Ironically, reprogramming the car's computer was a breeze, made easier due to the industry's standardized format. First the locks would seal the car, and then a short circuit would start the car on fire. Getting a car to do this wasn't easy, but his talent hadn't come cheap. Making sure he had the right target would be verified by the personalized key fob that the target used. If someone else got into the car, it would revert to its original programming and he'd have to do this all again. Yes, it was risky, but for the extra money due to be wired into his account when this was all over, it was worth it.
He verified the program had been installed correctly and removed the connector. Putting the cover back on the connector, he carefully closed the car door. His flesh colored latex gloves precluded leaving any fingerprints, but he still made sure that no trace of his presence would be found.
There was a small smear on the chrome trim. He wiped it away with a cloth he'd brought for that purpose. Yes, it was a hot looking car. If everything worked the way he had planned, it would be even hotter.
Leo had fired thirty-seven rounds. His shoulder was sore from the recoil and his vision was starting to fade in the late afternoon sun. While his rifle and load weren't perfect, he would have to settle for the sub-three-inch groups that he had been able to shoot at a thousand yards. He could have pared that down a bit, but didn't want to waste his CNC manufactured bullets — once they were gone, he had no easy way to replace them. He had twenty-six rounds of premium loaded ammunition, better than match quality that was ready to shoot. He still had some extra bullets and brass and enough powder left to load them in case something changed and he needed to come up with another load.
He pulled the bolt out of the rifle and slid it into his pocket. Walking back to where he had set up his cleaning supplies, he started cleaning the barrel, comforted by the long familiar smell of Shooter's Choice bore cleaner. When the patches started coming out clean, he ran one more patch down the barrel and then followed it up with a patch soaked in Kroil oil.
All that was left was a fouling shot. The rifle would shoot clean and to the point of aim, but would shoot better when slightly dirty. It almost hurt, leaving a rifle dirty, but Leo knew it was the best way to get the most accurate first shot out of his rifle.
Sighing, he dug a loaded round out of his case, and stepped up to the firing line. One more shot and then he could take a break. Even when shooting a match, it had been a while since he'd shot for this length of time. Usually at a match, he'd fire five or six rounds at a target, then step back to let the next set of shooters onto the line. There was a lot more standing around talking rifles, loads and shooting, than actual time behind the rifle.
Another difference between matches and now was that he hadn't put out wind flags. Today, he'd done it the old fashioned way, judging by the way the grass moved and the mirage in the scope. The old skill of doping the wind without flags had come back and he felt a small sense of pride in it.
Sliding the bolt into the rifle, he sat down at the bench, his head and face automatically coming into perfect alignment. The scope showed the target that, even at thirty-two power, appeared tiny, wavering in the wind and humidity generated mirage.
He slipped the loaded round into the steel embrace of the chamber, slowly sliding the bolt closed. A mere six ounces of trigger pressure would send his custom designed, Very Low Drag bullet at three thousand feet per second down range slamming into the target a second later.
Taking a deep breath, he settled the scope onto the target. It was rock steady. He let out half a breath and gently started squeezing the trigger. The rifle smashed into his shoulder, the recoil and noise surprising him. It had been a perfect shot. Leaning over, he checked his shot in the spotting scope — it had pierced the X-ring.
Looking up, he noticed Jackie standing next to him. He hadn't noticed her approach — not something that he should make a habit of if he wanted to survive for very long.
“Are you about done?”
He pulled the bolt open to let the rifle cool. Taking off his muffs and ear plugs, he hoped that she wasn't planning on pointing a gun at him again. He wondered where she had got it and why she was carrying it. He didn't have much use for pistols — not that he couldn't use them, but why have to be within ten yards when you can be a thousand yards away and accomplish the same thing?
“Yes, about done. Why?”
“I found something that might help me figure out who is trying to kill me.”
While she had been waiting for Leo to get done puttering around with his rifle, she had tried to call Patrick to find out the complete details on what he had found out. But, for some reason, he didn't answer and his voicemail box was full. Damn Luddites she thought — he had probably forgotten his cell phone at the office again. There was no reason not to be constantly connected to the rest of the world. Patrick was of the old school of accounting and running a business, still using green accounting paper to help run the business. While computers did occasionally fail, with a good back up, you wouldn't lose any work.
So she was going to have to physically access the data rather than remotely. She wondered how this was going to fit into the grand scheme of things.
Her allergies were starting to kick in with all the grass and trees around here and she could feel the pangs of hunger starting to gnaw at her stomach.
Maybe Leo was almost done.
She watched him fire again, the rifle slamming into his shoulder. That had to hurt. He was a spooky character and she wondered why the heck he was helping her, if that's what he was doing.
When he looked up at her, she felt his sky-blue eyes pierce right into her soul, taking her measure — for what, she wasn't sure, but it still was unsettling.
With her rather inexpert help, she helped Leo repack and load all of his equipment back into the truck. Everything had a specific place it needed to be put in and in a certain order. She figured that she was slowing Leo down more than she was helping.
When the loading was almost done, he asked, “Can I see your pistol?”
Wondering what he was doing, she retrieved it from her case. Carefully pointing it away from her, he dropped the metal thing out that held the bullets and pulled back the slide, kicking out a bullet. Using his thumb, he flipped the other bullets out of the clip and put them into a plastic bag. Then he put the pistol in a case.
“I'm going to teach you how to shoot. We need to get some more ammunition first. I think there is an indoor range in Denver we can go to for you to learn.”
“Why? I hate guns.”
“That may be the case, but I can't do this alone. And you need to be able to defend yourself.”
“What about you and your rifle?”
“That won't do us much good as it's a single shot target rifle. It's very specialized, heavy and difficult to conceal. Besides, point blank range on it is like three hundred yards — any closer and I won't be able to use the scope as the magnification is too great.”
“I'm hungry.” It came out like she was a pouting school girl, but it was true.
Leo nodded.
“Okay. But on the way back into town, you need to tell me what you found out about who is trying to kill you and why.”
Brian Case walked to out to his pride and joy, a 2004 Cadillac CTS-V. It's highly polished sheen reflected not only the vehicle, but the owner. In a complex world, all things can be simplified. This was also reflected in Case's job, a building inspector for the City of Denver. Despite the morass of rules and regulations, it was the gray areas that he did his best work in; the opaque, tangled and confusing building regulations and rules. Brian brought order to those rules, and he knew that his reputation was one of being a hard-ass. He didn't care. The citizens of Denver were much safer due to his efforts. He was senior enough in the Inspection's Division that he was untouchable. He felt it no matter the heartache he brought to his bosses and co-workers, including threats and lawsuits.