weight burning into his arm and shoulder now that the hour was getting late, and glanced up at the rolling clouds obscured by the driving rain.
‘Fucking weather,’ he muttered. ‘Sent to torture a man!’
He sighted down the Ruger M77 MkII VLE’s scope, and swept the grounds in front of him, rotating the rifle on the smooth-action Harris bipod. He could see nothing through the rain, even on IR and UIR. Friedrich rolled back his shoulders and craved a cigarette and a cup of hot coffee. With five sugars. Yes, he could almost taste the steaming brew...
His mouth watering, something made Friedrich glance behind him. Despite knowing that other agents were posted at the rear, protecting his back from infiltration, Friedrich nevertheless felt something subtly out of place. He scratched at his rough-stubbled chin and frowned, eyes trying to pick out movement in the gloom. Then he brought round the Ruger and sighted down the scope on IR. There - he saw ... something ... A figure slipping behind a tree? Or the taunt of dancing branches fuelled by the desire for nicotine and caffeine?
He shifted the scope slightly, but could make out nothing more between the trees’ wide boles and tangled foliage. He shifted uncomfortably in the rain, feeling trickles run into places he had once thought secure.
‘Bitch.’
Friedrich lowered the rifle for an instant to wipe a trace of rain from his forehead - and heard the hiss an instant before the black bolt slammed through his hand and into his forehead and brain beyond, pinning his hand to his skull in a final salute to the Goddess of Death. Gore ran down either side of his nose and he slumped slowly backwards, his free arm falling limply to his side, speckles of blood tracing smears across the stock of the Ruger M77 rifle.
There was a pad of soft footsteps; three figures crouched by his corpse. They lifted the weapon from the ground and black-gloved fingers trailed water down the scope.
‘Leave it. We do not need it.’ The words were low, soft, gentle.
The weapon bounced on the soft forest floor and the figures disappeared into the night.
Two hours had passed. Carter could feel himself growing weary and, motioning to Maria, he followed her into the relative calm and cool of the hallway before the wide sweeping stairs. He took a small leather case from his pocket, opened it and removed a small phial. He stuck the needle into his thigh and replaced the empty phial in the case.
‘What was that?’ asked Maria.
‘A stimulant. Allows me to stay awake and alert. I’ll pay tomorrow.’
Maria smiled, and shivered. ‘It’s chilly.’
Carter looked at her, then turned, his gaze moving up the stairs. ‘You feel that draught?’
Maria nodded.
‘It wasn’t there before.’
‘Probably just an open window,’ said Maria, as Carter discreetly withdrew the bulky Browning and with his free hand waved Maria behind him. He pulled free his comm. ‘Jesmar?’
‘Yes?’
‘Can you come to the foot of the stairs? I think we have a situation.’
‘OK.’
Jesmar was there within fifteen seconds, a small black pistol in his hand. ‘Watch Maria for a few minutes,’ said Carter. ‘I have a bad feeling about this...’
‘Wait, I’ll send some men with you.’
‘No time.’
Carter followed the draught, his boots silent on the carpet. He felt adrenalin and the recently injected drugs kick his system and with his spinal column wrapped in the stimulant’s fist he climbed to the top of the first flight of stairs. The music drifted into the distance, a ghostly ambience. He checked the squad monitor - five minutes since all members had signed in. Carter tutted to himself. A lot could happen in five minutes.
He moved to a nearby window at the top of the staircase and, crouching low, peered into the darkness. He couldn’t see any of the positioned snipers - but that did not mean they weren’t there.
He moved across the wide landing, listening, outstretched hand following the gentle
‘Fucking weather,’ he muttered. ‘Sent to torture a man!’
He sighted down the Ruger M77 MkII VLE’s scope, and swept the grounds in front of him, rotating the rifle on the smooth-action Harris bipod. He could see nothing through the rain, even on IR and UIR. Friedrich rolled back his shoulders and craved a cigarette and a cup of hot coffee. With five sugars. Yes, he could almost taste the steaming brew...
His mouth watering, something made Friedrich glance behind him. Despite knowing that other agents were posted at the rear, protecting his back from infiltration, Friedrich nevertheless felt something subtly out of place. He scratched at his rough-stubbled chin and frowned, eyes trying to pick out movement in the gloom. Then he brought round the Ruger and sighted down the scope on IR. There - he saw ... something ... A figure slipping behind a tree? Or the taunt of dancing branches fuelled by the desire for nicotine and caffeine?
He shifted the scope slightly, but could make out nothing more between the trees’ wide boles and tangled foliage. He shifted uncomfortably in the rain, feeling trickles run into places he had once thought secure.
‘Bitch.’
Friedrich lowered the rifle for an instant to wipe a trace of rain from his forehead - and heard the hiss an instant before the black bolt slammed through his hand and into his forehead and brain beyond, pinning his hand to his skull in a final salute to the Goddess of Death. Gore ran down either side of his nose and he slumped slowly backwards, his free arm falling limply to his side, speckles of blood tracing smears across the stock of the Ruger M77 rifle.
There was a pad of soft footsteps; three figures crouched by his corpse. They lifted the weapon from the ground and black-gloved fingers trailed water down the scope.
‘Leave it. We do not need it.’ The words were low, soft, gentle.
The weapon bounced on the soft forest floor and the figures disappeared into the night.
Two hours had passed. Carter could feel himself growing weary and, motioning to Maria, he followed her into the relative calm and cool of the hallway before the wide sweeping stairs. He took a small leather case from his pocket, opened it and removed a small phial. He stuck the needle into his thigh and replaced the empty phial in the case.
‘What was that?’ asked Maria.
‘A stimulant. Allows me to stay awake and alert. I’ll pay tomorrow.’
Maria smiled, and shivered. ‘It’s chilly.’
Carter looked at her, then turned, his gaze moving up the stairs. ‘You feel that draught?’
Maria nodded.
‘It wasn’t there before.’
‘Probably just an open window,’ said Maria, as Carter discreetly withdrew the bulky Browning and with his free hand waved Maria behind him. He pulled free his comm. ‘Jesmar?’
‘Yes?’
‘Can you come to the foot of the stairs? I think we have a situation.’
‘OK.’
Jesmar was there within fifteen seconds, a small black pistol in his hand. ‘Watch Maria for a few minutes,’ said Carter. ‘I have a bad feeling about this...’
‘Wait, I’ll send some men with you.’
‘No time.’
Carter followed the draught, his boots silent on the carpet. He felt adrenalin and the recently injected drugs kick his system and with his spinal column wrapped in the stimulant’s fist he climbed to the top of the first flight of stairs. The music drifted into the distance, a ghostly ambience. He checked the squad monitor - five minutes since all members had signed in. Carter tutted to himself. A lot could happen in five minutes.
He moved to a nearby window at the top of the staircase and, crouching low, peered into the darkness. He couldn’t see any of the positioned snipers - but that did not mean they weren’t there.
He moved across the wide landing, listening, outstretched hand following the gentle
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