Eye for an Eye by Ben Coes Page A

“If you don’t like the guns, go buy your own.”
    “If the weapons aren’t right, that’s all our problem,” said Hu-Shao. “You’re earning a lot of money in the next twenty-four hours.”
    “They’re fine,” said Chang, looking at Hu-Shao, trying to calm the tension. “They’ll do.”
    “Who’s the target?” asked Raul.
    “He’s American, a former soldier, Special Forces, traveling with a do-not-touch.”
    “Which unit was he with?”
    “Delta,” said Hu-Shao.
    Raul nodded. Pascal had already told him the target was ex–Special Forces, but the fact that he was Delta gave Raul a small kick in the stomach. Like many ex-cartel men, Raul knew of the Deltas.
    “That’s all I know,” continued Hu-Shao. “As for the design, we need to study the security at the ranch. Once we know how many men are there, what type of coverage there is, and the rotations, we’ll set up the nest.”
    Raul glanced at Chang, who wore a blank expression on his face, as did Hu-Shao. Had either of these two ever run into Deltas, he wondered?
    Raul had been exposed to Deltas on more than one occasion when he worked as a fast-boat runner for the El Chapo cartel. Everyone referred to the American group of soldiers as the “locos.” The Deltas were known for working alone. Their specialty was counternarcotics interdiction at the source of production, as well as assassination: selective targeting of cartel higher-ups, usually a clean, surgical kill involving a slug to the head. Raul was lucky in that sense: as a fast-boat runner, he rarely had to deal with them. Instead, they had the Coast Guard to deal with, which, compared to the Deltas, was like outrunning tortoises.
    As he stared out the window, Raul tried to remember some of the stories about Deltas. What he did recall is that the Deltas liked to blend in. They never wore uniforms, and it was practically impossible to tell the difference between a Delta and anyone else walking down the road—a local farmer, a tourist—and that was only if you could see them. Most of the time they operated at night. The Deltas were a mystery.
    Raul stood up, moving to the weapons box at the back of the cabin.
    “You—” said Raul, nodding at Chang, “a hand, will you?”

 
    15
    ESTANCIA EL COLIBRI
CÓRDOBA
    By one in the afternoon, the black Land Cruiser arrived at Estancia el Colibri.
    Raul drove as Hu-Shao navigated with coordinates provided by Beijing.
    “Cut in farther up the road,” said Hu-Shao as they passed the dirt road entrance.
    In the backseat, Chang looked out the side window with a high-powered monocular scope. Fifty feet down the drive, he spied the shiny grill of a parked Suburban.
    “There’s someone there,” said Chang.
    They drove a few minutes longer, then Hu-Shao pointed to the right of the road.
    Raul slowed, then took a right off the paved road and cut into a field. He drove for nearly a mile, until Hu-Shao held up his hand, telling him to stop.
    Chang opened the door, climbed to the roof, and scanned in the direction of the ranch. A minute later, he jumped from the roof, then climbed back into the SUV.
    “We’re out of visual range,” he said.
    “Let’s get moving,” said Hu-Shao.
    The three men climbed out of the SUV. They rubbed black and green paint on their faces and changed into camouflage. The two Chinese agents each packed a rifle and a handgun. Raul carried the Dragunov, strapped over his back.
    They skulked in a low traverse toward where they knew the Suburban was parked. They walked for ten minutes. When they came to a rise on a low hill, Chang raised his hand, stopping the others. He pulled out the scope and scanned the distance.
    “I have a visual on the security vehicle,” he said.
    The three men took up position on the hill, lying down on their stomachs. The sun was beating down.
    “What’s next?” asked Raul.
    “We wait,” said Hu-Shao. “We need to understand the security protocol. I want to know how often they’re rotating