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of research, all
I really knew was that she was “downtown” and in one of four
possible buildings in six block area about a mile to a mile and a
half from my perch. It wasn’t ideal for my effective range, but it
was better than nothing.
    I got to the roof entrance and tapped
in the code without looking at the card. Six months may not have
given me all the info I needed, but it did give me plenty of time
to drop a courtesy card for Whiskers at the front desk and sabotage
the AC unit for the apartment I needed. Mom had always wanted me to
go into some kind of steady business, but school never settled well
with me, especially after the war. She suggested HVAC instead, and
to please her, I begrudgingly got the certification. Who knew that
it’d make such a great front for my real job?
    I walked to the edge of the roof and
sat down the tool kit, frowning. Mom could never know what I was
doing now. It would kill her. HVAC wasn’t great, but at least she
could pretend to be proud of me. She and Dad were never very good
at emotions, so their occasional pleased calls to my business to
ask for help was the closest I ever got to “I love you” as an
adult.
    Besides that, they were more focused
on my brother anyway. To be honest, I was too. And who wouldn’t be?
Philip was only six, and as cute as any six-year-old puma could
be.
    Mom and Dad had him unexpectedly late
in life, supposedly, long after I had already enlisted and toured
overseas. Part of me always wondered if they had had him
unconsciously as a replacement in case I died in war.
    I shuddered. Not a good time for
family thoughts.
    I dug through my tool box and pulled
out the components for my high powered Bruugermeiser sniper rifle
and assembled them, willing my mind to focus on the job at hand.
Rifle armature and bolt. Butt stock. Long sniper barrel. Scope.
Bipod. And finally the magazine. Ten rounds of .338 Lapua magnum.
Ten rounds were far too many -- if I didn’t do this in one, I
wouldn’t get a second chance -- but I wanted a full magazine to
balance the thing. After I finished setting up, I checked my watch.
2:34PM. Roughly six minutes until I could expect Trecheon’s
call.
    To pass the time, I double checked the
earpiece buried out of sight in my ear, then the tap tracing the
call to apartment 42, then the sabotage job on the AC unit. A
two-minute job if I was quick. I disconnected the electricity,
fixed the part, and dug into my backpack for the last components
needed for this job. A smoke bomb and sound card designed to make
it look like a part of the unit burst. With luck, the smoke and
sound would muffle the sound of the rifle. I embedded the bomb and
card, then walked to the rifle and pressed the tiny trigger
mechanism behind the rifle’s trigger. Satisfied, I settled next to
the gun, checking street names near my four
possibilities.
    This was the worst part of being an
assassin. The waiting. My heart raced, no matter how much I told it
to slow down. I nearly jumped when Trecheon’s call went
through.
    This is it. No backing
down. I pressed the earpiece
button.
    “ Uh, hello?”
    “ Brett Vernon, you simple
minded idiot, where the hell have you been?” Trecheon’s angry voice
came up through the earpiece. I pictured him sitting at the tiny
outdoor café near my target buildings, probably sipping a black
coffee to keep his own nerves down.
    I searched his speech for a hint.
Vernon. There was a street named Mt. Vernon. I scanned street names
through the scope, but I needed time.
    “ What?”
    “ Work, you asshole,”
Trecheon growled. “I haven’t seen you in twelve days.”
    Twelve. Floor numbers. That eliminated
two of the buildings. Another second of searching and I found Mt.
Vernon. Both possibilities sat on the street. I needed a cross
street. I eyed the two streets left. Lincoln or Weir. Last names.
Good.
    “ Sorry, Mr.
Lincoln.”
    “ It’s Weir, you moron,”
Trecheon said, finally narrowing down the building. “Don’t you know
the