28. Luka
28
LUKA
3 HOURS LATER…
I stare at the balcony of the house through binoculars pressing rings against my sockets, my elbow dug into soft, moist earth despite the scorching temperature. A golf tee is yards away from Vitaly’s and my spot in the tree line, elevated just enough that we can see them, but they’d have a hard time seeing us.
“Look at that,” Vitaly says, his eye to the scope on his sniper rifle. “On the grass, to the right of the property, near the pool.”
I aim my binoculars where he’s talking about and land on a couple of guys conversing, their guns slung over their shoulders.
“Even the cartel has slackers,” Vitaly comments, his finger poised on the trigger. His statement is obviously directed at me, but I say nothing in response. I just watch the two men and wait for one of them to drop.
The gun has a silencer attached, but it’s powerful enough that the kickback alone makes me tense when Vitaly pulls the trigger. When the two men continue with their conversation, a ball of lead lodges in my throat.
I pull the binoculars down and look at Vitaly. He doesn’t seem bothered.
“You missed.”
His eye never leaving the scope, he pulls the trigger again, popping the butt of the gun into his shoulder.
“Rookie mistake of war, Luka…” He pulls the trigger again, then reloads. “It does no good to chop off your enemy’s wounded arm.”
I put the binoculars to my eyes when he pulls the trigger yet again.
“You take out the strong…” Another fire. “And let the weak flee.”
I squint as the slackers come into focus, now fully aware of their colleagues dropping around them. Their guns are raised, but Vitaly is right. They’re cowards, already retreating, shrinking their bodies to avoid fire. They’re a waste of bullets.
“I should get in there before back-up arrives,” I say, setting the binoculars down as adrenaline surges.
Vitaly grabs my arm before I can rise. “Not yet.”
“Lucia is in there,” I snap, an urgency in my voice that shows my panic.
“Shh.” Vitaly waits, the only indicator of his nerves the sweat pebbling on his forehead. Then again, that could be from the heat.
When his finger squeezes the trigger, I pick the binoculars back up and watch the house. I feel less than useless, but he refused to give me a rifle. One missed shot could give away our location, he insisted. We needed perfect accuracy, perfect stealth, perfect effort. Somehow, he’s convinced himself this isn’t suicide, and Mila as well.
She’s waiting for us back at the plane, fuming I imagine. One of the lieutenants held her back at Vitaly’s command. He refused to let anyone but the two of us on this mission, to prevent Bratva casualties I imagine. And then he informed me I’d be going in alone, which I’m perfectly content with.
But still, with all his precautions, he even has me believing Lucia stands a chance. If anything, we can buy her some time until her father arrives.
A group of five come out, four carrying rifles, one carrying a grenade launcher. They look directly toward us as they fire their guns.
“ Shit .” I look at Vitaly, thinking we’ll have to make a run for it and circle back, but he doesn’t move.
“ Patience ,” he tells me.
I look back through the binoculars at the bullets spraying our way and the grenade launcher being loaded. When it aims at us, I hold my breath.
The sound of the explosion booms, rattling the leaves of the trees above us even two hundred yards away from the house. I close my eyes against the red flames, then open them to see four guards dead, and one flailing while on fire.
“God damn.” I shake my head.
“They’re going to assume we’re the cartel, and that there are an army of us,” Vitaly says as he reloads. “That means they’ll send most of their men out, which should only be a few more tops, then keep the rest with the boss. If Lucia’s alive, he’ll keep her close as collateral… They’ll try to escape. I’ll be here to make sure they can’t.”
The gun fires, ending Vitaly’s sentence so eloquently he might have planned it.
I face forward and close my eyes while I breathe even, deep breaths. I’m not afraid of dying. Not even close.
But I am afraid of failing. Of being unprepared.
If Vitaly wasn’t here, I’d already be dead. That bothers me. That eats at me.
What if I’m not enough for her?
What if I’m not a sniper? Or even a good fucking soldier?
What if she dies because I can’t save her?
“It’s time,” Vitaly says. “Run quickly. I’ll cover you.”
With one last deep breath, I go to get up, but hesitate and turn to him. He must sense me because finally, he looks away from the scope to meet my eyes.
“I was wrong about you,” I say, feeling every protective piece of my mask slip from my skin to leave me naked. It’s almost unbearable. But it’s necessary.
He just nods.
“Tell Mila I’m sorry, all right? And that I love her.”
“Tell her yourself.” He raises his chin toward the house. “If you hurry, you can make it back while she’s still worried about you. Sympathy points never hurt chances for forgiveness.”
I nod, several times too many while fear begins to claw. If I hurry .
What if Lucia is dead?
What if I don’t find her with Mendoza? What if I find her corpse ?
“Go, Luka,” Vitaly commands.
Swallowing my fear, I pull my gun from my waistband, stand, and, for once, do exactly as Vitaly says. I go. I run. Faster than I ever have, my thoughts of Lucia’s corpse fading.
Because she’s alive. Somehow, I know it.
And if I can’t save her…
At least somebody fucking will.