Page 31 of Black and Brown

“You’re lucky you’re inside, Grace. This goddamn primate’s been eyeing me the entire time. I think I’m starting to look like a worthy challenge.”

With his cheek pressed to the cool metal, the scent of animal musk and swamp water made him long for this mission to be over.

The three hundred and sixty minutes he’d been separated from Grace was beyond excruciating.

It wasn’t the first time they’d had to deviate from their back-to-chest battle position, but when they did, it hurt badly.

It’d taken their intel department four months of recon to discover the leader of the Crimson Crime Syndicate’s secluded safe house. And just as long for their shadow division to devise a covert plan to take out the SOB.

A long-range shooter and close-contact attack would be the best option to make this mission successful.

The leader of this ruthless rebel force was known only as Afonso. His organization was violent in the ways they instilled fear in the inhabitants of the poverty-stricken Chilean commune in Arauco.

The Browns had been called in after multiple aid imports to the surrounding countries were hijacked.

There was but one way to take down a small-scale but no less powerful influence of criminals. And that was to cut off the head of the snake. The body of a reptile could continue to jerk, the head still capable of releasing a venomous bite.

Grace and Mirage were ordered to eliminate the leader, his followers, friends of the followers, and even the fucking pets of the followers.

Mirage pulled the rifle closer as several armed men began to exit the run-down pickup trucks.

The guards took a moment to scan the proximity, but they were untrained in the true game of warfare. The men were inefficient and had grown comfortable with the lack of resistance from the locals.

“Confirmation on the target,” Mirage whispered, regardless that no one could hear him from this distance.

“We got bogies,” Spectre responded. “Afonso is flanked by five guards and thirteen around the perimeter.”

“Heard.” Grace’s tone was deep with raw ruggedness. “On your mark.”

Mirage bit his bottom lip. Even after all these years, Grace’s voice still moved him. Through the comms, it sounded like an out-of-tune slow-bow violin.

“Ready in one.” Mirage notified his partner of their attack time.

His scope had thermal vision, but the dumbass guards hadn’t blacked out the windows in the one-story rickety structure, and the lack of electricity made Mirage’s job that much easier.

He narrowed his gaze on each target with a level heart rate.

His countdown was short and quick like Grace preferred.

“Two, one.”

Mirage pulled the trigger.

The shot of the .338 caliber bullet firing through the chamber would’ve sounded like cannon fire, but the attached silencer still made the sharp pop make love to his soul.

Nearby birds and wildlife scattered, and so did the baboon.

The freight train force of the bullet into his target sent him slamming into the wood structure.

The spray of crimson and human tissue on the wall was as beautiful as a Picasso abstract.

Mirage’s second shot followed so quickly that the guards had yet to shake off their shock before the guard closest to Afonso took a direct hit to the center of his chest.

And only because Mirage felt like showing off, his third round was instant and catastrophic. The guard’s head snapped back, the bullet entering his right eye, exiting the back of his skull, and going into the man’s forehead behind him.

Blood and brain matter sprayed the room, and if Mirage could feel revulsion, the sight might have upset his stomach.

“Tragedy,” he tsked before he eliminated the last two.