Chapter Nine
REX
It was hot and I was aching from lying on the hard ground.
Mars had set up twenty yards to my right, having found a good location to see the guard gate from a different angle.
He’d chosen it because it also had a line of sight between the tall Italian cypresses that had been planted along the high fence separating the multi-million-dollar private estates from Roscomare Road.
Personally, I couldn’t understand people who liked to live in a bubble like this community.
It’s why I’d spent all my savings and borrowed from my military pension to buy my own house.
I liked the feeling of freedom that apartment or condo living lacked.
Then there was Lola. That girl needed her own yard and that’s all there was to it.
In my opinion all this excessive and exclusive security was a bit over the top.
Maybe these homeowners were worried that Spiderman would somehow want to scale the walls to get into the neighborhood of wealthy homes, maybe to take a dip in their pools or something.
By the time we’d parked and hiked back to the spot I’d chosen, the truck and the movers who’d been setting up the valet stand were long gone.
The guard was still inside the security kiosk periodically popping his head out to speak to anyone driving up to be let in through the gate.
Only my team knew that both the gate guard and the man running the valet stand were undercover FBI agents.
They’d been put in place not only for their added guns, but to identify each car’s passengers as they drove up.
Agents Wallace and Steele were both well-trained undercovers who were fully briefed on how to handle the party guests and exactly what to do when they identified themselves.
We weren’t taking any chances of losing Castillion.
I’d been lying on sticks and stones, feeling them poke me through my clothes and the heavy horse blanket I’d been stretched out on for the last two hours.
I’d seen delivery men, several utility vehicles, and a few residents enter through the gate after speaking to the guard.
He never let them go inside until he’d spoken to them then ducked inside the kiosk, presumably to call a homeowner to get permission.
All in all, I was extremely anxious to get the show on the road.
It’d been years since I’d had to take up sniper position on the dirt.
In a past life, I’d spent days lying on sand, but these days, I wasn’t used to the ants and other insects who seemed to enjoy my horse blanket a hell of a lot more than I did.
I’d almost forgotten the art of watching and waiting for someone to pop their head out of wherever they’d decided to hide.
I had to remain still because even wearing the ghillie suit, movement could be detected.
Not that anyone would be checking out the hilltop across from the exclusive community.
“Monroe, Clifford, check in,” Candy said in the coms we wore.
“Monroe here.”
“Clifford ‘ere, sir,” Mars said.
“Good. Give us a heads up if you see a possible party-goer vehicle,” Candy said. “It’s four o’clock and Castillion will be arriving anytime now.”
“Yessir,” I replied.
“Will do, sir,” Mars echoed.
As Candy clicked off, I looked through the scope, counting our guys one by one.
Candy had joined them along with two of Lincoln’s guys, former Recon Marine, Max Prince, and Mac McCallahan, the huge ginger-haired Green Beret.
That meant we had eight guys down there plus the two undercovers.
Since most of the cartel crowd carried heavy firepower no matter where they went, we wanted as many guys as we could have on the scene, provided we found the guy we were searching for when it came to making an arrest.
Since we knew that most of the quinceaneras’s attendees would be teenagers and their parents, the plan was to have Agent Wallace let them all through the gate after checking their IDs and only arrest Castillion at the gate.
If someone had a warrant, we’d already decided to let them go.
They weren’t our target. All I could do was pray that we’d be able to capture him without incident.
The last thing I wanted to do was to look through the window of a car and see a teenaged girl screaming at the top of her lungs because she just watched her father get his head blown off.
I scanned one side of the street as I looked through the scope, feeling sweat trickle down my sides to pool at my belly where I was hot under the ghillie suit.
The camo fishing net with twigs and leaves on it had been draped over my body, and the added extra weight didn’t help.
I also wore my tac pants and a long-sleeved shirt to keep from being eaten by insects, and until the sun went down instead of blazing overhead, I knew I was gonna be hot.
There were no two ways about it. I swept the gun past the gate, noting how there were several valets standing around waiting for the first cars from the Hernandez quinceanera to arrive.
