Steady is the breath, though needed it is not. The shot could be made at day or night, hot or cold weather; weather energized or exhausted the shot would be made. It is night now, high above the clouds on a chilly Shanghai skyscraper. It is winter here, but given the climate it is not typically 'winter' as it would be in other, more northern cities. Across the street, thirty-seven floors below the current post lies the target:
Name: Jason Blake
Occupation: CEO of Global Trade
Task: Assassination of Jason Blake
Pay: $1.5 million (American Currency)
There have not been many assassinations as of late-the underground has more become restless in surveillance as companies and governments aim to control a person rather than the business of eliminating them; too much commotion. Jobs never slowed however; only changed and became boring. The cross hairs lined to his chest-the man is entirely unaware that his life lies on the squeeze of their trigger.
The scope changed position observing the four-suited gentlemen that stood in the room. Three o'clock, six o'clock, nine o'clock, and twelve o'clock-all guard a sector of about forty-five degrees per eye and another twenty-three in perennial vision; between each guard lies in the very center where their line-of-sight is thought to intersect is actually one of four openings that would never be seen by a guard. But there is no need for an obvious assassination-nine o'clock guard has a small arm, perhaps a nine-millimeter on his left ankle; left-handed likely.
Its easy to tell on how he stands, the pressure of the hand-gun rubs against his ankle and therefore an ever-so slight limp or lightness of step gives away its location. The assassin fires, hitting the barrel of that nine-millimeter. Its own rounds fire, bringing down the first guard and the window he falls from-the next shot is at the CEO; between the second and third rib lodged in his heart. It would be impossible to tell the caliber their weapon uses and more so to discover that it was not the miss-firing hand-gun that unfortunately killed their boss. Their Bluetooth vibrates and with a flick of the finger the voice rings in ear.
"What?" The assassin growls out of annoyance toward the man on the other side of their conversation.
"We have a new assignment for you: Class Five."
Pulling away from the scope, the assassin leans on their bottom and pears at the starry sky.
A heavy sigh is let out, knowing that if its a Class Five than there is no actual choice in accepting or not, "When and where?"
"Tomorrow. Washington D.C."
As the weapon is disassembled the conversation continues. Depending on where the assignment is and when it begins making the preferable time frame would not be possible. Through the building and down the elevator the assassin concealed their favored rifle within a suitcase-protruding the appearance of an employee departing after a day's work.
"Negative; I am in Shanghai I cannot obtain transportation until three days from now."
"Yes I told the colonel that..." A sleek black Ford had parked parallel to the building's entrance, "He said, this could not wait." A tall slender Caucasian man stood beside an opened door. His phone brought down from his ear, beside a scar on his right cheek, slips smoothly into his overcoat pocket.
Not hesitant, the assassin enters the car after placing the suitcase within the trunk. The door shut behind them then the car sped off into the living night. The drive, it was assumed, was to an airport and between then the details of the assignment would be given. The slender gentlemen who greeted outside the car handed the assassin a folder.
"Another high-profile target?"
"Not quite." The man answered when glancing at the folder, "This one you will be protecting and observing; nothing more."
Flipping through the papers its noticed how unusual for paper-copy assignments to be given in this age, which means it must be off-the-books. A photo is shown; "The President? Why would the most powerful woman in the world have need of me? I assassinate politicians not babysit them."
"What I know is there has been information that someone has infiltrated the White House and plans to assassinate the President of the United States-how or when we don't know; that is your task."
They roll their eyes-how dull and bothersome. Playing guard dog to a spoiled government leader is hardly any fun and neither is watching them like one. Nonetheless what happens in between might be entertaining-anyone who can outwit the CIA is certainly an opponent worth toying with. Money comes second to the list of importance. Carefully they stair at the photos; speeches, balls, delegating she certainly likes to keep herself busy. A photo slipped to the floor.
"Ah yes, it's not just the President you're protect, but also her family."
Two children-a son and a daughter and a husband; perfect.
"And if one of her family dies?" A dark smile was curled at the thought of an unfortunate 'accident'.
The man, with his silver and white hair, leans back in his seat and shuts his eyes, "The President comes first-if the family cannot be saved then forget them they will be a liability."
The assassin grins looking out the window, "As you wish."