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Unfortunately for Solberg, today’s ice fishing session was going to be extremely stressful.
I could shoot him at any point, but the natural choice was to wait until he reached the hut, came to a halt, and opened the shack’s door. Even though he wouldn’t be facing me, a single shot to his back would do the trick.
If I missed, he would either hide inside the hut or run back towards the house.
If he ran for the house, I’d have a second chance to nail him as he scrambled across the ice.
If he got inside the hut, I would have to go out there to finish the job. Which would expose me to anybody in the house with a gun.
Extra incentive not to miss.
I used the range finder and made all the necessary adjustments to my scope. Then I settled in for a long wait.
According to the dossier, Solberg had arrived three days ago. When he vacationed in Kirkenes, he usually stayed for a week – sometimes with his family, sometimes with his mistress (the one on the Chinese government’s payroll). In the winter, he only came out of the main house to fish.
Now I just had to see if this was a fishing day.
I lay still as a statue as the sun rose across the mountains. The sky was overcast, which I was thankful for. Too much light glittering off the ice would have made it blinding to look through the scope for an extended period of time.
Around 9 AM, Solberg emerged from the house dressed in a heavy gray parka. I could see his worried face outlined by the furry hood over his head.
A bodyguard walked behind him – a tall, Nordic-looking guy about 30 years old, dressed in an orange padded jacket. He probably thought he was going to have a shit day because he had to go wait out on the ice while his boss fished.
Unfortunately for him, it was going to be a shit day for a much worse reason.
It was one thing to die because you’d turned traitor and given secrets to a foreign government. It was quite another to die because you worked for the asshole who gave the secrets away.
The bodyguard probably didn’t even know what his boss had done… although he might.
Didn’t matter. Either way, he was going to die.
Not your lucky day, my friend. Sorry about that.
Solberg tottered unsteadily across the ice. The bodyguard stopped at the shore and just watched.
Lazy.
I was confident the bodyguard couldn’t see me in my hiding place, but the guy didn’t even try.
I focused my scope on the hut and waited for Solberg to walk into my line of fire.
As expected, he paused in front of the door to open it. I couldn’t see his head because of the hood covering it, but I didn’t need to – the back of the parka was a perfect target.
I breathed out and pulled the trigger.
CRACK.
Before Solberg could get the door open, blood spattered across the side of the hut. A half-second later, he collapsed against the shack, and his body slid down face-first on the ice.
I immediately ejected the spent shell onto the snow and swung my rifle over to the bodyguard.
Mr. Nordic was standing on the shoreline, staring at his boss in shock.
I could have let him go – but if I did, he might figure out where the shot had originated and come after me.
Best to avoid complications.
By the time the bodyguard had pulled out his pistol, my crosshairs were lined up on his head.
