Clara stepped into the Miami sunlight, packed full of goers for the race track, the whirring of tyres, the squeal of the crowd, the bustling as she went from the main entry area into the cool, dimly lit area underneath the bridge, the guy playing a didgeridoo driving a nail into her head.
She walked past him, walked past with a jaunt that spoke volumes of her contempt for him, and upstairs once more into bright light, squinting, and coming upon that which was to her right, the Krondstat building.
She turned and walked down the vehicle ramp into the parking lot, reverberating, dark, lit occasionally, cars coming into sight, a pair of police officers chatting to one another.
At a van she retrieved the keychain, and blipped the back door open, and ensuring nobody was around, she slid the back door open and retrieved the suitcase.
She carried on through the parking lot back up to where she had come from; a little to the right was the wire gated fence which was locked. She tossed her briefcase over, vaulted with grabbing onto the chains, and landed cleanly on the other side.
Ahead were a set of stairs which formed the bridge to the other side; Clara pulled a pistol from the handbag swinging at her side, and shot out the security camera swivelling nearby. She continued up the stairs, and saw only from afar on the bridge with her, a high-vis member with binoculars, and set her briefcase on the ground.
She unpacked it, and retrieved a sniper rifle. She fitted the scope and silencer, and aimed down the sights. A scattering of race cars coming in last place burst by.
Waiting, waiting…
At length, the yellow race car was gaining on the red race car, both which pulled round; Clara aimed her sights, fired, and the yellow race car spun out of control into the border tyres, and the red race car did not hesitate to gain the lead.
Grimly satisfied, Clara disassembled her sniper rifle back into the suitcase; and it was just as she stood up when she saw that the high vis member had been watching her; his binoculars falling to the ground, shock on his face evident.
At once, Clara reacted; she left her suitcase to run, drawing her pistol, and the shots she did fire thudded into the flapping border at the far end; for the member had run out of sight towards the stairs.
Heart hammering, Clara at first chance when she reached the other side, launched herself over the railing and onto the below set of stairs instead of running around the railing. She landed down with a puff of breath, heard the member's harried intake and footsteps, and she ran to follow him, coming down the last set of steps; the member clambering for the wire door covered with flapping banners, and she fired -
He lay splayed, floundering, his blood covering the concrete, his cry cut short by the roar of the crowd who celebrated Sierra Knox's victory.
Eyes narrowed, Clara went back up the stairs to collect her suitcase. The time was ticking as she went back the way she came. There would be no time to take the vantage point she wanted; instead she came exactly back to where she had killed the member.
She continued with suitcase in hand through the crowds, where normalcy reigned, where cheers amid bright screens lit up with Sierra's face, and went into the stands.
She went out to a pair of stairs, and a pair of double doors which she retrieved a lockpick for and unlocked it, and closed the doors behind her.
Up ahead were a set of stairs and another door, and here Clara reloaded her weapon, and went in.
At once, the two race callers turned; and Clara shot them both in the leg, and then in the heads where her gunshots would not disturb the glass.
She unpacked her suitcase, assembled her sniper rifle, and waited.
Waited…
She aimed her sniper rifle, looking through the scope, seeing the mascot, the customary girls, the announcer, and then to fanfare and flames, Sierra atop the podium…
And here, Clara smiled, and made her mark.