Game of Shadows Read Free

he'd left it.
    Sean yanked the black golf bag from its hiding spot and flipped off the travel cover to reveal a deadly work of art within. The black Remington M24 sniper rifle was fully assembled and ready to go with a .338 magnum cartridge waiting in the chamber.
    He had other rounds, but this shot would only take one.
    There were other weapons that could have been used for the job. Popular to many American snipers was the .50-caliber Barrett M82. Truth be told, if he'd been closer to a mile away from his target, Sean might have chosen that gun. Since he was less than three hundred yards, the M24 would do nicely, and was far less cumbersome. Not to mention that he would have had to assemble the Barrett on the spot, and he doubted he would have had that kind of time. Sure, he could have done it beforehand, but if one of the maids decided to ignore the "do not disturb" sign hanging from the latch and happened upon a massive .50-caliber sniper rifle lying on the floor, they would probably have raised a stink, to say the least.
    Sean always believed in using the right tool for the right job. On this occasion, the M24 was the right tool.
    He checked the chamber to make sure the round he'd left in there was still in position, then relocked the bolt. He deftly moved over to the sliding door and eased it open before getting on his belly and crawling like a snake out onto the stone balcony.
    Off to the right, the Atlantic Ocean's waves crashed to the white sand beach that wrapped around the bay. A few tourists, visitors, and locals milled about near the water. Several women were lying out on lounge chairs, soaking up rays from the hot sun. Children's screams of delight and laughter as they played in the ocean foam echoed through the courtyard between Sean's wing of the hotel and his target's. Below, the palm trees lining the paved stone sidewalks and surrounding a green lawn waved in the breeze.
    He stopped at the railing, a concrete barricade with dome-shaped miniature arches cut into it in what was a signature design stroke of Arab culture. If he were on vacation, Sean would have taken a moment to appreciate more of these local subtleties. He'd always found Muslim cities to be most agreeable, and was glad he'd been able to visit them for less stressful ventures than the current one. He reached forward with the sound suppressor he'd taken from the case and carefully screwed it onto the end of the rifle's barrel.
    He positioned the tip of the barrel between two of the curvy designs in the railing and propped the weapon on its tripod stand. He flipped open the caps on both ends of the scope and adjusted the sight for his target, a penthouse balcony on the sixth floor of the other wing. Sean checked the wind, which was coming in steadily off the ocean at ten degrees. Not too breezy, but he would definitely have to adjust the shot slightly. He reached up, ticked the scope a few clicks, and then rechecked his angle. The balcony came into view again, more specifically, an empty chair with an ivory-colored cushion. His target would never even know what happened.
    It had taken a great deal of patience and resources to track down Gerard Dufort. The Frenchman's disappearing act was hardly a surprise, but how difficult the man had made it to be found was a little unexpected. If Sean Wyatt wanted to find someone, they usually didn't stay hidden for long.
    Dufort was slippery, though, using a sequence of back channels and aliases to escape from the mainstream. He'd got away from Sean and his friend Tommy Schultz at Kronborg Castle, also known as Kronborg Slot, in Denmark two months before. Sean was angry with himself for letting the man go. He reminded himself that there was nothing he could have done. The power in the castle went out in a thunderstorm, and in the pitch darkness, Dufort had escaped.
    Over the course of the last sixty days, Sean reintroduced himself to the hard training he'd gone through during his first stint with Axis. He'd