One Night
By
UCSBdad
Disclaimer: You know this already, right? Rating: K Time: After Beckett's shooting.
The spotter nudged the sniper's arm. "Motion detectors picked up something from the north. The road's that way." He whispered.
"Human or animal?" The sniper whispered back.
"Can't tell. We'll have to let it get closer."
The motion detectors had been set to allow smaller animals to pass by without setting off an alarm. With humans in the area, that usually left only the occasional deer to worry about. Wolves and bears rarely got anywhere near humans in this area. However, three nights earlier a raccoon had kicked one of the damned sensors or something, leading them to think a squad sized attack was coming. If it hadn't been for the noise it would have caused, the sniper would have cheerfully skinned the raccoon alive. As it was, they just chased him away.
The spotter checked the small computer by him. "One of the cameras picked him up. Human and headed this way." He had lowered his voice even more.
"Any way to tell why he's here?"
The spotter shook his head. The man, and it appeared to be a man, could be some neighbor cutting across the property, a motorist whose car had broken down, or damned near anything. Including a hostile.
"Hostile." Whispered the spotter having gotten a feed from a camera closer to their quarry. "Assault rifle with a suppressor, and a protective vest." He picked up a radio. "Alpha to all. One hostile headed ours." He clicked the mic button to let everyone know he was done. They had to be as quiet as possible. He heard four soft clicks in return.
The sniper began checking the rifle he'd selected for this particular mission. It had started life during the Second World War as a .30 caliber 1903A3 Springfield, bolt action rifle. In spite of the basic design dating from 1903, it could still kill. Then he'd had a gunsmith friend modify it. First, the barrel had been removed and replaced with a shorter, eight-inch, barrel, bored to take a .45 caliber pistol round. The action had similarly been modified to accommodate a .45 caliber round. The .45 round was subsonic so the bullet would not go faster than the speed of sound, creating no sonic boom. Then a large suppressor had been fitted, covering the entire barrel of the rifle. The sound of the shot would be about 80 decibels. A vacuum cleaner's noise is about 80 decibels. A shot couldn't be heard from more than fifty yards away. Part of the rifle's bolt and receiver had been cut away and replaced with hard rubber. That way, working the action would not cause the metallic clatter of metal striking metal. Lastly, a night vision sight had been fitted.
The hostile walked past them, then stopped and knelt, examining the dwelling before him.
"Not yet." Whispered the spotter. "If the bullet goes through him, it could hit the house and alert anyone inside."
It seemed to take forever for the hostile to decide to move. As he moved, the spotter estimated where he was in relationship to the dwelling. Finally, he'd moved far enough.
"Send it." The spotter whispered. That was followed almost at once by a soft pop. The hostile collapsed.
No one moved. This was for three reasons. One, they didn't know if anyone inside had heard. If they had, they'd need to exfiltrate at once. Two, they didn't know if the hostile was dead. Three, they didn't know if the hostile had friends lurking outside of the range of their sensors.
After five minutes had passed, the spotter spoke. "We should go now. I checked his heat signature. He's dead. No one else has come a-running, so no one, friendly or hostile, heard a thing."
"Call it in." The sniper whispered.
"Alpha moving to hostile." He clicked the mic and got four clicks in return.
They moved quietly and cautiously towards the hostile. The spotter checked him.
"Dead. You hit him right in the back of the head. No exit wound though."
The sniper was a bit upset at that comment. Of course, he'd hit him right where he'd aimed. But he said nothing.
"We need to move him." The spotter unfolded a heavy plastic body bag. As he did so, the sniper noticed a small splash of blood in the ground. He pulled out an absorbent bandage and wiped it up. There was little chance that anyone would have noticed the blood later, but they weren't there to take any chances.
They put the man and his rifle in the bag and zipped it up. Then, grabbing the webbing handles on the sides, they hauled to body off to where they could safely check it out and then dispose of it.
They carried the body bag to a small stand of brush where they had previously dug a shallow grave. They opened the body bag. The spotter took a photo of the hostile's face using an infrared camera. He also took the man's finger prints and a DNA sample. He might not be in any database they could access, but if he was, they'd have one more useful piece of information.
The sniper examined the man's weapons. The rifle was an H&K 416 with a suppressor and a red dot laser sight. In a holster was a .22 caliber automatic pistol, also with a suppressor. His only other weapon was a Ka Bar knife, honed to razor sharpness.
"I'd guess he planned to use just the .22 if he only found his target. The assault rifle was in case there were other people there." The sniper whispered.
"Think anyone nearby would hear a suppressed 416?"
The sniper just shrugged.
"I found something. Photos of the woman so he could ID her and $500 in twenties. Nothing else. No ID of any kind."
"Didn't expect any. We'll keep the photos and cash and get rid of them later. If someone stumbles on the body before we can get it moved, we want to leave behind as little evidence of what he was here for as we can."
"Like they're not going to figure out who our dead shooter was looking for?"
"We take no chances."
They put the weapons back in the body bag and zipped it up. Then the sniper pulled out two pint-cans of kerosene and poured everything over the body bag. Any animal looking to dig up and scavenge a meal from a corpse would steer clear of the scent of kerosene. Finally, they covered the body bag with dirt and carefully placed leaves and brush over the hasty grave. With any luck, no one would notice the disturbed ground until they were able to permanently dispose of it.
The sniper got on the radio again. "Alpha to Echo. Check the road to the north. If he had a partner who drove him here, take care of him. If you find a car, call it in so they can get rid of it." He clicked the mic button and got a click in reply.
Twenty long minutes went by before Echo reported. "Echo to Alpha. He came on a motorcycle. He hid it in the woods and put a camouflaged tarp over it. I called it in. I'll have to stay here. They'll take all night to find the damned thing if I don't." He ended the comm with a click of the mic and got a click in return.
Many miles away, a group of men staying at an isolated fishing and hunting cabin got the call. Three of them drove off in a large van and went to the site of the motorcycle. They quickly loaded it in the back of the van. The license plate and the VIN number would be checked and then the motorcycle would be destroyed.
By now it was nearly dawn and time for the teams to pull back from the dwelling. They'd stay close enough to keep an eye on the place, but far enough to avoid being seen.
The sniper pulled a satellite phone out of his rucksack and called in a report.
Far away in Manhattan a phone rang. The man sitting at the desk pushed his laptop away and answered the phone.
"Yes?"
"Sorry to call you so early, sir. But we checked out that investment opportunity. That one is a bust. Scratch it off."
"Thanks for the good work." Then he hung up.
There were just two important words in the message, one meant that one person had come and scratch meant the would-be killer was dead.
Richard Castle smiled grimly. Kate Beckett may not want him around, but he certainly wanted her around and very much alive. It was good to be wealthy and to know people.
The End
Author's note: Next up is The Lady in the White Tower, a sword and sorcery epic starring our favorite couple. Now who could that be? It'll be a while before it's written, though.