Fifth. Like the sharp, sweet moment just before a climax.
She'd laid her cheek against the sun-heated rock slab, forcing herself to slow. Discipline, she told herself. No need to hurry. Down below they were preparing the evening meal, oblivious to the four people above them who held their lives in their hands.
Even without her optics, she'd been able to see the sentries down below, cradling blue-steel Ruger assault rifles as they manned the perimeter of the camp. Raazaq and his lieutenants gathered off to one side, drinking thick coffee and planning God only knew what kind of mayhem.
AJ had felt a swell of patriotic pride. By doing her job tonight, thousands of future lives would be spared.
She'd reached forward and flipped the spring-loaded bipod into position, giving her rifle legs. Shoving a small beanbag under the stock to support the weight of her upper body, she settled into position.
I'm here, she'd thought, jazzed beyond belief, in the field. For real. For God and country. And she'd felt the power of life and death at the pull of the trigger.
Conditioned not to reach past the safety until just the right moment to kill. Left arm folded up beneath her, elbow forward, fingers pinching the beanbag to adjust the angle, she'd watched the sentries circle the camp. Watched as Raazaq drank coffee.
Through the rifle's scope she'd been able to see her target's face with crystal clarity. Swarthy. Hard features. Cold eyes. Slight. Well dressed. Thousand-dollar suit.
The irony of long-range surveillance was the intimacy.
Raazaq had recently had a manicure. His china cup had little blue flowers painted on it. Small details filtered into her brain, making up the whole.
The Dragunov, a gift from her brother, was like an old friend. Certified to shoot a quarter of a mile of angle at two hundred yards. Which meant under perfect conditions, which these were, her rifle could imprint three consecutive rounds in the same hole. Say good night. Grade.
All she had to do was estimate distance, turn the scope to the appropriate number, hold the crosshairs on the Y-shaped veins standing out on Raazaq's forehead, and pull the trigger. Piece of cake.
Her right hand had caressed the grip. Thumb loosely opposite her index finger, squeezing just enough to feel its pebbled texture. She'd set her cheek weld against the stock, finding the eye relief necessary to center the crosshairs in the scope tube.
"Five," Kane had said in her ear, starting the launch sequence.
She'd aligned her body with the recoil path to minimize muzzle jump when a round kicker out at thirty hundred feet per second.
"Four."
She'd pressed her hips to the ground, spread her knees shoulder-width for stability.
"Three."
She'd slid the first bullet into the battery with her index finger so she could feel the seating. The first shot was called a cold bore. An unpracticed leap of faith imprint on a fresh target. She'd pressed the heels of her boots flat to minimize profile.
All outside influences had faded away. Just her and her weapon. Touching. As in tune as two lovers.
"Two—"
God, she'd been ready…
AJ bit her tongue in the here and now as their vehicle bounced over a sand dune. She snapped to, and tried to concentrate on the current situation. Time enough later to rehash what had happened back there. Or more accurately, what had not happened.
Behind them the dark desert floor stretched to infinity. Sand. Sand. And more sand. It wouldn't be long now…
"Still clear," she told the others through her lip mic.
Struben, crouched awkwardly over the foot-well, didn't bother to glance up as his hands moved efficiently to stem the flow of blood on his partner's arm.
Escobar opened his eyes as Struben tied off the makeshift bandage. "Heyya, beautiful."
Struben chuckled, since his partner was looking at him when he said it. "Asshole."
Manny shifted his focus to look up atAJ.
"How're you doing, bud?" AJ's voice sounded scratchy with guilt as she made eye contact
She'd laid her cheek against the sun-heated rock slab, forcing herself to slow. Discipline, she told herself. No need to hurry. Down below they were preparing the evening meal, oblivious to the four people above them who held their lives in their hands.
Even without her optics, she'd been able to see the sentries down below, cradling blue-steel Ruger assault rifles as they manned the perimeter of the camp. Raazaq and his lieutenants gathered off to one side, drinking thick coffee and planning God only knew what kind of mayhem.
AJ had felt a swell of patriotic pride. By doing her job tonight, thousands of future lives would be spared.
She'd reached forward and flipped the spring-loaded bipod into position, giving her rifle legs. Shoving a small beanbag under the stock to support the weight of her upper body, she settled into position.
I'm here, she'd thought, jazzed beyond belief, in the field. For real. For God and country. And she'd felt the power of life and death at the pull of the trigger.
Conditioned not to reach past the safety until just the right moment to kill. Left arm folded up beneath her, elbow forward, fingers pinching the beanbag to adjust the angle, she'd watched the sentries circle the camp. Watched as Raazaq drank coffee.
Through the rifle's scope she'd been able to see her target's face with crystal clarity. Swarthy. Hard features. Cold eyes. Slight. Well dressed. Thousand-dollar suit.
The irony of long-range surveillance was the intimacy.
Raazaq had recently had a manicure. His china cup had little blue flowers painted on it. Small details filtered into her brain, making up the whole.
The Dragunov, a gift from her brother, was like an old friend. Certified to shoot a quarter of a mile of angle at two hundred yards. Which meant under perfect conditions, which these were, her rifle could imprint three consecutive rounds in the same hole. Say good night. Grade.
All she had to do was estimate distance, turn the scope to the appropriate number, hold the crosshairs on the Y-shaped veins standing out on Raazaq's forehead, and pull the trigger. Piece of cake.
Her right hand had caressed the grip. Thumb loosely opposite her index finger, squeezing just enough to feel its pebbled texture. She'd set her cheek weld against the stock, finding the eye relief necessary to center the crosshairs in the scope tube.
"Five," Kane had said in her ear, starting the launch sequence.
She'd aligned her body with the recoil path to minimize muzzle jump when a round kicker out at thirty hundred feet per second.
"Four."
She'd pressed her hips to the ground, spread her knees shoulder-width for stability.
"Three."
She'd slid the first bullet into the battery with her index finger so she could feel the seating. The first shot was called a cold bore. An unpracticed leap of faith imprint on a fresh target. She'd pressed the heels of her boots flat to minimize profile.
All outside influences had faded away. Just her and her weapon. Touching. As in tune as two lovers.
"Two—"
God, she'd been ready…
AJ bit her tongue in the here and now as their vehicle bounced over a sand dune. She snapped to, and tried to concentrate on the current situation. Time enough later to rehash what had happened back there. Or more accurately, what had not happened.
Behind them the dark desert floor stretched to infinity. Sand. Sand. And more sand. It wouldn't be long now…
"Still clear," she told the others through her lip mic.
Struben, crouched awkwardly over the foot-well, didn't bother to glance up as his hands moved efficiently to stem the flow of blood on his partner's arm.
Escobar opened his eyes as Struben tied off the makeshift bandage. "Heyya, beautiful."
Struben chuckled, since his partner was looking at him when he said it. "Asshole."
Manny shifted his focus to look up atAJ.
"How're you doing, bud?" AJ's voice sounded scratchy with guilt as she made eye contact
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