Some experts, those who came on talk shows, called it an impact killing. An incident, they said, designed to take out low-value targets, without affecting the operations of a country or a state. Whose sole purpose was to garner headlines and publicity. Of course, most people called such incidents acts of terror.
The shooter didn’t care about semantics and linguistic terms. He had a gun, a SAKO TRG-42, a scope, several five-round magazines, a tripod, a suppressor mounted on the barrel. Nearby, he had a bottle of water, a backpack in which was his Beretta, more magazines and identity documents. They verified him as Joe Hines, a vet who had served a tour in Iraq.
They were good but fake. Iskander Blokhin, who was masquerading as the vet, settled down and brought the scope to his eyes. Columbus Avenue sprang up in detail. Four hundred yards from where he was, on the fifth floor of an office building that was under construction. Prominent signs at street level forbade entry.
Blokhin had checked out the building, one of several options. Its location at the junction with West 60th Street, near a hospital and church, ensured that there was heavy traffic. He snorted. This was New York. Traffic was always heavy, but on this stretch of road, it was a few shades more. The building’s proximity to the glass-fronted one nailed it for him. That mirrored building housed some undercover operatives from some US outfit called the Agency.
His incident was supposed to be a message to that outfit. He shook his head in disgust. Why not kill them directly? Why this elaborate dance? But his was not to question why. He was one of the best shooters in the world, a mercenary. He was paid well, and if his paymasters wanted him to shoot something else, he was game.
The room he was using was a large, empty space that would presumably be fitted out eventually as an office. The street-facing side was boarded up, but he had punched several holes to give himself a good view.
A honking in the distance alerted him. He swung his scope to the left and spotted the school bus immediately. It approached the junction, its driver irritatedly sounding the horn to get slower-moving vehicles out of the way. Blokhin timed it in his mind as he moved the scope idly. That girl in the blue dress. Chinese-looking. She was right in his sights. Would make a great impact kill. A car moved away from the bus, leaving its side exposed to the shooter.
The bus accelerated as the light turned green. It was going fast, but not fast enough for the shooter.
Blokhin pulled the trigger.
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