Saint Tammany Parish, just north of New Orleans, Louisiana
The administration building of the Saint Tammany Parish Sheriff was larger than Rafael had pictured. The modern, two-story complex sported a tall, glass-lined lobby entrance with an adjoining jail. The outer walls of the jail itself were smooth cement which melded into the glass structure with ease. The property sat nestled among residential neighborhoods and was bordered by Louisiana Interstate 12, a six-laner that ran the northern border of Lake Pontchartrain, just north of New Orleans.
In the morning darkness, Rafael strapped a sharpened pair of tree-climbing spikes onto each foot. He then ascended the seventy-foot-tall pine tree by jamming the spike on one foot into the tree, then the other, the effect similar to climbing a ladder. The tree sat on the property of a local golf course, on the opposite side of I-12 from the sheriff’s office.
Once he was at the highest point, Rafael could see only two obstacles that sat between his chosen firing position and the intended target. The first was the highway itself. The interstate was not very wide, but even at this time of morning was traveled by a large number of eighteen-wheel tractor trailers. Since he would be firing from ground level, a passing truck could obscure visibility of the target.
The other groundlevel obstruction was a twenty-foot-tall noise barrier wall that lined this stretch of highway.
From his perch near the top of the pine tree, Rafael considered the possibilities. The shot was only about one hundred meters, mere child’s play in the world of a veteran sniper. But since his employer specifically demanded the assassination take place at precisely 2:16 p.m. EST, the stakes were higher. A kill shot delivered at exactly that time would result in a 100 percent pay bonus, a bonus Rafael intended to earn.
He had worked for several employers over the years, and in the two dozen hits he had successfully performed, never had such a request been made. The time requirement added a new level of complexity to the already dangerous task.
In the earlier assignment to assassinate FBI Director Stephen Latent, the distance to target was also minuscule compared to his skill level. And he had to admit that he had been lucky with the timing. Latent had been scheduled to finish his speech at 2:00 p.m. and was to head to another speaking engagement across town. That gave him just enough time to finish his speech and traverse the sprawling convention center. As it happened, he pushed the double doors open and walked into his death at exactly 2:16 p.m.
Here in Louisiana, and anywhere an assignment of this nature was to be carried out, the one thing of paramount importance to Rafael was his ability to evade the area after the hit. Since the Zastava M07 rifle would be fitted with a silencer, he had little fear of his location’s being detected. And in the broad daylight, no one would notice the flash from the muzzle.
His previous surveillances of this area afforded him one particularly interesting piece of information. The target, Sheriff Will Chalmette, worked the afternoon shift. That afforded the sheriff the ability to speak with deputies finishing the morning shift, and, later, those on the graveyard shift as they came in to the office. The afternoon shift officially started at 1:00 p.m. central time, 2:00 p.m. eastern.
The sheriff began his day by arriving about thirty minutes early. Then, around 1:00 p.m., he would assemble his officers and give them an update. And just as officers prepared to go on patrol, Chalmette would do one thing of particular interest to Rafael. He would go outside and talk with officers as they pumped fuel into their squad cars.
The local parish could only afford to have a single gas pump at the station, so Sheriff Chalmette had ample opportunity to speak with several officers each day as they fueled up. It was during this time that Rafael had the best opportunity. His intention was to drop Will Chalmette into a pool of his own blood and brain matter at exactly 1:16 p.m. Central Time. Then he’d make his escape through the golf course onto adjoining neighborhood streets. Being separated from the sheriff’s office by an interstate and a twenty-foot-tall sound barrier wall would make his escape all too easy.
Then the only hard part of this whole job began—the job of cutting a circular hole into the sound-barrier wall from which he would fire his weapon. Rafael descended the tree and began his preparations.