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“And you know for a fact that Yi can be trusted?”
“He’s not interested in makin’ his wife a widow.” The click of the magazine being placed emphasizes my firmness. “Sir.”
Seventeen picks up his weapon and the ammunition to complete the actions I just did.
“This…assignmentis not your average assignment. We’re in a game of chess. And our opponent? Seems to always be two steps ahead of us. Those are steps you cannot take if you don’t have some sort of clue as to the strategy we’re workin’ with. It’s another reason why I’m not makin’ the moves thatyouor the other higher ups think I should be makin’. Those are probably the moves that they’re expectin’ me to make and the moves they’ve already got maneuvers for.”
Once he finishes loading the weapon, he mumbles, “Which is why you’re keeping Arley at your place versus a traditional safehouse, correct?”
My finger rolls around to indicate for him to unload the firearm next. “It’s one reason.”
Knowing the ins and out of the building including entries and choke points, knowing the security staff by name and background, being able to access the footage of the entire area with a couple clicks as well as having three mapped exit strategies lined up are also reasons.
Of course, the most important one is that it’s where Angel Cake feels most comfortable.
And much like a calm kid is a compliant one, a comfortable adult is a cooperative one.
And when handling something like this that’s exactly what you need.
You don’t need the person you’re protecting to do everything they can to make doing that harder.
After he successfully unloads the rounds, I point to his set of headphones. “I’m actually gonna fire my weapon, so you need to put those on.”
He reaches for the ear coverage at the same time he states, “I know I can’tvisitArley, but I do look forward to seeing her again hopefully soon.” Seventeen begins to put them on. “Perhaps next time I’ll order us to-go lunch from Just Poké or rent the entire backroom for us to share – after all Chef Oka owes me a favor or two. Hm. I wonder if she’s still a fan of their ahi tuna bowl.”
The fact I didn’t even know she liked ahi tuna at all causes me to scowl.
How is itheknows that shit but didn’t know she prefers to be called Arley?
Or was that…something special she let me start calling her?
What else does he know that I don’t?
Shoving on my ear gear is followed by the reloading, checking the chamber, and positioning of my firearm. While there are an array of green and white targets to hit both close and in the distance, I choose to keep our cover intact by picking the ones that’ll be easier for him to hit.
Lining up the shot itself is effortless.
Not delivering overkill due to the frustrations I would like to unload is a bit more difficult.
Working from left to right and then right to left, I steadily deliver two rounds into the dead center of each target, executing pristine trigger discipline and timing. The ability to hit center mass each time with minimal effort is far less impressive to me than the amount of recoil I’m enduring with my most recently modified firearm.
I like guns, but unlike my dad, I don’t like them for show.
I don’t have a collection to impress my colleagues the same as I do my golf clubs.
Every weapon I own has purpose.
Function.
I understand how it’s put together.
How it operates.
Its intent and the damage it’s capable of committing.
Weapons training didn’t cease when I retired my beret.
If anything…it became more crucial.
