PONTUS MILWOKH SHOOK his arm as he gazed out across the area below the roller coaster. Paramedics had arrived and were just now concluding that the man in the red shirt was beyond their aid. The shot had been perfect, even though he’d been in motion, and the fact that no one else had been hurt definitely merited a gold star.
He’d never understood the people who stood around watching. They were everywhere. As soon as disaster struck, they popped up out of nowhere with their dull eyes and camera phones. It was as though they took pleasure from the fact that it hadn’t happened to them. That they weren’t the ones being covered and carried away on gurneys.
At least the Danish police seemed to have finally caught on. Sirens were wailing in the streets outside Tivoli now, and he could even see special operations teams arriving. But he wasn’t worried. He left things up to the dice. Like now, for example, when he stopped shaking his arm and checked the outcome.
Three – Change weapons
It was the third time since he started. If it had been up to him, he would have had a few more goes with the rifle. It was undoubtedly the best weapon from up here at the top of the roller coaster.
But the dice had spoken and he could only hope it would choose the crossbow or the rifle again. What he would do if it was the knife, rope or poison, he had no idea. Or even worse, if he rolled a five, which meant he could only use his own body.
Another train full of Tivoli visitors was unlikely to go by anytime soon and he wasn’t allowed to change his position at will. In the worst-case scenario, he would have to wait in place until the police came to arrest him and at best get one of them before it was all over.
Was this the dice’s way of telling him it was time to wrap up? That it was tired of him? He hadn’t made so much as one mistake since starting this task. On the contrary, he’d delivered more than could reasonably be expected, considering the pressures of the situation.
Only the boy had bothered him. It was the first time he’d felt an instinctive resistance to obeying the commands of the dice. But he’d checked himself and done as he was told, and strangely, afterwards, he’d felt stronger than ever.
Maybe that was the point. It almost felt like it might be. As though the boy had been significant. As though the dice had decided it was time for the circle to be complete so he could move on. Was there a better way of escaping your childhood than destroying yourself as a child?
He shook his left arm again until he was sure the dice was ready to make a decision.
Two – Crossbow
It was the second-best option, though a crossbow was far from easy to operate. Especially at a distance. Granted, he had imported a Revengeance from Barnett in the US through Amazon. It was relatively easy to arm, despite reaching bolt speeds of almost 250 miles an hour. But at this distance, wind was a factor. And if the target was moving, there was a considerable risk the bolt could miss, which was out of the question under any circumstances.
He unfolded the two cam limbs, cocked the thick string and placed the bolt in the flight groove. Then he let the weapon rest against the edge of the grey plastic that was meant to look like a mountainside and put his feet against the track for support.
He judged the distance down to the open space between the Ferris wheel and the swing ride to be about three hundred feet and set the scope accordingly. The moment he put his eye to it, he felt like he was down there in the crowd.
Like an invisible spectre, he hovered there right in front of them. He could even see the fear in some people’s eyes when they realized someone had been shot nearby.
What he didn’t see was panic. No crowds stampeding in every direction, trampling each other to save themselves, like during a terror attack. Just a general worry about what had happened, which suited him perfectly. The calmer they were, the better.
The man who finally caught his attention was, however, not on the ground, but rather sitting alone in one of the gondolas of the Ferris wheel with a red pocket square in his breast pocket. He looked like he was well into his sixties and, unlike the other visitors, was formally attired.
He adjusted the scope and watched the man through the cross hairs as he went round and round until the Ferris wheel suddenly stopped and his gondola swung back and forth at the highest point while waiting for the lowest gondola to empty out and fill with new passengers.
Meanwhile, the cross hairs wandered up to the red pocket square and then his index finger squeezed the trigger, releasing the latch holding the string, which, aided by the two limbs, sent the bolt flying.
It was over in less than a second, and it took him a while to realize the bolt had missed. Judging from the man’s surprised face, it had passed by about a foot to his left.
The Ferris wheel began to turn again, which gave him plenty of time to cock the string, place another bolt in the flight groove and get into position. The man seemed to have regained his composure and was enjoying the view when the Ferris wheel stopped once more, setting the gondola swaying.
This time, he adjusted his aim about a foot to the man’s right before releasing the bolt, which shot through the air almost soundlessly, pierced the left side of the man’s chest and, judging from the heavy bleeding that immediately soaked his shirt, went straight to his heart.