Page 7 of Saint

Still, the tiniest evidence of human life existed despite the hour. Closer to the shore and away from the rocks, a small fire persisted. Large stones contained the flames, encouraging the fire to remain in place. At least three hundred yards from the location, my ears captured and logged the sizzling and cracking of wood. It was, indeed, evidence of my target’s existence.

Elevated well above the rocky shore, crushed prone against the granitelike surface, I waited. Years of training drafted me for moments like these. It had taken months of reconnaissance and false leads to draw me to my present position.

The smell of salt water, tinged with burnt wood, tickled my olfactory system. An unwelcomed perturbance, it served as a reminder that despite my mission, the promise of peace lingered. Above me, the clouds shifted with haste to make way for a waxing moon. Competing against the sun at present was imprudent, however. It triumphed in its departure, dribbling reflective shades of lavender against the clouds, highlighted with neon pinks and reds.

Still as stone, my body remained motionless against the immaculate view. For as beautiful as it was, as tranquil as it was, danger in such close proximity to the sea was imminent.

A violent end was contracted for an unsuspecting soul. The author of said violence lurked stealthily and lethal in the form of six feet paired with two hundred and seven pounds of muscle. Sheathed in melanin, my deep umber skin was clothed in lightweight cargo gear identical in color to the obsidian rocks pressed against my limbs. It coordinated well with the steel weapon, who’d been my main acquaintance for the last ten hours. Firmly, I’d planted it against the detachable bipod and monitored through its scope for my victim.

The primary mission was simple: place a long-range precision shot on my intended target. From my days in the army, I’d been steeped in the mission, mastering it with aptitude.

It was an admission made humbly. The art of the sniper was no small feat. There was more to sharpshooting than merely pulling a trigger. Marksmanship, range estimation, target detection, and stalks were all incorporated into the craft.

Various uncontrollable elements could affect a shot, including precipitation and the wind. A shot so close to the shore was no simple task. For this assignment, my brother Supreme served as my spotter, making call adjustments to my scope through my earpiece. Having shown up within the last two hours, his presence was welcome. Though he was right beside me, discretion and stealth were necessary, so we only spoke through the small device and only when needed.

Everything was entirely mathematical, from the range of the intended target to their height, build, and anything they’d utilize for transportation. Prior knowledge was integral to the mission’s success, and the lack of certain details could derail us.

After nearly half a day of observing the shore, the end of our stakeout was near. With the slightest movement, my fingers fenced around the scope rings to adjust the long-range sniper’s line of sight.

“The target is present. Engage that motherfucker, Angel.”

From the hidden transducer lodged in my ear, I was granted the authorization to subdue the mark, who would soon be in my gun’s crosshairs. Dressed in white linen, his familiar frame appeared in my peripheral, slowly approaching the crackling fire. As he neared, I watched his arms stretch wide to warm his bulky limbs. The gesture would be his final governed movement. With a composed breath, my right hand squeezed, applying five pounds of pressure to the destructive yet masterful piece of equipment positioned before me.

With anticipation, I braced myself for the harsh sound of the gun as it connected with the atmosphere. A single shot rang out from the 338 Lapua semi-automatic, confirming my success. The riffle had yet to fail me.

From my distance, I watched as brain matter projected upon contact with the bullet from my weapon. I imagine chunks splattered upon the ground as well. The concluding movement of Javier Reed was undisciplined as his body collided forward into endless sediments of pink sand beneath him. Mission complete.

Supreme and I remained planted for countless seconds, wordlessly observing the scene. Javier was as good as dead, but there was only one way to be certain. Another shot was sent in the direction of the collapsed body in the sand, landing at the side of his dome. For an additional sixty seconds, we watched through our scopes as viscous red fluid spilled from Javier’s head. For the sixty-first second, I rose from where I stood and began hastily packing my rifle.

Once that task was complete, I tossed my bag over my shoulder and climbed down the rocks, with Supreme following closely behind. Javier’s entourage, including his detail, would soon be canvassing the area for evidence of his killer. With stealth remaining our primary objective, we moved with haste while attempting not to slip against the slick onyx surface of the rock.

My feet landed on the ground with a ninja-like thump as I proceeded to move away from the place I utilized for the assassination. The shuffling of an unwanted presence halted me, causing Supreme to shoulder-check me from behind. I’d felt him drawing near but failed to voice my concerns before he made contact with my limbs.

“Pre, wait,” I whispered, sliding the concealed Sig 365 from my holster. With my knowing glare connecting to his oblivious one, he halted his movements to retrieve his Glock. Now equally armed, we crept toward the sound that had emanated from the far left side of the rock. Whatever or whoever it was had assuredly bore witness to our deed.

Scanning the area, I searched for marine life, hoping it was the culprit. Disappointment was heavy as my eyes fell upon the unfortunate soul. Crouched in a crevice, she cradled a tortoise in trembling hands. Tears stained her sepia-brown-hued face as her eyes blossomed at the position of my pistol.

A timeless beauty, I regretted the moment I’d be forced to squeeze and rearrange her thoughts. Despite her hysteria, she wielded an ephemeral glow, causing me to wonder if she was an angel stalking the earth. In my limited understanding of otherworldly beings, she didn’t belong where she now cowered. Lacking the pleasure or hesitation, I agreed it was time to return her to the appropriate realm.

At a range of three-quarters of a meter, she was sure to stain my immaculately grunge attire with red droplets. Trained at the dome, I advanced the sig closer, prepared to send her home.

“Ange! They’re here. Don’t do it. Come on. We have to go,” Supreme half whispered and shouted.

“And what about her?” I asked quizzically, my eyes darting from the woman who’d robbed me of coherent thoughts to glare at my brother.

“Bring her,” he shrugged as he hurried toward the dense cover of trees and bush situated away from the beach.

Unmoving, the woman remained in her crouched position as if she’d lost brain function. She hadn’t uttered a single word. The cocking of my gun and the motioning of my hand was enough to restore life back to her head. Only after placing the tortoise into the nook where she once hid did she move. I appreciated her care for the helpless creature, but I saved my gratitude for another time. Grabbing ahold of her arm, I darted in the same direction Supreme had disappeared to.

My eyes dashed to the place our limbs connected, sensing currents more charged than the ripple of the waves as our skin touched. Depleted of time to scrutinize the phenomena, I continued moving, maintaining my grasp against her.

Under the cover of trees, I tugged her arm firmer to encourage a quicker pace. We treaded through the dense brush, ascending the mountainous region one hurried foot at a time. At fifty yards from our escape, the woman was slowing me down dreadfully. Unable to shutter the sound of her strenuous breaths, whimpering, or stumbling, I slackened my haste. Her bare feet against the forest’s undergrowth were the culprit to our delay.

Sliding my rifle to settle against the floor, I lifted her from her abused feet, tossing her wispy frame across my back. In my free hand, I gathered my rifle bag and resumed moving through the trees. The task was arduous, but years of training my body to endure made it possible.

Twenty-five yards ahead, Supreme disappeared into an off-road Land Rover. The shifting to a fixed surface under my feet informed me we weren’t far away. Slowing my movements along with my load, I lowered the woman onto her feet.

“In front,” I ordered her, once again presenting the slim pistol in her face.

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