The Project

A silver haired man blinked coolly from behind the telescopic sight of a sniper rifle. He leaned sideways and examined the street below him. Directly opposite, the university was beginning to buzz with activity as the large white doors were swung open and several uniformed security guards began to usher people in. He glanced down at his watch, where the glowing green digits informed him that it was 6:45; just fifteen minutes to go. He began going over the calculations of time in his head, although his current objective had been so meticulously planned it rendered any further concern of his redundant. Still, it never hurt to be over-prepared and his was not a business that tolerated mistakes.

         At seven o clock the lecture would begin, the speaker would talk for the allotted hour and forty five minutes, the audience would file out and finally the speaker would follow, although he wouldn’t get very far. He leaned forwards again and stared through the sight of the rifle. He swung it upwards away from the doors of the university and towards the roof of a building that lay just behind it. Through the powerful lens he could see it; his back up plan. He frowned slightly. The other shooter was crouched low behind the raised edges of the rooftop, but it was undoubtedly a male, and the silver haired man wondered what had happened to his usual partner. He dipped a slender hand into his jacket and pulled out a small mobile phone.

         “Ready?” came the voice at the other end.

         “Who are you?” the silver haired man demanded, “Where is number two?”

         “Indisposed,” came the snippy reply, “I’m her replacement, and if it’s good enough for the top, it should be good enough for you.” The line went dead, and the silver haired man replaced the phone with a small scowl. The voice carried a heavy London accent and didn’t belong to anyone he knew, but it carried the familiar tone of arrogance he had come to associate with people in this game. His own voice had probably carried it once too, when he had been young and zealous. With a sigh, he resumed his careful scrutiny of the street. It was quiet and empty now, the bulk of the crowd having already been ushered safely inside and the huge doors closed behind them. Now all he could do was wait. The fact that his back up shooter was not the woman he knew and trusted had left a small knot of discomfort in his stomach, but it was too late to change things now. Besides, this was his plan, the responsibility of failure was his and his alone and he had been at this game far too long to make mistakes. He shifted awkwardly and then took a seat on the cold stone floor of the abandoned office, his gaze never wavering from the doors through which, in just over an hour, his target would appear. If this was to be his last job then it would go down like all the others; smoothly, flawlessly and without a single hitch. Soon it would be perfectly executed and, as always, perfectly covered up. Soon it would be all over, like the short but eventful life of one Dr Michael Finn.