Being a sniper was sometimes like going fishing. You could spend hours sitting by the riverbank without ever getting a bite. Although he had waited like this on hundreds of occasions, and fired over a quarter of a million practice rounds, he had fired his weapon at a person just seventeen times.
Seventeen times, he had correctly calculated the distance to the target, allowing for bullet drop, and the effect of wind and humidity. Once the distance was as little as two-hundred yards, usually it was over a thousand. Seventeen times, he had placed the cross-hairs on the target’s head, breathed out slowly, and then gently squeezed the trigger. Seventeen times, he had heard the soft cough of his silenced rifle, and felt the firm kick of the recoil in his shoulder. Seventeen times, he had counted off the seconds as the bullet sped towards its target. Seventeen times, he had seen the distinctive pink puff of blood and brain matter, as the bullet found its target. Seventeen times, he had fired at a person. Seventeen times, and he had never missed.
In ten years as an Army sniper, he had fired hundreds of thousands of practice rounds. He had practiced until shooting became as easy as tying your shoelaces. Hundreds of thousands of times, through such repetition he had learned to sight, relax, breathe out, and then softly squeeze the trigger. Eventually he became so good that he could hit something the size of a fist, from almost a mile away. Today his distance to target would be just fifty yards. He couldn’t miss.
Thirteen minutes passed by quietly before the shooter felt a silent vibration from his cell phone. He pressed the return key and a soft voice spoke into his earpiece.
“He’s here. The car registration’s correct. It’s Stone.”
The shooter did not respond. To slow his heart ready for the shot, he took a deep breath and exhaled gradually through his nose. Then he sighted onto the doorbell again and gently caressed the trigger with his index finger.
Seconds later a blue Ford slowly came around the corner and parked directly behind the red sports car. The off-side doors of both cars opened almost simultaneously. Eric Stone and the blonde girl climbed out and immediately fell into a passionate embrace. The shooter swiveled his aim to the left, but his view of the target was slightly obscured by the trees in the neighboring yard. He didn’t panic, he knew that when the target reached the front door of his house, he would have ample opportunity to take his shot.
This close, the shooter could clearly hear their voices, even though they were whispering because of the late hour. The target called the girl ‘Linda’ and said how pleased he was that she had come. The girl responded with a kiss saying how tired the man looked. She called him ‘Eric’. Hand in hand, they walked slowly towards the house with the blue door, just as the shooter had expected. Once they cleared the cover of the trees, the shooter brought his sights up and leveled the cross hairs on Stone’s head. As Eric and Linda reached the gate, they suddenly paused, and then they turned together to face the house where the shooter was hiding. It was almost as if they could sense his watching eyes. With a cold smile, the shooter centered the cross hairs on a point directly between Stone’s eyes. Then he slowly breathed out and gently squeezed the trigger.
The numbers in the corner of the viewfinder quickly changed, as his camera soundlessly took pictures. Satisfied that he had successfully completed his mission by capturing an image of Eric Stone, the Shooter quickly switched to the woman’s face, and took another dozen silent pictures. Then he switched back to Stone again, centered the cross hairs on his forehead, and squeezed the trigger one more time. As the night vision camera captured one final image, the shooter whispered softly.
“Gotcha!”
Stone closed and locked the blue front door, pausing for a moment to process the strange sensation that had washed over him as he approached the house. For a moment he had felt a tingle on the back of his neck, it was so real that it was almost like an itch — but one that he knew he could not scratch. He thought that it was the same sensation that a gazelle experienced when it was being stalked by an unseen predator.
In other circumstances, Stone would have just ignored the feeling, putting it down to natural paranoia. Urbanites were always being watched by someone, particularly in Britain, where there were more CCTV cameras per head of population, than anywhere on the planet. However, with his knowledge of the Wrecking Crew, and what they had done to Charles, Eric’s senses were running in hyper-mode — and there was another thing. Just as he had become aware of the feeling of being watched, Linda had stopped and involuntarily squeezed his hand. She had felt something as well, he was sure of it. Stone attached the door security chain, before he turned to face Linda.
“I just had the strangest feeling out there, like we were being watched. Did you feel it as well?”
“Yes,” she nodded, “I felt something, it was very strange. I guess there are too many windows out there. Anyway, it was probably just some nosey neighbor wondering who your hot girlfriend was!”
She smiled cheekily, then leaned forward and gave him a slow kiss on the lips. He responded eagerly, holding her head in his hands, enjoying the warmth of her lips and her sweet taste. Linda’s arms snaked around his back, pulling him closer and driving her crotch wantonly against his hardness. When they came up for air, she put on a serious face.
“Can I stay?”
“I hope you will,” Stone said, his voice thick with lust, “it was a long drive for just a kiss.”
“No silly!” she gave him a playful thump, “I mean tomorrow. Can I stay tomorrow?”
“Of course you can. I want you here. I want to be with you.”
“I brought a bag, it’s in the car.” She looked up sheepishly. “Is that alright?”
Stone pulled her close again, kissing her fully on the lips.
“It’s better than alright — it’s wonderful.” He dropped his arms. “I’ll get your bag. You’ll need your things.”
Stone started to turn towards the door, but Linda stopped him by gently taking his hand.
“Right now I have everything I need,” she said, leading him towards the bedroom.
TEN
Stone woke before Linda. For a while, he lay propped up on one elbow, content to watch her sleeping. She was lying on her belly with her face turned towards Stone. The room was warm and during the night, the sheets had slipped down towards her slim hips, exposing the soft curve of her naked back. Eric reached over and gently brushed some of Linda’s blonde hair away from her face. Even though it was slightly squashed by the pillow, and puffy with sleep, he thought she had the most beautiful face he had ever seen.
She had a small face, with classic high cheekbones, almond shaped eyes, and delicate eyebrows. There was a little vertical scar just below her right eye. Her nose was, by conventional thinking, perhaps a little short and slightly upturned at the end, but Stone felt that it perfectly complimented the gentle wave of her soft lips, which even in sleep, seemed to be in a permanent half-smile. She had small, delicate ears, with three piercings, two on the lobe and one more, higher up. He thought that the shape of her ear fitted perfectly into the way her jawline swept down to her strong chin, which carried another small scar — perhaps a reminder of some childhood fall.