He cautiously leaned out the window and looked around. He estimated he was about thirty or forty meters above the ground. He ducked his head back down. He didn't want anyone to notice him. He looked again at the floor of the cramped room. Everything was still in order. Why should it change? The walls were brick, not even plastered. The only exit, and thus entrance, was a narrow staircase against the wall on the right. He leaned forward. For what seemed like the tenth time today, he'd been looking at the floor. He wondered if it was time.
He picked up a 7.62x54 caliber sniper rifle, over six feet long, made mostly of wood. Yes, it was his favorite weapon. Russians might not be generally very smart, he thought, but they knew perfectly well how to kill easily. He absolutely adored this rifle. In his opinion, it had only advantages and only one drawback. This weapon could fire with very high velocity and accuracy, given practice. But unfortunately, each subsequent shot meant a huge bang. It was difficult to muffle this weapon properly. He succeeded so well that, at least from the distance separating him from the ground, no one should have heard the shot. He leaned the barrel against the window, the stock against his shoulder. He put his eye to the telescopic sight. He knew his victim had no chance. He loved this feeling. He had absolute power over his target's life. Who would live to see tomorrow and who wouldn't depended solely on him.
He began scanning the windows of the building across the street one by one. He was no more than a hundred meters away. He could see everything clearly. He was already thinking about what he could do with this power. He could, for example, spy on the "subject's" wife, as he liked to call it, in the bath. He could check what television programs interested his family members. He was a god! No, god might be too strong a word. He was more like a "Big Brother." Big James—he laughed to himself almost aloud.
He had to find him, he said to himself, "this… what's his name… Martin Yuricich?" Yes, that was his name.
James had no memory for names. He was only interested in numbers. Numbers representing large sums of money flowing into his account.
He found him. On the first floor. Martin was sitting comfortably in the living room, sipping some alcohol. Suddenly, he stood up, placed his glass on the table, and left the room. James adjusted his scope so he could see the neighboring windows. One of them led off the bathroom. That's where Martin had entered. What a stupidity, he thought, such a large window leading off the bathroom. Although, on the other hand, there was no one watching him anyway. The only way would be to climb the very tower he was standing on and take with him binoculars or… a sniper rifle with a mediocre scope.
He put down the gun. He wasn't going to shoot a man in the toilet! He took a small silver MP3 player from his pocket. He put in his headphones and pressed play. Soft music and a barely audible female voice flowed from the headphones.
He picked up the rifle, which was leaning against the wall, and resumed his position. He noticed that Martin had disappeared from the bathroom. He wasn't in the living room either. The glass from the table was also gone. "
I'll never waste another day. " Searching
to find the reason
. He heard a male voice coming from the headphones. He listened intently to the lyrics while searching for his "object."
Why did I choose to play this game?
This goes too far .
I'll take no more
. The moment he heard those words, he found Martin in the bedroom, talking to his wife. Perfect, there was a large window in the bedroom. He didn't stand a chance.
I played the part and took the blame
while you pretend nothing is real
life turned to night as you're asleep
. He didn't know why, but he listened intently to the singer's voice. He knew this song perfectly.
Blood flowing down, is this a dream?
The words struck him.
"Liar, you tempt me."
It came out faintly, repeated several times by the singer. Time seemed to stand still. It seemed to him that it was referring to him. Perhaps the money had tempted him. If it weren't for the enormous sums, he would never have taken up such a job. But then again... it was his way of surviving! This was how he made a living! He supported his family. He thought of his Michelle. Yes, it was for her. Oh, if only she knew where the money came from that he used to shop every day... that he used to prepare meals for himself and his children...
James and Michelle had two children. Boys. They had been married for over a decade.
But Martin, of course, was also married! From what he had learned, he also had a teenage daughter. Would he kill the sole breadwinner to provide for his family?
I don't know what to do,
no guilt is in my heart,
I don't know what to do,
I'm not the reason
. Yes, the chorus sung by the singer pretty much reflected his situation. He had no idea what he should do now. After all, if he backed down, his family would be in danger! Oh no, family first… but does he have the right to put the well-being of his own family above the well-being of the Yuricich family? Is my family better? Does he have a greater right to a decent life? – he thought. – I'm no god!
I'll never waste another day
forever, lost,
no reason
he never chooses to play this game
taken too far out of control
. Yes, I'm not the god. My employers are! I have no control here anymore. I can't back down now, because… he couldn't allow himself to think that.
