Ghost Sniper: A Sniper Elite Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

office.
    Two minutes later, Fields finished reading the affidavit and set it aside to reach for the phone. He dialed a number and waited for someone to answer.
    “This is Clemson,” he said. “I assume you’ve heard the news by now?”
    “About what?” asked the man at the other end.
    “Alice Downly was assassinated right there in Mexico City—less than two hours ago.”
    “Who the fuck is Alice Downly?”

5
    MEXICO CITY, MEXICO
    14:25 HOURS
    Daniel Crosswhite hung up the phone after talking to Fields and went back into the bedroom, where his twenty-one-year-old wife, Paolina, lay in bed. They had finished making love only a couple of minutes before the phone rang.
    “Who was it?” she asked in Spanish. She spoke no English.
    “The devil’s little brother.” He rolled his eyes and took a soft pack of Camels from the edge of the dresser. “Don’t look at me like that. We knew one of Pope’s men would call sooner or later. Today’s the day, that’s all.”
    Crosswhite was a former Delta Force operator and Medal of Honor winner. He had returned to the US after multiple tours in Afghanistan to take up a life of crime as a vigilante but had gotten himself caught. Only the intervention of Robert Pope of the CIA and Navy SEAL Gil Shannon had saved him from life in prison.
    Paolina lay on her side in the midday heat and caressed her growing belly, which was just beginning to show. She was a Cuban national, but CIA Director Pope had pulled some strings for her and Crosswhite, enabling them to move to Mexico City, along with Paolina’s three-year-old daughter, who was taking a nap in the next room.
    “Who is Pope sending you to kill?”
    Crosswhite smiled. “Nobody.”
    She rolled onto her back and propped herself up on a couple of pillows. Paolina was five feet tall, slender, with dark skin, soft brown eyes, and long black hair full of tight curls. “I don’t trust him. He helped us move here only to use you as an assassin against the cartels.”
    He sat down on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through her hair. “I made a deal, corazón .” He caressed her breast and got to his feet. “I have to get dressed and go. You remember everything we’ve talked about, right?”
    “Yes. I want to know what’s going on before you leave.”
    “One of the cartels assassinated the US ambassador and some American woman a couple hours ago.” Crosswhite snatched a pair of jeans from the back of a chair. “I have to bring in a wounded DSS agent who can’t be seen at the embassy. He’s shot in the arm, so make a spot in the kitchen. It sounds like I’ll have to remove the bullet and sew him up.”
    “DSS?”
    “Diplomatic Security Service.” He crushed out the smoke in the ashtray on the dresser. “Hand me my socks, baby. Have you seen my boots?”
    “Under the bed.”
    USING THE GPS in his Jeep Rubicon’s console, Crosswhite found the building that Fields had given him the address for about seven miles from his house. He and Paolina lived in a nice neighborhood where there were a lot of Canadians, so he didn’t stick out, and all of their neighbors knew that Paolina was Cuban, so no one suspected he was CIA. Most everyone was under the assumption he was a retired American GI living on a government pension.
    He took out his phone and called the number Fields had given him.
    “Bueno?” answered a Mexican voice.
    “Soy Crosswhite. Estoy aqui.” It’s Crosswhite. I’m here.
    A door opened, and Mendoza waved for him to come inside. Crosswhite did not generally move around armed because getting caught with a gun in Mexico meant many years in prison, so unless he was sure there was going to be big trouble, he chose to rely on his fists, much preferring death over incarceration.
    He locked the Jeep and stole inside the building. The smell of death and burnt powder flashed him back to combat, and his internal systems came online. The hair raised up on the back of his neck. Mendoza smiled, turning to lead