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“As much time as you can buy me. The good news is, I’ll be shooting to the northeast, so Schading will have the sun in his eyes, not me. I need a weather report. Not the hotter-than-fuck part; I know that. But I could use a thorough wind forecast. I need to know if I can expect the current conditions to hold.”
“Get your gear, and I’ll have a chat with the powers that be. I’ll meet you back at your Jeep in a few.”
One-Mile headed back to his vehicle, struck by the stillness of what must be a typically busy parking lot. Beyond that, motorists rubbernecked, trying to see what all the fuss in the strip mall was about. Their lives went on as soon as the light turned green. Someone’s was going to end today, and he would be the one pulling the trigger.
He just hoped Schading was the only person on the scene who met his end.
As much as One-Mile disliked Bryant, his squeaky-clean heroics, and his hold on Brea Bell, he didn’t wish death on the guy. He’d tried to do the right thing, and One-Mile respected that. Besides, his passing would destroy the pretty preacher’s daughter. And if she thought he was killing for any reason other than to please her, she was fooling herself.
It didn’t take long for the colonel to approach, Gaines in tow.
The precinct commander eyed him. “You sure about that location?”
The guy who had never been a sniper was going to question his strategy? “It’s the best balance between getting the right angle and being difficult for the gunman to spot.”
“Our SWAT guys think we’d do better to put someone on the roof of the grocery store, so that when Schading walks out with the wife and Bryant, the car will be in front of him. He’ll get distracted by his getaway and leave you a really easy shot from behind.”
One-Mile shook his head. “Or he sees the obvious plan coming a mile away and looks on the roof, spots me, then kills someone to prove a goddamn point.”
“That’s the risk we take.”
He shook his head. “Maybe that’s the risk you take when you don’t have someone who can hit this shot. But since I can and I’m probably the person he kills to make that point, I vote we do it my way.”
“Let him do his job, John,” the colonel encouraged in knowledgeable tones. “He’s the best. I hired him myself.”
Gaines cursed. “I need to make a few phone calls. We’ll have to clear out as many civilians as we can.”
One-Mile shrugged. “If that makes you feel better… I’m not going to miss and hit any of them, but if you’re worried Schading will fire back, I promise he’ll be dead before he even realizes he’s taken a bullet.”
“We’ll see,” the commander grumbled, then walked away.
“He’s got to cover his ass. If anything goes wrong, the department could have the shit sued out of them, and the optics would be horrible around the community.”
“Valid points.” One-Mile wasn’t used to worrying about shit like that, just about getting the damn job done.
“He’ll come through.”
Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Gaines ambled back with a scowl. “You got your way. The police chief isn’t thrilled, but he’s on board. The bank is closing now. The doctor was having a staff meeting that he’s wrapping up, and the light industrial offices behind that are already closed. The storage facility only has one employee on shift. He’s scheduled to leave at five, so he’s going to slide out early. You’ll have a clear shot.”
He could set up and get to work now. Best news he’d heard all day.
After that, shit happened quickly, which suited One-Mile just fine. To the police’s credit, they cleared all traffic from the vicinity with minimal disruption. If Schading had any accomplices outside the store—and they’d seen no indication of that—it would simply appear as if all of these businesses had gone dark for the rest of the weekend. They’d also managed to block off the alley to the east and the street access, as if the city intended to bring in a road crew to fill some potholes.
Thirty minutes later, he’d set up his tripod, positioned his weapon, and gotten his scope in place. Then he did what snipers had to learn to do if they wanted to be any fucking good: he waited. He refined the shot, felt the wind and heaviness of the air, factored that into his mental calculations, then texted Caleb to let them know he was ready, along with a host of other instructions to make sure no one spooked Schading or blocked his shot.
Fifteen minutes later, a black Camaro rolled into the alley. The gunman hadn’t left specific instructions about where and how he wanted the car positioned, other than to have it stocked with a full tank, money, and Tennessee whiskey. So One-Mile had been very detailed, and it looked as if the message had been communicated correctly when a uniformed officer left the running vehicle in the middle of the alley with the driver’s side facing the retaining wall. Only the driver’s door would be unlocked, which would force the gunman to walk around the car to escape. If he wanted to take Cutter as a hostage, Schading would either have to shove Bryant in first before he could take his seat or unlock the passenger door, escort Bryant to it, and force him in before finding his own seat. Either way, he’d be out in the open and vulnerable as fuck for far longer than One-Mile would need to get off a successful shot.
