There was a flash on the monitor, something like the optical data stream had been interrupted. With a roll of the screen, it settled back down again. All of the figures from the rifle and sensor pack seemed to be within normal parameters. He moved the joystick and the rifle seemed to track back and forth like it should have.
It was the first time that something like this had ever happened and he wondered what caused it. He opened up another screen and checked another set of sensors — this one on the rifle itself. There it was, one of the video controller boards was running hotter than it should have. Prelude to failure? It also seemed to be drawing more power than it should have. He wondered how long it would be before it failed. Somewhere in the van was another board, but he would have to power down the entire system, replace the board, do a quick calibration, and then restart all aspects of the system. If everything worked well, it would take at least two hours for the system to be back on line. Damn it all.
He could see that there was starting to be degradation in the video signal. How long would it last before it failed completely?
Then there was a movement on the monitor. The rifle started tracking it, numbers coming up on the screen with range, ambient air temperature, humidity, wind speed and projected readings of these values at the target. The computer made adjustments to the cross hairs based on the data the sensors had come up with.
Using the joystick, he zoomed in and then compared the person on the monitor to the head and face shot of Jackie Winn that he had taped above the monitor. It included height and weight statistics. From all that he could see, it was Jackie, the right hair cut, facial shape, build and height.
Flicking off the safety switch, he centered the cross hairs on her chest. He felt that he could do a head shot at this range, but with the equipment starting to crap out, it would be best to take the sure shot rather than anything fancy.
She paused, seeming to stare right at him.
He flipped a switch to fire the rifle. The sonic crack of the 180 grain boat tailed hollow point blasting past his van at 2,900 feet per second was comforting.
The rifle settled down from its recoil and he looked at the front door where Jackie had stood. The window was punctured, but there didn't appear to be any blood — that round should have blown her chest out through her back dumping close to three thousand foot pounds behind the bullet. Had he missed?
A gunshot slammed through the parking lot, rocking the van where he was sitting. What the fuck?The camera system on the rifle was now twisted, like it had been knocked off its base. There was another gunshot — the monitor went black, tracking data fading from screen last. Was someone was shooting at his rifle system? And had they killed it?
He turned off the monitor and then back on again. Same black screen. Someone, a damn good someone, had counter-sniped his rifle system. He stuck a key into a lock, turned it and pressed a button activating a self destruct mechanism — ten minutes from now, anyone close would be in a world of hurt. Now, it was time to get out of Dodge.
Crawling up to the front of the van, he put it in gear, retracted the vehicle lock down system and pulled out into traffic. He hadn't fulfilled the hit, and wondered who had shot his robot rifle system. Whoever it was, there was going to be hell to pay.
Leo figured he had killed the sniper — two shots right into the window where the bullet aimed at the front door of Jackie's business. The clue had been that there was a window open, the only one in that particular business, and he had seen the curtains move as the shot came out. There wasn't a gunshot, just the sonic crack from the bullet breaking the sound barrier. The space he had shot into was big enough that he felt like he should put another round into the same space to make sure of the kill.
The next task at hand was to assess the area and confirm his kill. While there was no blood splatter after the rifle came down from recoil like he was used to, the shots had felt right on. If someone had been in that room shooting at Jackie, they were dead.
He slid his rifle into a soft guitar case, tossed the rest of his gear into a duffel bag and quickly screwed on a couple of the screws of the industrial air conditioner. Someone would replace them later, and besides, it was a major pain in the ass dealing with the little screws while wearing gloves. It would have to do for now.
He looked over the edge of the building leaning on his hidden ladder. No one. Good.
Slipping the ladder over the side, he climbed down it, still feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins. It had been years since he had shot at something with two legs and he almost missed the feeling.
Collapsing the ladder, he tossed it onto the roof of the truck and strapped it down. He had considered leaving it, maybe tossing it onto the roof, but the less evidence that was left behind the better. Besides, he might find another use for it.
He glanced down at his watch. From last shot until now, two minutes and twelve seconds. Way the hell too slow; he'd have to work on that. Figure eight minutes for the cops to show up, was what he read that bank robbers practiced to be in and out of a bank. He was going to have to work with the idea that he didn't have a back up team to sprint him away, getting themselves arrested if need be in order to slow up the authorities while he got the hell out of Dodge.
Keying his radio, he said, “Ready to go on this end. You clear?”
“Been that way for a bit. Pick me up.” Just for a moment, he wondered how she had gotten the sniper to take the shot. He hadn't seen her project herself in the window like they had practiced.
He drove the truck over to the pick-up point, about twenty yards from where she went in. Pulling up, he glanced around and saw that there was no one around. Tapping his horn lightly, he was surprised when she stepped out of the shadows.
“How'd it go?” he asked as she climbed into the cab.
“Great. How about you?”
“I got off two shots into where I figured the sniper was. How did you manage to get him to shoot at you?”
“For some reason, there was a huge wireless data stream, pictures, all sorts of other information. I hijacked it, inserted the pictures I wanted them to see and then there was the sound of glass breaking. Which makes me wonder about something.”
“Yes?”
“You wouldn't shoot at something based on what you saw on a computer monitor, would you?”
“No. I have to have eyes on the target.”
After a pause, she said, “Well, given the data along with the picture, and that I was able to intercept and hijack the data stream, I don't think that there was a human behind that rifle. Otherwise, why would they need to send so much data? I saw stuff like humidity, range and a bunch of other things that I didn't understand.”
Leo considered what she had said. It was logical, up to a certain point. There were stories about Unmanned Aerial Vehicles, UAVs, in the news all the time, taking out terrorists in Afghanistan with Hellfire missiles while the pilots sat in some bunker in Nevada. Why not have something similar rigged up controlling a rifle? A remote controlled sniper was the next logical step. Though there were some shots that were still more art than science — even a sophisticated computer didn't have the experience programmed in to take in the hundreds of variables that taking a long distance, very accurate shot takes. Of the millions of rifle shooters in the world, probably less than a hundred could do what he did on a consistent basis.