The Assassin

The Assassin

By Jack Reid

Age 14



Moscow 07/02/14

At this distance the exit wound should be the size of a small apple. I unclipped my briefcase to reveal an un-assembled 403.CheyTac Intervention Sniper rifle complete with 12x zoom and began to piece it together. I peered through my Vector Ballistic trajectory binoculars that calculated the wind speed; unexpected deviation and bullet drop along the bullet’s flight path. I locked the barrel into the stock with a satisfying clunk. My position is St Basil’s Cathedral, a perfect vantage point of Red Square and the stage on which Prime Minster of Russia Viktor Alexandrov will give his nuclear rearmament speech dubbed ‘Operation Rising’. He has plans for the western world that many would find horrific but I find myself caring less and less as time goes on. I noticed the wind was picking up as I watched the flags surrounding the on-stage podium flap in wind. My employer wished to remain anonymous. However, before I was drugged with a small sedative for transportation I remembered seeing a US army airfield.



The gun was coming together now; the scope was being slid into place when a lone figure walked confidently out onto stage. The figure was no more than a tiny dot at this distance but under the gaze of a 12x zoom I could get an identity check. I hauled the rifle into position; a tiny hole in the side of a cathedral dome and clicked the bipod onto the barrel. I lay there perfectly still, the rifle stock resting firmly on the ground and supported by my shoulder. I fumbled in my front pocket and removed a photo of Alexandrov and zoomed in for a better view. I had to be sure it was Alexandrov regardless of whether I recognised him. If I went through with this then is may become one of the most important moments in history and I had only one chance at it. As I zoomed I saw him standing at the podium smiling proudly just like in his photo, his face full of enthusiasm. The crowd gave a standing ovation at the end of every sentence as if it were pure gold. His suit was a well-pressed presidential tuxedo adorned with medals of his service to the KGB under hid state of the art body armour, his baldhead covered by a Spetnaz beret. Positive ID.



As I slid the 6-inch silencer onto the muzzle, I decided to time my shot with the fireworks display planned at the end of the speech so the sounds of a sniper round exiting the barrel and ripping through Alexandrov’s frontal lobe is muffled. Red Square was choked with military and supporters making a more direct method impossible. By now the speech was coming to a close as I watched fireworks surrounding the square get prepped for launch. I knew the national anthem would trigger the launch on the first note and present the opportunity to take the shot. My crosshairs were now fixed on Alexandrov his sharp movements growing into an almost theatrical crescendo. The crowd stood in awe, completely enthralled in his plan they believed it was as he put it the reclamation of the honour of our glorious Motherland.



My hand began to tighten its grip on the handle of the rifle as I inserted a magazine into the slot and pulled back the firing pin with a loud steel grind. I lay there completely still and held my breath. Finally after what seemed like hours but was no more than seconds, Alexandrov stepped back from the podium and the national anthem kicked in. Within seconds fireworks erupted around Moscow spraying red, gold, blue and green embers into the skyline trailing fire and smoke. As the first of the fireworks exploded I waited to between heartbeats, exhaled slowly and pulled hard on the trigger. Again it seemed to take forever but the intense recoil subsided and I watched as the bullet glided gracefully through the glowing city, past the crowd and smashed straight through the victims skull sending him toppling to the ground, blood gushing from his fatal wound as the gunshot echoed silently amongst the sky of fire. I immediately disassembled the Intervention and packed it into my briefcase and as I walked away I heard the cries of a nation’s rage, accompanied, I was certain, by the beginnings of the drums of war which would inevitably follow…