I counted eight valets as well as Agent Steele, who stood at the valet stand looking through what appeared to be a pad of claim tickets which I could only assume he planned on giving to guests as they arrived.
He wore an earwig as well and planned on announcing names as he handed out tickets.
If the driver didn’t name the passengers in the car, then Agent Wallace at the security kiosk would demand IDs.
It was so strange—how normal it all was—as if notorious drug traffickers moving next door to Bel Air residents was something that happened every day.
Hadn’t any of them ever watched Scarface?
When we finally tried to arrest these guys would Hernandez or Castillion run out and scream, “You wanna play rough? Okay. Say hello to my little friend!” I closed my eyes for a second, snorting softly.
“What is it?”
I lifted the edge of the ghillie suit and glanced over at Mars who quirked an eyebrow at me.
He must have heard me laugh in the earwig since we were too far away from each other to converse.
I grinned and shook my head, turning back to my rifle and dropping the edge of the drape.
I glanced north, sweeping the street, seeing no cars coming from that direction so I slowly panned to the south.
A line of three darkly colored sedans was slowly coming down the street several blocks away.
“Captain, we have three black sedans coming down the street from the south,” I said, knowing everyone on coms would pick up my voice. “They’re three blocks away, moving about forty miles an hour, sir.”
“Are they together, Monroe?”
“Not sure, sir, but if I were a bettin’ man, I’d say yes…ah…two more have joined the party, a block behind the first group.”
“Roger, Monroe. Keep an eye on them. Clifford keep watch for anyone approaching from the north.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“On your toes, guys,” Candy said. I watched guys jump into the other linesman truck and slowly drive up toward the guard gate.
One of the techs who got out near the gate was huge, even taller than Candy, which meant it had to be Mac McCallahan.
He was the only person I knew taller than me.
Through the scope, I confirmed my suspicion as the big Green Beret walked nonchalantly over to one of the other linemen’s trucks.
I didn’t see what he did after that since I turned my attention back to the line of vehicles.
I noticed they were still a block away. Through the scope, I could see into the front seat of the lead vehicle.
“One block away, Captain. Two Hispanic men in the front seat…okay…he just moved into the left turn lane. Get ready.”
“Roger.” As several people echoed replies, the first sedan turned and drove up to the valet stand. Agent Steele walked right over and bent to speak to the driver. His voice came through the earwigs clear as day. “Name, please?” I watched him standing there with pen and ticket pad in hand.
“Mr. and Mrs. Rabadan for the Hernandez party,” the driver said in heavily accented English while the man beside him kept silent.
Agent Steele wrote something on the ticket and through the scope, I watched him duck his head to look into the backseat of the car before handing the driver the ticket.
“You’ll need to get out and show your ID at the guard kiosk, sir.
” He turned and pointed to the row of golf carts. “You know how to drive one of those?”
The driver glanced over and then back at Steele. “Si. I can drive.”
Steele nodded. “Okay then. I’ll wait here until you’ve checked in.”
The driver got out and headed to the guard kiosk while our agent glanced at the passengers in the back seat and smiled.
“These golf carts are for your use, Mr. and Mrs. Rabadan.” He opened the door for an elderly man and woman who stepped out.
She wore a sparkly, full-length gown which glittered in the afternoon light.
I watched Steele turn to the group of valets who waited to be called over.
He gestured to one of them who jogged up.
As soon as the valet jumped into the car, the passengers started toward the row of golf carts.
“Checking our list of scumbags now, sir,” someone said in the coms. I recognized the female voice as our IT genius, Judy Mendez, who had a list of cartel goons back in the office.
“Aaand…yeah, there’s a Hugo Rabadan on the list. His wife is Claudia Rabadan.
They’re Mexican nationals. He’s got one outstanding warrant here in the States—” She suddenly chuckled.
“For several unpaid parking tickets dating back ten years.”
“Thanks, Judy,” Candy replied. “Let them through the gate, Agent Wallace.”
“Roger, Captain,” Wallace replied.