Sniper Elite by Scott McEwen Page A

the Brit until his suspicions were finally confirmed by a simple tell: a knee that began to jig up and down. Gil then realized he’d been selected for a mission that had nothing at all to do with Sandra, and this briefer—now very obviously an agent with MI6—was anxious as hell about it.
    The door opened and three CIA men filed briskly into the room looking very official in their well-tailored suits and subdued neckties. Gil recognized the lead man immediately, an agent named Lerher whom he had worked with once before in Indonesia.
    Lerher was an agent attached to JSOC, Joint Special Operations Command, and he was an ice-cold professional, long desensitized to the fact that he was moving live human beings around on the game board.
    Gil stood up as Lerher crossed the room to offer his hand.
    â€œGil,” Lerher said, his demeanor crisp and impersonal as always. “Good to see you again.” He placed his briefcase on the table and watched in silence as the other two agents set up a digital photo projector on a desk at the back of the room.
    Gil retook his chair to wait, pushing Sandra from his consciousthoughts. There would be no more room for her until mission complete.
    â€œLights,” Lerher said.
    The lights dimmed and the photo of a thirty-five-year-old Middle Eastern male appeared on the wall. He had a neatly trimmed beard and chiseled features. A white kufi covered his closely cropped black hair, and a battered 5.56 mm AK-74 with a folding stock hung from his shoulder.
    â€œOkay,” Lerher began, resting against the edge of the table. “This mission has been designated Operation Tiger Claw. The man you see before you is Yusef Aswad Al-Nazari—your primary target. He’s a Saudi national, age thirty-five with no known relatives. He is also a Sunni. He studied physics at the University of Stuttgart, and he has managed to fly completely under our radar until last month when Mossad brought it to our attention that he is personally responsible for three different bombings in Tel Aviv and at least half a dozen here in Afghanistan over the past two years . . . killing at least one hundred twenty people.”
    During an intentional pause, Gil glanced at the Brit, now realizing he wasn’t British at all, but an Israeli Mossad agent, very probably educated in London. His arrival in the British helo must have been a precaution against anyone knowing there was an Israeli operative roaming the base, a risky prospect in a Muslim country.
    Lerher continued. “Recent electronic surveillance has revealed that Mr. Al-Nazari is presently working to construct a radiological weapon, strength unknown, for use against Israel. Next photo.”
    The photo of a woman with long black hair appeared on the wall.
    â€œThis is your secondary target. Her name is Noushin Sherkat. She’s a native Iranian. Next—”
    â€œHold there a second.” Gil sat forward on the chair, studyingher face. She had fierce dark eyes and was no more than thirty years old. He had never been ordered to hit a woman before. “What’s her story?”
    Lerher’s reply was noncommittal. “Her story is that she will soon be joining Mr. Al-Nazari in the afterlife.”
    Gil caught Lerher exchange a furtive glance with the Mossad agent before saying, “Next photo.” There was a tentativeness about the JSOC man that hadn’t been there the first time Gil had worked with him, and this told Gil the other shoe was yet to drop.
    A satellite photograph appeared with a map overlay. Lerher took a laser pointer from his breast pocket. “You will make the hit here approximately ten miles southwest of the city of Zabol in the northern reaches of Sistan-Baluchistan Province.”
    Seeing the map, Gil felt a sudden surge of adrenaline.
    He leaned forward, studying the overlay. The selected target area was twenty-five miles over the Afghan border into Iran, not much more than a couple