47- Radio Tower Snipe

  In order to gain every possible advantage, Agent 47 had Gazeau draw three identical maps of the base, and divide each into sectors. Then, having checked to make sure their radios were operational, the men low-crawled into position roughly three hundred feet out from the perimeter of the base. The assassin estimated that the old radio mast was approximately one hundred feet tall. That made it the perfect watchtower—a place from which a sharp-eyed lookout could monitor activity for miles around. Had he been the one playing defense, 47 would have stationed one of his very best people up there.

  But would Marla do likewise? It was an important question, because if she had, then it would be necessary to kill the lookout in order to maintain the element of surprise. But it was still too dark to be sure.

  He found it frustrating, lying there as the sun continued to rise, knowing full well that valuable time was slipping away. But Agent 47 forced himself to remain where he was and gradually, bit by bit, the early morning light began to illuminate the tower. There, about halfway to the top, a platform could be seen. The image wobbled as the assassin brought the Walther WA 2000 to bear. It was difficult to hold the weapon steady because of the steep angle, but there was no mistaking the lookout who was crouched on the tiny triangle of metal, or the sticklike rifle that was slung across his back. A safety rope secured the sentry to the tower and he was looking toward the north. The assassin turned to Gazeau.

  “There’s a lookout all right. But I need something to rest my rifle on. Get up on your hands and knees.”

  The Libyan made a face, but crawled into position, and felt the gun barrel come to rest on his back. It was a rather undignified pose, and something the sentry was sure to notice if he turned toward the south. And Gazeau knew that he, rather than “Taylor,” would be targeted first.

  In the meantime, Agent 47 found that even with the improvised gun rest, the elevation was such that the shot would be difficult to make. Yet there wasn’t any choice. So the assassin worked a cartridge into the chamber, slid the crosshairs over the lookout’s torso, and made a slight adjustment to allow for the westerly breeze. Then, having taken a deep breath and forced it out again, he took all of the slack out of the trigger.

  The Walther nudged his shoulder, there was a soft phut as the bullet left the barrel, and the man on the tower seemed to sag.

  The lookout couldn’t fall—given the safety rope—but his binoculars did. Agent 47 held his breath as the glasses plummeted toward the ground, disappeared behind one of the intervening buildings, and presumably smashed themselves into a hundred pieces on the concrete below. Would someone hear?

  It seemed all too likely, but twenty seconds, then a minute, then five minutes passed without producing any sign of an alarm. The assassin allowed himself to breathe normally.

- Hitman: Enemy Within, Chapter 14