Reaper: Ghost Target by Nicholas Irving & A. J. Tata

Author:Nicholas Irving & A. J. Tata [Irving, Nicholas & Tata, A. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781250127341
Google: vOAsswEACAAJ
Amazon: 1250127343
Barnesnoble: 1250127343
Goodreads: 36413227
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2018-05-08T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

Ramsey Xanadu never subscribed to the notion that it was better to be lucky than good, but he had to admit that it was his good fortune to intercept a police-band radio call of the Reaper getting into a late-model dark blue Ford Mustang with an accomplice.

Someone had snapped a picture of Vick Harwood placing a heavy kit bag into the trunk of the car. The picture had made its way to the Macon police, who immediately shared it with the FBI, which meant Xanadu had immediate access, also.

Markham’s main concern was to kill Harwood before the Reaper remembered what had happened in Kandahar and Helmand Provinces.

“We will have a bead on this car in a few minutes,” the pilot, Chief Warrant Officer Stu Benton, told Xanadu.

“In a few minutes he can kill a few more politicians,” Xanadu said.

“Fine by me. I’ll slow-roll the info to you then,” Benton said, chuckling through the microphone.

“Don’t be a smartass, Benton.”

They hovered slowly above the park, watching the mayhem, looking for clues that possibly Vick Harwood had escaped and evaded detection even after the camera had snapped a picture of him.

“Bingo,” Benton said.

“What you got?”

“My intel inside the FBI room tells me that it’s a 2016 Ford Mustang and they’re working a warrant for tracking its GPS. Address associated with the car is about twenty miles from here in the country. Some cabin on a farm. I’ve got the address. That’s all they’ll give us.”

“Perfect place to hole up,” Xanadu said.

“FBI is going to beat us there. I say we wait until we’ve got a lock on the car and then we just nuke it,” Benton said.

“Not a bad idea, but if they’re at the cabin and the FBI gets to him first, that’s not good for us. So let’s hit the cabin. FBI’s still in Savannah. They’re just now spinning rotors so let’s go,” Xanadu said.

“Roger that,” Benton replied.

The experimental helicopter pivoted midair and raced to the programmed grid coordinate that led them to the cabin in less than ten minutes.

“No car,” Benton said.

“There’s a garage. Probably parked in there,” Xanadu said.

Xanadu was back in the monkey harness leaning out of the helicopter with his rifle at the ready. Looking through his thermal scope, he saw through the window the heat signatures of two human outlines seated at the table.

Put a cap in their ass. Never know what hit them, Xanadu thought.

“Going to hit the two dudes at the table,” Xanadu said.

“Don’t have confirmed ID and the car is not confirmed in the garage,” Benton warned.

“Best case, it’s Harwood. Worst case, well, it’s collateral damage,” Xanadu said.

“Can you tell if it’s a white guy, black guy, anything?”

“Thermal just gives me body heat,” Xanadu said. “They’re both glowing in my scope. Just sitting there. How far out are we?”

“Quarter mile,” Benton said.

“Okay, here we go,” Xanadu replied. He adjusted his scope, and put the crosshairs on the smaller of the two men, because he didn’t think Harwood had put on fifty pounds since getting out of Walter Reed.

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