This job was most unusual, not to be placed to take out a more specific target, but that's what the targeting package had specified. He had modified his unusual device, spreading the propagation of the plasma jet at the sacrifice of a bit of the range, and hadn't had a chance to properly test it. Explosives can be finicky and when you are trying for a specific effect, testing was almost mandatory. He had worked with these devices enough to have a knowledge of them and their properties that bordered on pathological. The device would work as he designed it, but deep down there was an overwhelming desire to test and test again before using the device for real.
Too bad he couldn't stick around and watch to see how well his newest variation worked, but he had an appointment at the parking lot of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, also known as the ATF. This time, it was to wire up two cars. This one he would have done for free as he had no love of the ATF and their overzealous enforcement of a myriad of confusing and stupid laws. He had been able to stay out of their clutches since an unfortunate brush with them after getting out of Army, where he had excelled in Explosive Ordinance Disposal. Someone had made a crude pipe bomb to blow up a mail box and they had broke down his door thinking he was the bomber. He had laughed at the accusations. He had been trained on disarming devices ranging from pipe bombs all the way to nuclear bombs. Knowing how to disarm them meant that he knew how to build them. And, he had assured the bewildered ATF agents, if he had set out to blow up a mail box, it would have ended up in low orbit rather than not going off at all like the device they were accusing him of having made.
After fending off the ATF, and having lost his job at a demolition company due to having the ATF hanging around, questioning everyone in sight and crawling through the company records with a microscope, he got a call from someone who needed his unique talents.
These most recent jobs, while profitable, were in the US. Up until this point, he had always worked outside the country. Besides, he had a lot of credibility to make up with his recent miss of a target. Maybe he would have a chance to get another shot at Jackie Winn. This time, he would make it count for real.
As he was driving away, he heard an explosion and his rental car shook a bit. He smiled.
Allen Wells drove until he almost ran out of gas. What the hell had happened back there? There was another sniper in the picture, something that he had never come up against. All he knew was that if he had been behind that rifle, he would be dead. He had lasered the closest buildings, just to be complete, and no one was within five hundred yards. The sniper was damn good to find the location from where the robot sniper had shot from and be able to shoot back. Even more distressing was that the integral sound suppressor should have really concealed the location that the shot came from. There was no disguising the sonic crack of the bullet, but any muzzle flash or other noise should have been non-existent.
This led to the obvious question — had someone figured that his usefulness was over and had set him up to be killed? He had heard rumors that they used to do that — you were sent on a suicide mission or were the target of a younger, smarter and faster killer.
The company that paid him didn't know about his remote sniper system; all they cared about was results. And that he never needed a spotter or support staff helped limit their exposure and increased his profit margin as he had told them that he supplied his own.
So, was he now the target? He was currently disarmed and would have to find someplace to build, calibrate and test another remote sniper system. In his van, he had almost all of the needed parts to build one, if not two. All he would need was some small electronics and servos that he could buy over the counter at any hobby store.
He pulled into a gas station and filled up his truck, paying cash so he wouldn't leave a trace. It was almost pointless as he knew if someone really wanted to find him, they could, without much effort. The number of times that citizens showed up in one way or another each day, even on gas station cameras, was mind boggling. He had often used this to his advantage, but now that he might be the one being hunted, he could almost feel the cross hairs centered on the middle of his back.
Using the grungy rest room in the gas station, he washed his face. In the stained mirror he noted the dark circles under his eyes. He had been up for almost twenty hours. He stank of stress and fear.
He needed a plan and to regroup and find out who was hunting him and why. But first, a bit of rest. He was in Grand Junction, Colorado. Not a real big town, but big enough for him to hide away for a little bit while he regrouped.
What worried him was that he was going to have to, at some point soon, reply to the company that he had missed his target and then wait for further instructions. That would be the point that would tell if the company was after him.
On the way out of the door of the gas station, he asked the pimply kid behind the counter to recommend a decent hotel that was close to the highway. The stupid kid didn't know, oh well.
He got in his van and drove along until he found a chain hotel that had a back parking lot where he could park his van without anyone seeing it from the road.
After checking in, paying cash and using his false ID that he had built up without the company's knowledge, he tried to make himself sleep, but it was a long time coming.
Leo didn't like the look of the cell phone store. It was brightly lit and was busy. Why did they need to expose themselves in this way?
He followed Jackie to the rear counter, noting all the fancy cell phones, PDAs and computers displayed on the store's racks. He had never owned a cell phone, not having any use for one. It was another invitation to have his privacy violated for little personal gain. When he ran the coin store, seemingly a lifetime ago, anyone who wanted to reach him could just call the store and he would get back to them at his convenience. It gave him control of his life rather than being controlled by a piece of machinery, having to carry it everywhere, and answering the device when someone else wanted to contact you. No, that kind of thing wasn't for him. He lived his life as simply as possible, with as few complications as he could get away from.
Jackie waited in line at a counter labeled “Repair/Service.”
Leo stepped back and sat down on an uncomfortable looking chair leading out into the showroom. A round faced woman wearing a badge that said “Barb” approached.”Hi,” she said.
He tried to look as disinterested as he could when he said, “Hello.”
“Can I help you pick out a new phone? We have some wonderful specials this week.”
Leo didn't want to have to explain his lifestyle choices to this cell phone shill.
“Thanks anyway,” he motioned towards Jackie and said, “I'm waiting for my friend over there.”
“Okay. If there is anything I can do to help, be sure to let me know.”
The buzzer announcing the door opening went off and she went over to bother the new customer.
After a twenty minute wait, Jackie motioned him behind the counter.
“He's here, but they're real busy. We may have to wait.”
Shrugging, he said, “I don't have any other plans for today.” Except to find out who is trying to kill me and you and stop them.
He followed Jackie towards the back of the store, noting the boxes probably containing store stock that lined the walls on cheap metal shelves. There were a lot of them. Also, where the front of the store was luxuriously decorated with soft toned walls, muted lighting and thick carpet, everything behind the counter was Spartan, including harsh overhead lighting and bare concrete — all the trademarks of a cheap corporation.