This story takes place in an Alternate Reality—one which I will call the Maverick Jack universe. There's no sexual content in this story, the T rating is for violence and language.

If the story finds an audience, it may be the first of several, since I have a number of ideas for these characters.

Maverick Jack: Assassin

March 8, 1993 – The capital city of a violence-ridden dictatorship.

The shot was perfectly aligned, cross-hairs on the target's forehead as he walked slowly down the center of the city street. Unaware of his imminent danger, he waved to the crowds of people lining the sidewalk.

On a rooftop, a seemingly impossible distance away, the operative called 'Red Kite' steadied himself, exhaled and tightened his finger on the trigger...

At that moment the target turned aside, heading for the edge of the street. "Shit," the shooter breathed, letting his hand relax, as guards and spectators came between him and his objective.

A few seconds later his ear-bud came to life. "What's the problem, Red Kite?"

"Target has moved to the side of the street, out of line of sight."

"Can you re-acquire?"

"Attempting to do so." He adjusted the powerful telescopic sight very slightly to the left, seeking the spot where he hoped the target would reappear. The crowd of onlookers completely filled the sight. It was impossible to tell which one, if any, was the target. He held his position, waiting.

"Red Kite?"

"Not yet. He's hidden by the crowd... Wait, there he is." The target had reappeared, moving toward the middle of the street again. "Oh, crap."

"Do you have the shot, Red Kite?" his commanding officer demanded.

"He's got a kid in his arms."

The child was about four years old and his arms were around the target's neck, their heads close together, but Red Kite's line of fire was clear. Still, if he was off by an inch... And even if he missed the kid and took out the target, the man's blood would drench the boy... the trauma to the youngster would be horrible...

"Do you have the shot?"

"Yes, sir, but..."

"Take the shot."

"Sir..."

"Take the shot, Red Kite! That's an order!"

Twenty more steps and the target would be entering the government building. The opportunity would be gone, and who knew when there would be another. The dictator's security was incredibly tight. This public appearance was the first he had made in over a year. The short walk—of less than a city block—had been for the purpose of squashing rumors that the man was dead, or too ill to rule. Every day that he governed the country, dozens of citizens were arrested, tortured, killed. It could easily be another year before he would be exposed like this. Thousands more lives would be forfeit. Thousands against one small, dark-haired boy...

Seconds ticked by.

Ten more steps now.

"Goddammit, Major! Take the shot!"

"No, sir..."

"What the fuck! I'll have your ass, O'Neill! Take the shot!"

"No, sir!" His voice was sharper. His eye was still on the target.

An unintelligible string of curses poured into his ear-bud.

Just then the dictator halted. He stood for a moment in the center of the street, his face turned toward the boy in his arms. Then he patted the boy's back, bent down, and set the child on the ground. The kid turned and ran to the side, disappearing into the crowd.

The target straightened, and moved forward.

Three more steps.

Jack centered the cross-hairs between the eyes and pulled the trigger. A beat later, the back of the dictator's skull exploded in a shower of red mist. For an interminable instant the body remained upright, as if nothing had transpired. Then it crumpled to the ground.

All hell broke loose in the street.