POV: Sasha, the fifth
Date: February 17, 1995
Time: 11:45 AM
It looks like today is my payday, and it looks like it's going to be good. I am now in the absolute middle of nowhere, somewhere in Nevada, hunting a man with apparently magic. This does not seem like all that much of a good idea, if I think about it too long, but I know better than to do that. Instead of thinking about how dangerous this could be for me, I spent my preparation time thinking about how to counter and overcome the magical abilities described in the file.
After a few hours of considering different materials for armor and such, I realized the whole thing was moot if I didn't plan to fight close range with this man. I'm a sniper, first and foremost, which means my biggest ally is distance. When reading the spotty information they had on him, I noticed a distinct lack of range. If I'm more than thirty feet away, not only are my chances of being attacked greatly decreased, but I have time to get out of the way. It looks like I can do this without so much trouble as I thought.
Which of course means there's something critical I don't know.
There's only so much I can gather from this file, however, so at a certain point I have to close it and burn it. I'm running out of time, so I need to go and do the job or stay home and not do it. Well, home is in Russia, so it's very late to stay home. I couldn't live with myself as a mercenary bounty hunter if I didn't even try on a job I've already accepted payment for. So internal preparations are complete, it's time for external.
It's surprising, but also not, that there are still towns like this in the United States. One street through the center of town, stretching out into the distance in both directions, disappearing into the desert. The tallest building is the one I'm staying at, a two story hotel with a grand total of five rooms. Not a big place. A little further down the road is an auto shop, which can really only service one car at a time. Across from that is a convenience store with a big glass front.
I've set up the trap. My target will be diverted from their route by a roadblock. They've been sent this way, through a lonely small town with barely anyone who lives in the actual town. The road will still bypass this town, but I've set up a spike strip to catch their tires, at which point this town will be visible. It'll be the obvious choice for them to walk to for help. That man will come here, get the auto shop workers, all two of them, to go out and get his car. Then he'll step into the convenience store while he waits for them to repair his tires.
As soon as I get out of the hotel, I duck back behind the building and make my way to the back of the auto shop. This is where I hid my equipment last night, and this morning I dig it up and open the case. There is a set of steel poles, interlocking, with a fold-out foothold. I'm sure I could scale the back of this building easily enough without it, but that would mean running and jumping up against the wall, which would make noise I don't need made. I assemble the poles into a ladder and set it up against the back of the building, climbing to the roof quickly with the equipment case clipped to my belt in the back.
Once I'm on the roof, I pull the ladder up and disassemble it, placing it back inside the case and taking out my weapon of choice. It's not too big of a rifle, since my range isn't that great today, which is why I didn't need a big case to carry both the rifle and the ladder. Assembling it is as easy as they come, too. Nice and simple weapon, Russian manufacturing is a beauty. The only thing I have that isn't Russian here is the scope, which is Swiss. Once that's all together, I sit down and watch over the edge of the roof, waiting for my target to get here. It shouldn't be long now.
After a few quiet minutes, I glance over toward the road that runs past the town. The one where I set the spike strip. I see a car coming up, but at this distance I can't tell what I'm seeing, so I hold up the rifle and take a look through the scope just in time to see the car spin out. It's a dark grey Buick. That is not the car I'm looking for. Bad day for whoever that is.
Setting the rifle down, I wait for the next car to come along. It should be my target. If not, I've got a problem, because that spike strip probably won't be usable again after another car hits it. Looking up the road, I see one more car coming along. If that's not him, then I seriously need to rethink my plans. Checking it through the scope, I see a white car, I think a Toyota, which would mean it's what I want to be seeing right now.
I get down and lie in wait, keeping an ear to the air so I can hear when somebody approaches the auto shop. It's a bit, but it comes eventually. The first one will be the owner of the Buick, so I'll ignore him. Only a couple minutes later, I hear the tow truck pull out of the shop and head away. I get the feeling that the man in the Buick came over here for both of them, and my target stayed with his car. The shop workers bring the Buick into the garage, and then go to get the Toyota, which when they return is left sitting outside for the time being.
They're going to change the tires on the Buick first, which is pretty good for me. It gives me time that I wouldn't have if only the Toyota were in the shop. I suppose the Buick was fortuitous after all. After I hear the shop workers telling the two car owners to take a break while they work, I poke my head up over the edge of the roof to see the two men heading over to the convenience store.
One of the men is wearing a dirty white t-shirt and jeans, and his hair is a huge frizzy mess of dreadlocks. He looks like he was smoking marijuana while driving, probably drinking a beer as well. The other man is wearing a full suit and jacket. I have to imagine the only reason he's still alive is because it's February. Oh well. I'm not about to let his personal choice of dress interfere with my job.
He won't be able to fight me.
