Kill Shot: A Remnant of the Commonwealth, Book Two (17 page)

His words pulled Susan’s attention back to the here and now.

“Satisfied?”
Conrad asked.

Susan smiled. “Yes. Now please get off my ship.”

Conrad stared at her for a moment and then looked down. The targeting dot was gone and he nodded his head once. He shot one more angry look in Susan’s direction and then stalked down the ramp.

Chapter 21

It’s a beautiful day to kill someone,
Aaron thought as he stared out the small hole toward Hilltop. The sky was clear and a bright blue. It was warm, but not overly so, and the wind was almost non-existent. He had feared that it would be an overcast, rainy day, or that perhaps there would be gale-force winds, but neither fear had materialized.

Four days ago
, the security around Hilltop had been impressive; if anything, the security had been increased. Scores of heavily armed security guards roamed the grounds and the neighboring streets. Specialized detectors had been installed at the entrances and every guest was being forced to endure being scanned. It was like some foreign dignitary was attending instead of a bunch of crime lords.

Guests had been arr
iving for over an hour now and the number of guests appeared to be increasing. There was a line of people waiting to get through the detectors, but Aaron hadn’t seen anyone of importance yet, and he hadn’t sighted his target, but it was still early. He lowered the monocular and rested his head against the rafter.

Aaron had killed plenty in the war but never with a sniper’s rifle, and he was beginning to have second thoughts. It wasn’t that he
felt Woodson didn’t deserve it—he was quite sure the man deserved it as much as anybody. His problem was that he didn’t feel right about being the man’s judge, jury, and executioner. It was one thing to look a man in the eyes and shoot him before he shot you, but it was quite another to kill a man from afar, especially at his daughter’s wedding. Everything just seemed so wrong with this job. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate—it felt sort of right, but still dirty. Justifiable, but still wrong was the best way he could describe it.

He thought back to his military days and the war. When the scientists had experimented on him, they had asked him to volunteer first. He had done so willingly, but he hadn’t known what he was volunteering for. He had thought maybe sabotage or perhaps an assassination, and he had been okay with it then. But that had been so different. He felt completely at peace committing
an assassination for his country during a war. But now he felt dirty for killing a man for money, even if the man was a murderous monster. Perhaps it would be different if he killed his target up close; at least give the man a chance to defend himself, but that was not an option.

A new thought occurred to him then and it made his skin go cold. He was worried about the experiments making him go psychotic, but what if this killing was the first step. He had never done anything like th
is before. Perhaps this cheapening of the value of life would start him down the path of insanity.

Aaron shook his head, trying to clear it. He wasn’t insane, but perhaps a bit paranoid. He would complete this job but he never wanted to assassinate anyone again.

He glanced back out the small hole and sighed. The line had gotten longer, but there wasn’t anyone he recognized.

He decided to put the time to good use and began to go over each step in his escape route, every part of the plan. He couldn’t spot any problems, no gaps in logic. Still, there was always the chance that something would go wrong. He knew if he was caught th
at he would never escape alive. He had made the difficult decision to end his own life instead of letting these bastards take him. It wasn’t an easy decision, but it was better than the alternative.

He glanced once more at Hilltop and sighed at the length of the line. It made sense that Woodson would not show until all the guests had gotten through security. Aaron lowered his head again and waited.

It took nearly an hour for all the guests to arrive and get through security. The last group through the detectors were four men and their wives. Aaron straightened up a bit at the
sight of the first man in line—Reginald Bailey. He suspected the other three were the other crime lords, but he still didn’t see Woodson. There was a moment or two of panic as he frantically searched the grounds for his target, afraid the whole time that he had missed seeing the man, afraid that he had in fact missed his one and only opportunity.

It was then that he spotted
Darren Woodson walking from the white building complex down the hill toward the guests. He was an intimidating-looking man. He was large and slightly overweight, but still looked like he could handle himself. His dark hair was thinning and it was starting to go gray at the edges. He seemed to be walking straight for the four new arrivals.

A shorter, younger version of Woodson walked behind him and Aaron assumed it was Woodson’s son
, Lou.

Aaron
set down the monocular, picked up the sniper’s rifle, and sighted down the scope.

He hadn’t exactly been taught to shoot a sniper’s rifle, but he damn well knew how to shoot an ordinary rifle. The shot that he was taking was just much longer than what he was used to, but the scope was computerized and helped make necessary adjustments.
It took into account wind, distance, and a host of other factors.

In addition to the scope, the computer in his head also seemed to be making suggestions. For the most part, its recommendations agreed with the scope’s, but there were a few minor anomalies. When the scope and organic computer were in disagreement, Aaron went with the scope. It wasn’t that he doubted the organic computer,
but he felt the scope was better able to measure the wind and other variables.

Woodson reached Bailey and the other three
men, and the four women stepped away to allow the men to talk.

Woodson was directly lined up but Aaron waited. Woodson began shaking the hands of each of the men and still Aaron waited. He was lined up and could take the shot at any moment.

A new thought occurred to him then, as such thoughts tended to when they were least wanted. He hadn’t yet fired this gun—he had cleaned it but not fired it. There shouldn’t be any problems, but that little voice in the back of his mind asked “What if?” What if the gun exploded in his hands? What if the scope was off by a fraction of a degree? A fraction of a degree didn’t sound like much but when it was magnified over half a mile he could easily miss his target. Hell, with his luck he could miss his target and kill Bailey. Wouldn’t that be a bitch?

He forced all the worrying, nagging thoughts away and slowed his breathing.

