Bear cleared his mind for the seventh time in six minutes while staring up at the racing clouds. He had tried mastering the mindfulness thing, but it wasn’t working for him. There was always some problem lingering that his brain tried to find an answer for. When the static burst emanated from his earpiece, he nearly sat straight up, revealing himself.
“It’s time.” Katrine’s breathing filled the void. “She will be exiting the restaurant in a few minutes. Ready yourself.”
Bear rolled over on his knees and sank back on his heels. The breeze hit him in the face. He’d grown accustomed to the smell of the bakery. The sun glared down from his left. He set the short tripod on the knee-high wall and rested the barrel of the M40 on top. A few slight adjustments and the concrete landing in front of the restaurant’s entrance was perfectly aligned in his sights.
The deadline.
That imaginary line outside of a prison that guards used to determine whether a prisoner would be given another chance to get back inside or be shot dead.
Bear marked his own deadline a few feet in front of the doorway. God help anyone who passed it.
“I see you are in position. Be aware that you will be visible to anyone on the ground, not that they have a reason to look up. So take care to conceal yourself until the last possible moment.”
Bear was comfortable enough with his abilities that leaving the perch was OK. He closed his eyes and visualized the target exiting the restaurant. Lining up his shot. Squeezing the trigger. Breaking down the weapon. Descending the stairwell. Ditching the weapon.
Where was Frank? Given the man’s position now, he was likely a block away, monitoring the radio and keeping tabs on the chatter to see if anyone had picked up on the meeting. It wasn’t everyday two dead women met for brunch.
“Two minutes,” Katrine said. In the background he heard Sasha say something but couldn’t make it out.
The taste in his mouth soured. He knew he should have turned this damn job down. Sasha could have protected him while Jack faced the consequences on his own. Perhaps it was his stubbornness that led him to this mess. Loyalty was to blame as well. Why’d he have to be so damn proud that he couldn’t let her help him more?
The damn tumor in his brain was the only answer he could think of. Staring down his possible death — one that would have him rolling in his own feces like a babbling idiot — he needed to control what remained of his life because it sure as hell seemed like there was a good chance there wasn’t much left.
And that was why Bear decided right then that he would kill whoever they asked him to, then he’d make sure every last one of the sons of bitches paid for what they had done.
Or he’d die trying.