul pointed with his thumb toward the back of the cabin.
Raul watched as Chang walked down the aisle. Hu-Shao sat down and eyed him with a blank expression on his face.
After a minute, Chang returned to the seat.
“It’s decent,” he said. “A little run-down. Russian. Some nice new Strike Ones. But the sniper rifle’s a Dragunov. I didn’t know they still made Dragunovs.”
“I’m the one who has to use the Dragunov, so it’s my problem,” said Raul contemptuously.
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley