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I tried to imagine Inessa, my Bratva princess, dropping a squat in the forest and laughed to myself at the thought. She wasn’t exactly high maintenance but I figured that hit the upper echelons of her tolerance.
Grinning to myself at the thought, and curious enough that I determined to take her glamping one day, I found my markers—the little slither of fabric I’d tied around a lower tree branch…
That was when I saw it.
There was another piece on the same tree, just a few feet away.
I stilled at the sight.
Nothing unusual there, stillness was required in my job.
But that was a marker.
It was too high up for Johnathan or Siobhan to have caught their jacket on the branch, so it wasn’t a scrap of torn fabric.
Someone had placed it there.
Someonebeing another sniper.
MI6 had sent someone else in?
Ego definitely pricked, my brow furrowed, and though I should have focused on the target, instead, I scanned the area.
I was on the outer edge of thirteen hundred yards away from my target. I could go further, but there were few as skilled as me beyond this point so I used that as a guide.
Within seconds, I located the slightest gleam of a reflection against a scope. Considering there were hardly any vantage points in the area, that wasn’t as difficult to manage as might be expected.
Jesus Christ, though.
Twosnipers in Ballymena.
What the fuck had this couple done?
Now I wasn’t just goddamn curious, I was fucking foaming at the mouth with the need to know why this simple pair of hippies had earned themselves a death sentence.
Returning my focus to the camper van, I found Johnathan doing as anticipated—pissing up against a tree before splashing his hands with the water he’d collected from the river.
As he zipped up, I tried to locate the woman, but she must have been inside. In these temperatures, not exactly a dumb move.
I sighed at the prospect of having to wait a couple of hours for them both to leave the van at the same time.
Take Johnathan out now, and she could just hop into the driver’s seat and get the hell out of town. Instinct might have her rushing outside to check on her husband, but I didn’t think so.
She’d found herself in the crosshairs of two snipers—Siobhan Lenister wasn’t a regular woman, regardless that she played the role of hippie to perfection.
Pressing my finger to the trigger, I ignored the bitter cold, the chill wind, the frigid block of cement beneath me that made my body numb. All of it went by the by as I did my job. As my soul took a vacation and my mind switched off. Thoughts of my beautiful wife faded, Afghanistan and the last time I’d been in a position like this over there drifted away.
I was a blank canvas.
A clean slate.
That was when I saw it.
A third piece of fabric.
A third motherfucking piece of fabric.
What the actual fucking fuck?