...my family would be in danger. They'd probably kill them...
Liar, you tempt me.
Yes, I've been deceived—he couldn't bear the thought. He felt a tear roll down his cheek. He tore his eye away from the scope. He reached his right hand into his holster. From it, he pulled out a 770-gram pistol. He always carried it with him—just in case. Fortunately, he'd never had to use it. An excellent weapon if he needed to defend himself against pursuit. It was easy to use, and the magazine held twenty bullets. That's twice as much as his rifle.
I don't know what to do,
no guilt is in my heart.
He raised the gun higher, to head height. He wasn't fully aware of what he was doing. He felt the cold barrel of the Five-seveN pistol against his temple. He decided it was the only sensible option. This was the only way he wouldn't endanger his wife and children... but when they told her what had happened here, would Michell understand that he had done it for her? To protect her? She would rather think I was tormented by guilt—he understood—no, I can't leave Michell. She wouldn't survive this... especially not the children...
I don't know what to do,
I'm not the reason.
The piece came to an end. It wasn't his favorite, but he really liked the group performing it. The next song began with the calm sounds of a guitar. He liked this one a bit more than the previous one, but he still didn't listen to it as attentively as he had the previous one. His mind was occupied with another matter. Yes, a matter of life and death—that was the most apt description.
He put the gun down and slipped it back into its holster. This is for you, Michell, he repeated to himself. He once again put his eye to the scope mounted on the Russian Dragunov SVD rifle.
He had found his target. Martin Yuricich. He was still sitting with his wife in the bedroom.
James waited for the right moment. He took his phone out of his pocket. Without looking at the keypad, he punched in the number. He knew it by heart. Without taking his eyes off Martin, he put the phone to his ear.
"Hello?" he heard the words coming from the receiver, blending with the lyrics. "
Nothing to feel for you,
this was our last dance. "
He forgot to take the receiver out of his ear. It was too late now.
"It's me, honey," he replied after a moment.
"James? Is something wrong?
" "I just wanted to..." he paused. "I just wanted to tell you...
" "What happened?" The woman began to worry.
"Whatever happens." Only now did he realize he was crying. His voice trembled, tears flowing down his cheeks one after another. "Whatever happens now, know that I'm only doing this for you.
" "What?
" "Think of something, I don't want the children to know...
" "What are you..." she suddenly heard a loud bang from the receiver. She froze.
"James..." she said uncertainly.
He ended the call and dropped the phone to the floor. He kept looking through the scope. The bullet flew just above Martin's head, burying itself in the sheets, and a moment later, hundreds of tiny feathers began flying around the room. Martin managed to hide behind the cabinet. His wife was under the bed.
Closer and closer, it's time to surrender
. The music continued. He aimed again. He didn't want the miss to look intentional. The sound of the shot startled a pigeon, which perched on the window, right next to the rifle barrel. The bullet blew the cabinet door open. Martin looked mortally terrified.
Suddenly, he heard sirens. Yes, those were police cars.
Don't try to brath .
Don't try to run away
. He shot again. Just to be sure. To make it clear he'd tried. This time, the bullet lodged itself in the wall, chipping away chunks of paint and plaster.
He put the rifle down. He leaned it against the wall. He looked out at the street.
No more fear,
they said, "You were so weak
and I put you down to lay down,
nothing to feel for you,
this was our last dance
." He ripped off his headphones and threw his music player on the floor, right next to the phone. The police cars kept arriving. Of course, there were also special forces. The street filled with police. They scattered. He knew they were looking for him. He pulled his gun from his holster. He had to keep up appearances until the very end.
A few minutes later, two FBI cars appeared. Several agents got out. Two immediately headed for the tower, the others intended to check other locations.
There was no escape now. He picked up the phone lying on the floor.
"Steve?" he asked.
"Is something wrong, James?
" "Pay my wife the amount we agreed on in case of a bust.
" "You can't be serious... where are you calling from?
" "Never mind. Several FBI officers will be here in a moment." He hesitated whether to continue. "Even if I kill them, there's a whole police presence down below. I don't stand a chance.
" "You want to surrender?" The voice coming from the phone speaker seemed to express surprise.
"I'll never give up, I just know I don't stand a chance..." He ended the call and threw the phone back on the floor. He made sure the safety was off. He had to keep up the appearance. He was a ruthless killer, after all... but he no longer wanted to kill anyone...
The blood dripping... was this a dream
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