YAY!! Spain was gr8, but i missed writing this story, so I'm back! This is a sort of filler chapter, but i like it, i hope you do too!! please R&R!
Yassen crouched at the side of the road, half hidden in the hedge. The binoculars in his hands were trained on the distant huts. They looked like holiday lodges, but the multitude of people walking around in military uniform gave them away.
Beside him, Alex shifted against his tree, grimacing as he eased his legs straight.
"Cramp." He mouthed as he saw Yassen looking at him. The Russian nodded and turned back. But he had scarcely settled back when Alex grabbed his arm.
"What?" he asked. Alex pointed.
"That's Arya." He said breathlessly. Yassen quickly pressed his eyes to the binoculars again, scanning the compound below for her. It was quite easy, her white-blonde hair shone in the early sunlight. His mouth tightened as he looked at the man walking beside her. He had the easy, confident grace of a trained assassin. Why was he there? And why was his daughter laughing as she walked beside him?
His daughter… he turned his eyes back to her, unaware of how his expression softened as he picked out similarities between her and Holly. But she looked more like him, in all honesty. Her hair was the same colour as his, her face was the same shape, and though he couldn't see them from this distance, he knew from the photo that Alex had shown him, that her eyes were the same ice blue colour as his.
The pair vanished into another of the huts and Yassen took the binoculars from his eyes, glancing sideways at Alex. The boy looked tense and angry, and, if possible, a little jealous. He nudged John, on his other side and motioned towards his son. He looked and then sat back, rolling his eyes.
"Do you think his emotions will get in the way?" Yassen asked softly, so that only John could hear. The older man shrugged.
"I doubt it. Alex is a professional, despite the fact that he hates it." John spoke just as quietly as Yassen had, and Alex remained unaware of their conversation. "Let's go, we need to make plans and work out what to do. At least we know where she is, and she seems safe, at least for now." He said loud enough for Alex to hear. The three stood up and walked a little way up the road to where they had left the car.
None of them spoke as they drove into the city centre and parked up, each was wrapped in his own thoughts.
Arya sat in front of the desk, Nate in the chair beside her. The trainer wasn't there yet, so they had been ordered to wait for him. As it turned out, it was almost half an hour before he walked into the room, his face glistening with sweat.
"Sit," He ordered shortly. Nate and Arya did so, having stood up automatically when he entered. "So, what happened last night?" Nate nodded at Arya and she spoke first.
"I couldn't sleep, and I heard something outside so I got dressed and went out. There was someone walking around so I followed them. They climbed the tree; I don't know how they didn't set off the grenade, but they got over the fence and ran off, I guess that they knew I was there.
"So I climbed up, more to see where they'd gone than anything else. But my hand caught on a wire and the grenade went off. Nate grabbed me just before and pulled me away. That's it really, sir."
"Did you see the intruder's face?" the trainer asked curiously, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.
"No, sir, it was too dark, and I think they were wearing face-paint." The trainer nodded.
"Healey, give me your side." They had discussed their story, going over it again and again until they could recite it word-perfect. Arya listened as Nate said the words, her face was blank but the relief was plain in her body language, all her muscles had relaxed and she slumped in the chair, smiling slightly. When Nate finished talking there was long silence before the trainer spoke again.
"Gregorovich, if you see the intruder again, raise the alarm straight away. Don't go wandering around, you're lucky that Healey recognised you, if he hadn't and raised the alarm, you might have been killed. Healey, you should have warned her about our security arrangements."
"Yes, sir." They said, exactly in unison.
"Go to your lessons, Gregorovich. Healey, you go with her, keep an eye on her training and give her a hand." Nate nodded, jerked off a salute and led the way out of the hut, Arya close behind him.
She let out a relieved breath once they were out of earshot and Nate smiled slightly.
"Where are you meant to be?" he asked, pausing.
"On the shooting range. You don't have to follow me around; I can take care of myself." Nate laughed at that.
"Obviously. I'll mark for you, come on." He set off, heading towards the track that led to the range. Arya jogged after him.
"Manda marks for me." She said defensively, wondering what her friend would think of her turning up with an assassin in tow.
"Not any more." Nate said brusquely, closing the matter. They walked in silence for a few more minutes, using the sound of gunshots to guide them. When they reached the range, the class was already halfway through the session, watched over by a pair of trainee trainers, both were ex-assassins.
"Gregorovich, you're with Jamison." One of them said, beckoning Manda over. Nate stepped forward, shaking his head.
"She's with me, camp commander's orders. I'm her partner from now on," Arya looked away, towards Manda who was looking at her quizzically. She shrugged, rolling her eyes.
Nate walked away and Arya followed automatically. He got out a .223 Remington from the gun shed. It was more powerful than the .22 rimfire that Arya had used before but he waved aside her attempts to point this out, saying that she was ready.
"You'll find it bloody difficult to be an assassin if you only ever use a .22; unless your aim is perfect, you'll probably use a whole clip, and then some." He said, leading the way to an empty slot on the end of the line.
"This is more powerful, so it does more damage. Lie down," She did as she was told, wondering vaguely why Nate wasn't going up to mark. "Ok, really hold it into your shoulder; the tighter it is the less it'll hurt when you get the recoil," He bent down and shoved the stock, hard into her shoulder. "Tighter than that, really hard against your shoulder."
"That'll do," he said eventually. "Now look through the scope, keep the other eye open until you can see the target in the cross hairs. Good, now close your other eye and, slowly, pull the trigger. Take your time." Arya sighed and snapped her ear-muffs down. Keeping the cross hairs centred on the bulls-eye, she curled her finger until she felt the stock jerk back into her shoulder.
"How was that?" She asked, taking her eye away from the scope and looking around for Nate. He was standing a few feet away, blowing shrilly on a whistle. Along the row, people were setting their guns down and looking around, bewildered.
Nate dropped the whistle and walked up to the butts. He pulled down Arya's target, checking it carefully before putting in the marker and the indicator (right-hand side, red), pushing it up again, and walking back down. He blew the whistle again, ignoring the outraged glares of the two trainers and bent down to kneel next to Arya.
"It was good. You hit the bulls-eye, but it was a little low. You need to allow a little for gravity. Try again." Aware of the glares she was attracting, Arya focused on placing the cross-hairs a few centimetres above the centre of the bulls-eye. She fired again, feeling a strange connection between her and the weapon as she did so. Whatever it was, it stopped her hands from shaking and perfected her aim.
Nate blew the whistle again, the line of students laid down their weapons again, annoyed at the interruptions, but not daring to do anything more than mutter mutinously with a trained assassin so near.
When Nate came back, he was smiling and Arya felt her heart leap, she had done it. But at the same time she felt ashamed of the excitement, she was just an ordinary teenager, why was she getting excited over hitting a bulls-eye?