Chapter 6
6
As I raced down the hallway, I pictured the faces of the dead mercenaries in Massimo’s photos. A single word echoed in my mind:
Wagner…
I reached the exit in seconds. One of my men, Rocco, was waiting for me at the door with an Mk 13 sniper rifle.
I had a pistol on me – I always had a pistol on me – but the shooter already had a massive head start, and I needed to be able to take him out from a distance.
I grabbed the rifle from Rocco and flung open the door.
“You need backup?” Rocco asked.
“No – stay close to the house and make sure nobody gets in p>
“Got it,” he said, then shut and locked the door behind me as I dashed out onto the lawn.
I’d drilled my men for months for this very scenario.
Now we would see if all that preparation paid off.
“Control, what’s the shooter’s position?” I yelled into my radio as I ran.
“Approaching the south wall near Camera 107 p>
I knew exactly where he meant.
There was no way I could catch up to the gunman –
But a bullet could.
The mansion sat atop a ridge. The olive groves to the south were at a slightly lower elevation, which meant that I was already at the optimal place to take a shot.
The target would be over 2000 feet away, and I would be standing instead of lying down –
But I’d made longer shots under worse conditions.
I stopped, raised the rifle to my shoulder, and looked through the scope.
It took me several seconds of scanning the olive grove, but I finally detected movement through the tree limbs.
The stone wall surrounding the property was 10 feet tall. If the shooter was going to go over it, he would have to use a ladder or a grappling rig –
Ah.
There.
A rope ladder with jagged hooks on the end sailed into the air and caught the top of the wall on the first try.
I watched through the scope as the shooter started climbing the ladder and he –
I paused, momentarily thrown.
He?
…or SHE?
The shooter was wearing a tan helmet that disguised their face. They also wore camo matching the silvery green leaves and dusty browns of the olive trees.
The camo was form-fitting: spandex tights on the legs and a tight jacket for the torso.
But the shooter’s body…
It was too slender.
Too feminine.
A slim waist – feminine hips –
And not to be crude, but the shooter had a great ass under those tight leggings.
There was no doubt:
The sniper was a woman – and the way she moved was uncomfortably familiar.
No –
NO.
That’s IMPOSSIBLE –
I stared in shock as the shooter scaled the ladder and rolled over the top of the wall, out of sight.
“Boss?” one of my men asked over the radio. “Do you see him p>
“Get the Bugatti ready,” I said in a daze. “I’m going to have to chase her down p>
There was a pause.
“…uh… did you say ‘her p>
I ignored the question as I raced back for the house.
It couldn’t be her –
It COULDN’T be –