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Aim And Fire. Cliff Ryder
Читать онлайн.Название Aim And Fire
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781472084286
Автор произведения Cliff Ryder
Жанр Приключения: прочее
Издательство HarperCollins
“I still don’t see why I have to sit back here and suffer. I think I’ve lost five pounds just from sweat alone.” Nathaniel’s new partner, George Ryan, was a big, green recruit not even six months out of training. He was huddled in the backseat, out of sight, but not out of smell. Nate wrinkled his nose at the sweet-sour stink coming off the other man.
“Because two men in the front would arouse suspicion. Now shut your trap and drink more water. At least you’re still sweating, so consider yourself lucky. I don’t need my backup keeling over from heatstroke.” Nathaniel eased the straw of a plastic sport bottle underneath his hat and took a long, warm gulp. After dozens of stakeouts just like this one, he knew all too well the stealthy danger of the life-draining heat. He keyed his radio. “Anybody got anything yet?”
A chorus of negatives answered him, from two agents posing as loitering day laborers in front of the hardware store next to Hernando, the unlucky guy who had drawn the short straw and had to dress as a homeless person. He had spent the past few hours alternating between rooting through a small grocery store’s garbage and wandering up and down the alley.
Nate would have preferred to have an extra half-dozen agents on this raid, but they were stretched thin as it was, and he’d been lucky to get the three additional agents in the first place.
“Jesus, these guys are seriously late.” George sucked down tepid water, draining the bottle. “Bet they ain’t coming at all.”
“Slow down, Tex—drink too fast and you’ll give yourself cramps.” Nathaniel heard the growl of a truck coming up the street, and his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, spotting a rumbling cargo truck turning the corner, heading toward the back of the building. Emblazoned on its side was the name of the auto parts store they were watching.
“Everyone look sharp. I think they just arrived. Hernando, get your head out of that Dumpster and see if you can verify that license plate.”
“With pleasure—you had to pick the day they threw out their old meat, didn’t you? My wife’s gonna make me sleep in the den again. Okay, Lima Juliet Kilo five-one-niner. That matches the truck we’re expecting.”
Nate sat up and pushed his hat back. “All right, everyone. Get ready—the cargo has arrived. We’ll give ’em a few minutes, then move in after the truck has docked and they’ve started unloading. Carter, Juan, you guys take the front. Hernando, move to the back corner and keep an eye on the truck. Ryan and I will circle around the block and take them from behind.” He clicked off his radio. “All right, George, get up here.” He leaned toward the door as the stocky man clambered into the front seat.
“Damn two-door,” he muttered.
“Hey, do not insult the vehicle. This little son of a bitch has gotten me through hell and back.” Firing the engine, Nate pulled a U-turn and headed past the grocery store, then turned right down the side street.
Hernando’s voice came over the radio. “Nate, I’m in position. The truck just parked in the loading dock, and it looks like our boys are in quite a hurry for some reason.”
“We’ll be there in thirty. Front team, you ready?”
“Give the word, and we’ll be inside in ten seconds.”
“Copy that. No one moves until my signal.” Nate turned right again, aiming the Bronco down the alley toward the auto parts store and pulling forward until he could just see the white snout of the truck’s hood. Drawing his .40-caliber HK P-2000 pistol, he chambered a round, waiting until George did the same. “We’ll pull in front of the truck as Carter and Juan sweep from the front, round everyone up and be done with it. You remembered your vest, right?”
George thumped his chest. “You mean the thing I’m swimmin’ in here? Hell, yeah.”
“Good man. Get ready.” Nate hit his radio. “Hernando, are they unloading yet?”
“Looks like it.”
“Okay, follow us as soon as we’re in front of the truck, and the three of us will go in together. Carter, Juan, on my signal.”
The three other agents confirmed the orders, and Nate slipped his SUV into gear, creeping down the alleyway until he judged he was close enough, then flooring the accelerator. The Bronco rocketed down the alley, and Nate squealed to a stop in front of the truck, trapping it between his vehicle and the building.
“Go, go, go!” he shouted. He yanked the key out of the ignition and slipped out the door, running around the hood, his cowboy boots slapping the pavement. George was already covering the driver, and Nate headed around the passenger side of the truck, seeing Hernando running down the other side of the vehicle.
The truck had backed up to a concrete loading dock that let people walk from the truck into the building without climbing up. Approaching it at a full run, Nate leaped up between the truck and the side of the building, squeezing through the narrow gap, pistol first. “U.S. Customs agents. Nobody move!”
The interior of the warehouse was large, easily several thousand square feet, and was filled with rows and rows of metal racks, stacked full of cardboard boxes and wooden crates of every size. Five shocked men, all standing in a line ready to relay the cargo into the warehouse, stared back at him. The second-to-last man had just tossed a box to the next guy, who had looked over in surprise, only to have the heavy container smack into his chest, sending him to the ground with a surprised grunt.
Nate heard the footsteps and shouts of his agents as they came through the front door, but knew it would be at least a minute before they secured the area and got to his location. He knew that was plenty of time for something bad to happen. He peered into the gloom, waiting for his eyes to adjust and not liking what he saw. There was too much cover where more men could be lurking, too many shadows to hide people.
Nate’s gaze flicked over to the other side of the loading bed, expecting his partner or Hernando to come barreling through at any second. He turned back to the five men, three of whom had put their hands up. Any day now, guys, he thought. “Everyone down on your knees and raise your hands—you know the drill.” He repeated the command in Spanish, trying to keep all of the men covered. The man farthest inside the warehouse edged a step away, then another.
“Buddy, you take another step you’ll be missing your knees something fierce,” he growled. Where the hell is he? “Agent Ryan, report!”
A shadow fell over the other side of the loading dock, and George Ryan forced his way inside. His face was red and he was panting with exertion. “Sorry, bastard driver…didn’t wanna…come outta the…truck. Hernando’s takin’ care of him.”
“All right, read ’em their rights,” Nate ordered. Keeping his pistol trained on them, he walked to the other agent and removed two pairs of handcuffs from his belt. “I’ll start trussin’ them.”
His pistol in one hand, George took the laminated Miranda rights card out of his pocket and held it up. “You have the right—”
The loud, unmistakable sound of a shotgun slide being pumped echoed throughout the warehouse. Ducking, Nate barely had time to yell “Get down!” before the dark interior lit up with a booming flash as the scattergun let loose. He twisted around to see George stumble and go down, a cloud of buckshot tearing at his body. The five men scattered in different directions as Nate squeezed off several shots in the direction of the ambush.
“Shots fired, shots fired! Hernando, get in here, Ryan’s down! Carter, Juan, watch for suspects coming out the front!” Nate crawled over to George and dragged him behind the nearest metal rack, his chest hitching as he struggled for breath. He checked George’s vitals, seeing blood stain his fingers. It looked as if the vest had stopped most of the pellets, but at least two had penetrated. “You’re gonna be all right, buddy,” he said.
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