I’m sure it wasn’t as easy as we might hope, but it was possible. These days, girls don’t know what it is to want those things and know you’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of getting them. I fought like you couldn’t imagine and got everything I wanted. But it wasn’t enough.”
A long pause as she watched Jack fill the tank.
She continued. “They say that man gains immortality through his children. I don’t have any. Never wanted them. What I
“That’s what you want to do with me. Make me better.”
A laugh so sharp it startled me. “Oh, you don’t like that idea, do you? You can play the cool professional, act like you don’t give a shit what anyone thinks, but you’ve got your share of ego, of ambition. You’re just good at hiding it. Reminds me of someone else.” Her gaze slid to Jack, now walking to the bathroom. “What I can make you, Nadia, isn’t
I stared out the window, watching Jack as he returned.
“He’s still with me, isn’t he?” Evelyn said, as if reading my thoughts. “I haven’t damaged him. Haven’t made him anything he didn’t want to be. Jack doesn’t hang around because he feels
Jack dipped his head, peering into the car, gaze shooting to Evelyn, as if he could see us watching him and talking.
“I’ll let you think about it, Dee,” she murmured. “Take all the time you need.”
For over an hour, I’d been standing in front of a fifth-story window, watching the parade route fill. To pass the time, I mentally ran through ballistics tables, recalculating the distance, velocity, trajectory, wind drift, making sure I had everything right.
I’d have rather been in one of the taller office buildings down the street, but if there were SWAT team snipers here, that’s where they’d be. And even if there weren’t, the Feds would be checking out the best perches in case Wilkes was trying for a sniper shot himself. So I had to make do with one that was third rate.
Having to take the shot standing didn’t make the situation any better. The higher up you get, the less stable you are. Ideally, I’d be on my stomach. Given that the window was four feet off the ground, lying down wasn’t an option. So, as any good sniping manual would tell you, I should have used the materials at hand to create a level and sturdy four-foot-high platform. Works great, if you’re on a SWAT team…not so great when you’re a professional killer who can’t leave any trace and may have to abandon your perch at a moment’s notice.
So I’d shoot standing, as I usually did. Not only was it the least steady position, it was the hardest to hold for an extended period. Since I used it the most often, though, I’d trained for it, doing most of my practice upright-the offhand position. To alleviate some of the unsteadiness, I used a sling. A dark-colored loop of nylon, the sling attached to a swivel at the end of the gun stock, near the barrel. I put my left arm through the opposite end of the loop and pulled the keeper along the strap until the loop was snug against my biceps.
At this distance, it was possible-if unlikely-that someone on the parade route could look up and see a silhouette in the window. To reduce the risk, I wore a brimmed hat, beaten into a shapeless lump, so my head wasn’t a rounded dome. Mosquito netting over the front of the hat darkened my face and helped it blend in with my black clothing. I’d also draped a larger swatch of netting over the window, to further darken and blur my silhouette. For the window itself, I’d cut out a pane. Breaking glass makes noise. Lifting the sash looks suspicious. If you see a closed window, you assume all the panes of glass are there.
I could see Evelyn’s hat weaving through the crowd. It was pink and old-ladyish. For Evelyn, I’m sure that was a fashion torture on par with my push-up bra, and judging by the look she’d given me when I found it for her, I was in for some serious payback. But it made her easy to track, and that’s all that mattered.
I needed to be able to find her in a split-second survey of the parade scene because my attention had to remain focused on the main lure, Jack. He couldn’t wear anything as obvious as a pink hat. Fortunately, tracking him wasn’t the issue because he’d staked out a table at the edge of a licensed patio, where he nursed a pint of beer and read a motorcycle magazine. If he attracted the attention of anyone who looked as if he could be Wilkes, Jack would fold up his magazine, vacate the patio and head for the alley beside it, which was right across from my perch and lined up for a perfect shot. Alternately, if Evelyn spotted Wilkes, she’d get Jack’s attention and he’d make his way to Wilkes, while staying within my line of fire.
Wilkes could be planning a sniper shot himself, but according to Evelyn, he was crap at distance shooting. Besides, if he wanted to reassert his credibility with the Feds, firing from a safe distance would be a cop-out. Just in case, though, I’d been careful to pick a spot with no surrounding high buildings.
As I was thinking this, something thudded over my head. My first reaction was an instant gut-clench, accompanied by a vision of Wilkes standing at the window over mine, his scope trained on Jack. My second reaction was a stifled laugh. There
From overhead came the distinct sound of gravel crunching underfoot. I gave myself a mental shake. Nerves are a sniper’s worst enemy. The slightest tremor, and you might as well put the rifle back in its case.
I checked my pulse. Steady. Good. Now concentrate on-
A chirp from the rooftop exit hatch.
Maybe it was only my mind playing tricks, but until I reassured myself of that, my shot was in jeopardy. I took one last look at Jack, then checked my watch. Six minutes to parade time. I laid down my rifle, slipped out of the sling, then spread my tarp over my gear-the fastest way to hide it.
As I pulled out my handgun, I ran though the description Evelyn had given for Wilkes-late fifties, six foot one, big-boned. The rest didn’t matter-a disguise could change hair and eye color, make him older and heavier, but shorter or significantly younger were impossible.
It was only then, as I visualized him, that the full impact of what was happening hit. This man, now sneaking into the building, could be Wilkes. The Helter Skelter killer. My target.
I was transported back to the opera house, to that hour when I’d been so sure we’d get him, and I felt again that excitement, that rising sense of oddly calm anticipation. Senses heightening, muscles tensing, pulse hitting a steady rhythm, sliding into that perfect zone.
In that hour at the window, I’d known who I hoped to find in my scope. Yet I never
As a loose ladder rung creaked, I pictured him, frozen in midstep, the creak seeming to ring out like a gunshot. He’d listen for any responding sound from below, then start down again, slower now, testing each rung first. Finally, he’d reach the bottom. A few steps and he’d be at my door, turning the handle…
The soft click of the latch. Good. Now look out into the hall. Make sure it’s clear, then step out…oh, better close the door behind you.
Click.
Silence.
He was in the hall, looking, listening. No sign of the Feds-if they had a team camped out on this floor, he’d hear it; there was no need for them to be quiet when they were just pulling stakeout or sniper duty from a fifth- story window. Hearing nothing, Wilkes would start forward again, looking for the best window, which was right here, in my room.
I flexed my grip on my gun and smiled.
At least three minutes of silence passed. Still listening for an occupying force? Wilkes hadn’t struck me as the nervous type. Maybe the pressure was getting to him. Another two minutes, then a floorboard creaked. Still
Another creak. He’d be at my door in a few seconds…
Silence.
From my vantage point, I couldn’t miss seeing anyone passing the doorway. So where was he? Being cautious was one thing, but he was moving so slowly-
I stopped, imagining not Wilkes, but an officer from the security detail canvassing the building. But if Wilkes
