was painted with camouflage makeup. Slung across his back was an MP-5 sub gun with a twelve-inch silencer attached to the barrel, and gripped firmly in his hands was a 7mm Magnum sniper’s rifle, also with a silencer affixed to the barrel. He whispered into the microphone hanging in front of his mouth, “Omega, this is Alpha. I’m moving into position, over.” Holding the rifle across his chest and pointed upward, he stepped out from behind the tree and moved laterally until he put another tree between himself and the marshal standing guard by the back door. Alpha moved across the forest floor, gliding between the underbrush with a cautious, catlike manner. When he reached the creek, he put one foot slowly into the water, then followed it with the other, checking his footing before transferring his weight from one foot to the other. Upon reaching the other side he scanned the ground for any fallen branches or twigs and pulled himself up the eroded bank.
Pausing behind a tree, he checked the position of the guard and then his watch.
Methodically, he glided from tree to tree, carefully picking his path. About twenty yards from the edge of Turnquist’s yard, the assassin got down on his belly and started to crawl.
He picked out a pine tree at the edge of the yard and slid under it, the low-slung branches of the tree making his presence impossible to detect. Alpha nestled up against the trunk and checked his watch. It was 7:19 P.M. The assassin pulled his night-vision goggles down around his neck and waited. If the marshals stayed with their routine, they would be rotating posts in about ten minutes. Out in front of the house, the sniper’s partner lay in the ditch across the street from the end of Turnquist’s driveway. Covering his black tactical jumpsuit was a sniper’s blanket. The strange piece of clothing consisted of a mesh netting with strips of camouflage cloth attached to it. It had taken him over forty minutes to crawl into position, slowly squirming through the tall grass and bushes on his stomach, his MP-5 cradled between his chin and elbows. He poked his head up slightly and moved the branch of a small bush in front of him. His face was painted with dark streaks of green and black makeup. Through squinted eyes, he looked at the white sedan sitting at the end of the driveway. Crouching back into the ditch, he pulled the sniper’s blanket off his body, wrapped it into a tight ball, and placed it in his backpack. He checked all of his equipment one last time, and then, just after 7:30 P.M the sedan across the street backed up the driveway to the house. Checking the road quickly, Omega jumped to his feet and darted across the road.
When he reached the other side, he jumped into a clump of bushes not more than ten feet from where the car had been. While taking deep breaths to keep his heart rate low, he said, “Alpha, this is Omega, I’m in position, over.” The car returned less than a minute later with a different driver behind the wheel. Omega squatted on one knee and blinked away a drop of sweat that was forming on his brow. The muzzle of his silencer was extended to the far end of the bush, pointed straight at the head of the man behind the wheel of the car. Only a thin green leaf concealed the lethal black cylinder. The contrast between the dark green and black paint on his face and the whites of his eyes gave him a reptilian appearance. Under the pine tree in the backyard Alpha checked his watch again, and then, reaching forward, he flipped the protective caps off the rifle’s sight. He hugged
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the butt of the rifle close to his cheek and eased his right eye in behind the sight. Moving his hands slightly, he placed the head of the man standing watch at the back door in the middle of the sight’s crosshairs. The plan was to wait another minute or so, giving the marshals ample time to check in and get relaxed. The man by the back door brought his radio up to his mouth and said something.
The sniper was too far away to hear, but he knew what was said. When the guard lowered his radio back to his side, the sniper whispered into his headset, “Omega, this is
Alpha. I’m ready to start the game, over.”
Alpha flipped the safety switch into the off position and brought the sniper’s trigger back one notch. The crosshairs marked a lethal intersection on the temple of the marshal’s head. The killer squeezed the trigger and a spitting noise popped from the end of the thick, black silencer. Without waiting to see the outcome of the shot, the sniper let go of the rifle and rolled to his right, out from under the low branches of the pine tree, leaving the rifle behind. He didn’t need to check to see if his bullet had hit the mark. He knew it had.
Springing up from the ground, he broke into a sprint for the right side of the house, whispering into his headset, “One down, three to go.”
Reaching over his head, he pulled the silenced MP-5 off his back and flipped off the safety. Nearing the front corner of the house, he slowed for a step and then spun around the edge of the porch. Dropping to one knee he swept the gun from left to right, searching for his next target. The movement of the black shape coming around the corner caught the attention of the marshal standing watch at the foot of the porch steps, and he instinctively reached for his gun. Before he could get his hand to his hip, the assassin fired three quick rounds, two hitting the marshal in the face and the third striking him in the neck, the impact of the bullets throwing his head backward and sending the rest of his body with it. With his machine gun aimed at the front door, the killer ran toward the man he had just killed and whispered into his headset, “Two down, two to go.” Upon reaching the marshal, he opened the dead man’s jacket and yanked the radio from his belt.
Ducking under the edge of the porch, he waited and listened to the marshal’s radio. At the end of the driveway the man in the bushes leapt forward and unloaded four quick bursts into the driver’s seat of the sedan. The window broke into thousands of pieces, the bullets slamming into the side of the marshal’s head. Without pause, the hired killer approached the car, shoved the barrel through the shattered window, and pumped a final round into the driver’s head. Turning on the balls of his feet, the killer sprinted up the driveway toward the house. With the adrenaline rushing through his blood he barked into his headset, “Three down, one to go.” Five seconds later, he joined his partner at the foot of the porch, his breathing controlled but heavy. Alpha was listening to the marshal’s radio to see if the man inside the house had been alerted. He pointed and sent Omega to check the windows to the right of the front door, and he went to check the ones on the left. They peered over the railing of the porch and looked through the windows. Omega saw him first, sitting at the foot of the stairs reading a magazine. “I’ve got number four,”
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he whispered into his mike. They met at the stairs of the porch, and Omega pointed at the window. “It’s a clear shot from the first window on the right.”
Alpha nodded and said, I’ll crawl under the window and take up position on the other side. When I give you the signal, pump two rounds into the window, and I’ll take him out.” Omega nodded his confirmation and they started up the steps. Alpha got down on his stomach and crawled to the far side of the window. Switching his gun from his right side to his left, he peeked through the window to make sure his target hadn’t moved.
Stepping away from the window he gave his partner a nod and hugged the butt of the
MP-5 tight against his cheek. Omega stepped back and pointed the muzzle of his silencer toward the middle of the tall window and fired two shots. A split second later, Alpha stepped into the new opening and trained his gun on the startled marshal. Pulling the trigger, Alpha sent three bullets crashing into the center of the man’s head. With robotlike precision the two men slammed fresh clips into their weapons and stepped through the jagged window frame. They trained their guns in opposite directions as they moved to the foot of the stairs. Footsteps sounded from upstairs, and they looked up at the ceiling. A
