“Yeah,” he answered.
“Everyone’s in place. Good luck, kid.”
Calvin hung up and checked the monitors again. Silence. Nothing. Although he couldn’t see Baxter, he could feel the ex-Marine’s presence. Calvin heard Rachel’s footsteps behind him. “Are you ready?” he asked.
She gave him a slight, timid nod.
In what felt like a trance, he moved to the emergency generator and switched the power off to the entire house, except for the computer room. Total blackness fell.
Calvin and Rachel moved to the garage.
Baxter had circled the house, rejected the back exit as too obvious and then taken a position on the roof of a building down the street. He had a view of the front right side of Watters’ hideout, where he had a shot at anyone emerging from about three quarters of the house. This was his third position in the last forty-five minutes.
He had a 7.62 x 51mm M40 resting on a tripod and was blacked out against the tar and gravel of the roof. He would be hard to spot from another rooftop, let alone a helicopter. A military black-camouflage tarp covered him and was little help against the increasing rain, the drops smacking loudly against the vinyl.
The intensity of the moment took him back to his days in Afghanistan.
As he waited, he replayed the last conversation with his employer. Sanders had nerve. Baxter thought about just killing Sanders for a moment, but decided that was a bad option. Someone else might talk. No, that would ruin his rep.
He put on the thermal-imaging nightscope and was chambering a new round when he heard the first faint wails from police sirens. A row of patrol cars approached Watters’ house from both directions and stopped. With the road barricaded by the diagonally parked cars, six officers stood behind the vehicles with their weapons drawn.
Had Sanders decided to use the cops and double-cross him?
If Watters slowed the cops down, or even somehow managed to get away, Baxter would attempt a head shot. Most likely he’d get another one when the cops led Watters out in cuffs.
The shooting started. Glass shattered in the house and cops ducked behind their open cruiser doors as Watters returned fire. As two cops approached the house, a series of bombs detonated. Concrete and metal flew around the neighborhood. The explosions sent the cops scurrying for cover.
Perfect—with this much happening, he could take Watters out and then vanish, unnoticed.
Then he saw something that gave him pause.
A group of cops circled the back of the building and disappeared.
More gunfire ensued. Then quiet. Either Watters was in cuffs or dead.
Baxter couldn’t believe when four cops ran from the building, got into cars and rocketed away. They were already gone before Baxter realized that only three cops had gone in.
He had to move. The police had underestimated Watters’ security and he didn’t have much time before the LVMPD would return with a much larger force, perhaps even SWAT.
He couldn’t allow a second raid to happen and Watters get caught. Baxter’s job was to kill Watters, period.
That time had come.
“The hit man we are up against seems to be slipping a little,” Dale said to Jimmy.
Watters was informed that Rachel was out.
Dale said, “Easy part done. Now, capture a killer, keep a suspected killer alive and hope that a Vegas leg breaker is not setting us up.”
He rotated the knots out of his neck and surveyed the area. “Make sure everyone removes their blanks and loads live ammo.”
Jimmy made the call.
The observation point was the parked car a block from Watters’ workshop. The entire workshop and surrounding area had been under long-distance police surveillance, outside the sniper’s perceived area of operations, so he wouldn’t detect them. The whole team was sitting on Dale’s “go.”
“Let’s move,” he said.
“But we haven’t spotted Baxter yet,” Jimmy said.
Dale knew Baxter had a plan. But what was it? “I know and I don’t like it. Let’s proceed with caution, but remain out of sight. Gradually tighten our surveillance circle.”
“If we move, Baxter will see us.”
He slammed his fist against the dashboard. “Okay, let’s wait. But the first sign of Baxter and we’re gone.”
Dale felt a sharp pain in his chest when the radio squawked again.
“Target B located and identified,” came over the radio.
Jimmy smiled. “Baxter’s taking the bait.”
Dale opened his cell phone and grabbed the door handle when the same voice returned. “We lost him.”
“What?” He grabbed the radio. “Team leader, repeat.”
“Baxter has disappeared, sir.”
Dale looked at Jimmy, who rolled his eyes.
“Baxter has breached the perimeter. They can’t see anything through the rain, Dale.”
“Bullshit! Baxter is not a ghost.”
“No, he’s just good at that part.” Jimmy hesitated before adding, “You need to make a decision.”
“I know.” He checked his gun. “Do we go in and blow our cover, or do we wait and put Watters’ life at risk? Check your weapon. Baxter is not going to give himself up.”
Calvin could at least exhale when Rachel was driven away and her safety was confirmed. He hadn’t heard from Dayton, who was supposed to call when Baxter had been spotted. He’d seen no sign of the killer through his monitors until a motion sensor picked up movement.
He knew Baxter was coming.
He shut off the computer monitor in case the light gave him away. Then he slipped on night-vision goggles and positioned himself behind the computer room door. The door was slotted so he could shoot outward, but low enough to make an incoming shot difficult.
He heard the click of the side door and Baxter stepped through the doorway, equipped with a Beretta 92FS Compact M and night goggles.
Calvin waited as Baxter neared, not risking a shot. He only wanted to disable with a shot to the leg.
When Baxter was within range, Calvin clicked back and aimed low. As he went to pull the trigger, his two-way radio said, “Baxter is in the house!”
Calvin looked down for half a second and consecutive, multiple shots ricocheted off the front of the door, one through the narrow metal slot. One inch to the left and Calvin’s head would have exploded.
When he peeked back through the slot, Baxter was gone.
This killer was good and Calvin only had a few minutes before the cops rushed the house.
Now Baxter knew this was a trap. He’d be waiting to pick off cops and escape. It would be a firing zone.
Calvin had to get Baxter first and his odds were low. He grabbed his .45 and checked the single action to make sure he had all eight rounds. Easing open the door, he poked his gun and head through the doorway, slipped in and sidestepped his way through the front room. He heard footsteps upstairs.
He took the steps one at a time, thankful the old, worn-down floorboards didn’t creak. When he reached the top and stuck his head up over the last step, two bullets flew past and smashed the wall.
He couldn’t risk a wild, blind shot that might kill Baxter. Calvin had to evade him until that one perfect shot.
With a deep breath, he launched himself off the top step and into the next room. Three more bullets hit the wall beside him as he dove head first, arms extended to break his fall.
Calvin had counted eight shots fired by Baxter. Chances were he had to reload his Beretta or at least pull a second weapon. That meant seconds to reach him.
Calvin stayed along the floor, crawling the hallway. When he reached the end, he rose and leaned against the wall outside the room where the bullets had come from. He couldn’t hear anything, only his own heavy breathing.
He pivoted and extended his arm into the room. As he inched inside, he was too late to spot Baxter, who kicked Calvin’s arm and jolted his weapon to the floor.