Woodson had shaken the hands of two of the men and he stepped up and grasped Bailey’s hand. It wasn’t a warm embrace, more the acknowledgement that a general gives to his lieutenant.

Aaron breathed out and held it, remaining as calm and still as he could. Ever so gently, he squeezed the trigger, and the gun went off with a loud bang.

Aaron’s plan called for him to make the shot and then run like hell. He still intended to, but he had to wait a moment. He had to see what he had done.

The bullet flew true. It struck Woodson high in the c
hest and propelled him backward. Before his body could hit the ground, there was an explosion.

The bullet was not actually a solid projectile. There was a minuscule explosive embedded in the bullet
that exploded mere moments after the bullet hit Woodson. The explosion nearly tore the man in two.

Bailey fell to the ground and began frantically scooting away
from Woodson. He wasn’t the only one. Many of the guests were screaming and trying to find cover.

Relieved and disgusted, Aaron pulled his eye from the scope. He rolled over and dropped down from the attic onto the ruined hotel’s third floor. He headed for the dumbwaiter’s rope, pausing only long enough to pull the strap of the rifle over his shoulder.

He had considered leaving the rifle in the hotel, but he wished to keep it if possible. It might still be necessary to ditch the gun, but he hoped not.

His feet hi
t the ground floor and he made straight for the side entrance. He was moving slower than he wished. In his plan, he had forgotten to take into account what lying on one’s side in a small attic for days did to one’s muscles. He was sore and his muscles felt watery.

Near the entrance, he kicked aside some garbage to expose his stash. He had placed his brown robe here, as well as the metal briefcase that was the rifle’s housing.

He began to frantically break down the gun as a voice screamed in his head that he was wasting time. His paranoia and haste hampered him rather than helped, as they always tended to do. Still, even with his fumbling hands, it took only moments to tear down the gun and place it in the case. He left it sitting on the floor and scooped up the robe. He threw it over his head, and then strapped the case to his belt. The robe would hide it and perhaps he might be able to keep it after all.

The side door was still hanging on by its lone hinge and he peeked through a gap. The alley was empty and Aaron hurriedly left the building. He headed toward the main street and slowed down as he exited the alley; rushing through the street would only draw eyes.

He crossed the main thoroughfare and stopped in an alley entrance. This was another part of his plan. He had not been completely idle during his four days in the attic. He had brought seven small canisters with him. The canisters were survival gear and could be used to cook food in the wilderness. They were legal and easily obtained. During the last four days, Aaron had modified the canisters, attaching a small timer and receiver. He had, in effect, turned the canisters into bombs. Those bombs were now placed in strategic places within the ruined hotel. After tonight, the homeless would not be able to use the old hotel as a makeshift shelter.

He looked up and down the street and saw nothing out of the ordinary. If any of the pedestrians had heard the shot, they had not realized what it was.

Aaron reached his hand into his pocket and pressed a button on a small remote.

I’ve got sixty seconds,
he thought. He left the alley and turned left, walking at a steady pace, but not rushing.

He kept a count in his head
, and as he neared sixty, he stepped over into the doorway of a small shop, pretending to look over the vegetables on display.

He grew worried as the count went over sixty and even reached sixty-six, but he never got to sixty-seven.

There was an explosive roar of sound, and he looked back down the street. Wood and stone had been thrown into the air, and parts of the building began to burn.

The pedestrians in the street stopped and stared in dread fascination at the spectacle of the hotel.

The building teetered for a moment and then began collapsing in on itself. There were secondary explosions of sound and the crowd turned and, as one, ran to all points of the compass.

Aaron ran along with them.

It took Aaron over an hour to reach the tube station.
In the chaos he had made good time, and it wouldn’t have taken so long to reach the station, but he bypassed the nearest tube station and exited Oldtown, choosing to go to an unfamiliar station farther away from the Woodson assassination.

The metal case containing the rifle was still attached to his belt. It kept bouncing into his legs and he was sure he would be bruised from his knee to his waist, but he felt it was worth it.

He stopped just short of the station and casually looked around. Satisfied that no one was paying him the first bit of attention, he pulled the brown robes off, disposing of them into the nearest trashcan. He paused only long enough to straighten his clothes and hair, and then he descended the steps into the station.

He was afraid the station would be crawling with security, and it was, but more importantly, the station was overflowing with customers. People entering and leaving the station, boarding and exiting trains, the crowds were thick and hard to get through.

Aaron began fighting his way through the crowd to the appropriate train. It was difficult, and he stepped around a stone column and came face-to-face with a group of three security guards. They were scanning the crowds, but he wasn’t sure what they were looking for. Aaron didn’t think they had the first clue what he looked like, but he still would have preferred to avoid them. They glanced up at him and he felt the urge to pull away, to back into the crowd, but he knew that would be the worst possible thing for him to do. Instead, he nodded his head and stepped around them. His heart was beating fast and he kept expecting to hear a shout of “Stop!” or perhaps have a hand grab him by the shoulder. But none of those things happened and he successfully resisted the urge to look back.

Aaron’s mouth was dry and his heart felt like it might explode
, but he managed to calmly board his train and take a seat. Only then did he look back—the guards were lost in the masses of human and alien life.

Feeling somewhat relieved, Aaron laid his head back on the wall of the train. His heartbeat slowed to something more normal and he breathed deeply. After a moment the train started moving.

He was so tired and it would have been very easy to fall asleep, but that might be disastrous, so Aaron lifted his head from the train wall and forced himself to lean forward. The last thing he wanted was to miss his stop.

He hadn’t done anything for the last four days, so there wasn’t any reason for him to be tired, but he guessed it was probably the stress. Stress did weird things to the body.