Sicarius

Sicarius

Matthew Jones

First Published by Mirador Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 by Matthew Jones

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All right reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without permission of the publishers or author. Excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

First edition: 2017

Any reference to real names and places are purely fictional and are constructs of the author. Any offence the references produce is unintentional and in no way reflect the reality of any locations involved.

A copy of this work is available though the British Library.

IBSN : 978-1-912192-35-9

About the Author

Matthew Jones was born in the mountains of Western North Carolina. He has been writing since he was old enough to read and always has his nose crammed in a book. He and his wife currently live with their beloved dog and two rescue cats. He would love to hear from you. Feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank everyone who has helped Sicarius become much more than an idea. Thanks go out to the entire Mirador team.

Thank you to my proofreader Bill Foster, who is always giving me the well-deserved kick in the butt that I need. You and your family mean more to me than anyone could ever know.

Last, but never least, is my wife. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping me through this process.

Dedications

Dedicated to my wife, who has never asked me to stop being weird. I love you dearly.

Prologue

Fucking Manhattan traffic! swore a middle-aged, balding man. His voice bellowed against the small quarters. His recently blackened hair lay in clumps against his sweating forehead as his body was tossed around the classic blacked-out limousine. I’m glad I won’t have to deal with this shit once this vacation is over.

Tim! his much younger, second wife warned. The girls don’t need to hear your mouth.

Sorry, dear, he hissed, only to appease his wife and not at all apologetic for swearing around his thirteen-year-old twin daughters.

As the limo swerved again, Tim barely caught the head rest in front of him and hoisted his considerable bulk forward. His wife and daughters heard him whispering warnings and obscenities to the driver, who instantly slowed the car to a sluggish pace.

Where to? the driver asked quietly, directing his question to nobody in particular, clearly annoyed by the man behind him.

Somewhere we can see the damned fireworks. Drive toward the river and find us a spot, I guess. Tim slammed his weight back down before adding, And make sure my girls will have a wonderful view.

Sure thing, Mr. Patton. He pulled the wheel hard left around a stopped taxi, grinning to himself as the occupants swayed again.

The evening sky had already begun to streak crimson and gold as the sun lowered itself toward the horizon. The city streets were crowded with thousands of cars. Everyone, it seemed, was trying to get to the same destination: the Macy’s Fourth of July Firework Show. Although visible from much of the city, the Governor wanted to make sure his girls had the best view possible. Only the finest for his little angels, as always.

Governor Patton made a show of pulling Yvette close to him and kissed her hard on the mouth. His girls glanced hurriedly out the windows at the slowly passing city. Vicky, the youngest daughter by a measly three minutes, mocked a gagging noise, while Trish rolled her eyes and hugged closer to the door. Neither girl was fond of their new stepmother, especially the way their father flaunted her around like some sort of first place trophy he’d won at a prestigious event. The incessant touching of the two still grossed them out.

Yvette had been introduced to Governor Tim Patton at a party several years back, while he had still been married to his first wife, and mother of his two children. The immediate lust for this more beautiful, much younger woman, had ended a happy (or so his wife had thought) marriage of sixteen years. Beatrice, the first wife, caught wind soon after the Governor had been spotted, by a mutual friend, with his hands all over the blonde model. She could hardly believe that she had been traded in for an eighteen-year-old whore, as she had put it.

A speedy separation and divorce had followed, with a settlement out of court. His political career had received very little heat from his actions, being that everything had been handled as quietly as possible. The public eventually received the story of the Governor’s divorce from his first wife, and quick marriage to a young French model named Yvette Moreau. She had everything that he had wanted in a lover. Long, platinum blonde hair. Perfectly manicured nails. A lavishly expensive taste in clothing and jewelry. And, of course, large fake breasts that were always on display to gawkers. A true trophy wife, Tim thought.

How about this, sir? the chauffeur asked, pulling the long car into a vacant spot alongside the river.

Tim glanced back and watched for a second. Then he nodded his head and grunted his assent.

Both Trish and Vicky crammed their small bodies against the driver’s side of the car, craning their necks in an effort to see the sky above the river. Their faces pressed against the glass, leaving oil and make-up residue.

After some arguing, and much more pleading, the occupants of the car filed out and waited. The driver quickly opened the trunk and untangled four, folding lawn chairs. He extended the seats for the family then swiftly took his place behind them leaned up against the limo. He reached into his pocket, digging until he found his prized flip-top lighter, and lit a menthol cigarette. He pulled a long drag, enjoying himself as his lungs filled with the burning smoke and menthol as he watched the Governor and his family.

***

Across the river, a man sat very still, watching his prey. A Model 95 Barret lay propped on a bipod against the concrete window frame. It was almost dark already, and he knew the fireworks show was near to inception. The few clouds, which had made the sunset so beautiful that evening, had cleared. The only proof of daytime’s existence that day was a thin, light line against the distant horizon. With every second that passed the heavens darkened.

He had already been in position when the black limo had arrived, followed closely by two large, blacked-out SUVs. First, the family had climbed out of their carriage and settled a hundred or so feet away toward the river. A semi-large crowd had already formed along the edge of the river and was scattered around the family. Second, the occupants of the SUVs had spilled out quickly and quietly, setting up a perimeter around the Governor and his prized wife. And, of course, the daughters, who were none the wiser to the sentry around them. The black SUVs careened away quickly as the men, who were all dressed in matching black suits and sunglasses, spaced themselves at safe distances around the Governor. They remained close but still inconspicuous.

Through the high powered scope, the assassin watched as the Governor uttered some words of assurance to his wife, then stepped behind them and up the small incline where the driver still stood, leaning his weight against the car. By now, hundreds more sightseers had crowded around, waiting on the famous show to begin.

I thought I told you to pick somewhere where there wouldn’t be a huge fucking crowd, the Governor said. The man in the unfinished concrete building was thankful he had picked up the ability to read lips through his years with the service. He stared into the scope and watched thoroughly as their lips moved.

I’m sorry, sir, the driver began, "but I can assure you that this place offers the best view for you and your family. Your girls will love the view." He nodded toward them as he took another drag from his cigarette. He turned his head away from the portly man and exhaled hard.

Very fucking private this is! he bellowed again, this time catching the attention of several people who stood near them. He glanced around and dropped his voice immediately. You had better hope you are right, he warned. "Or it will be your job!"

The assassin watched as the Governor waddled his way back to where his family sat silently, the girls refusing to talk to their stepmother any more than the conversation required. His face was red and sweat rolled down his face. Obviously this was the most exercise the man had gotten in a while.

His location had been chosen weeks before when he had first received the assignment. He had watched the Governor closely, followed him almost every time he had left his mansion in Albany, until he knew the routine by heart. Sundays were spent sitting around the estate, sipping bourbon and screwing his wife while the twins were away at their mother’s. Weekdays were spent working at the office or running errands. His driver followed the same predetermined course to and from the office, never venturing so far as one block outside the normal route.

He already knew about the Fourth of July plans to view fireworks with the family. The Governor had mentioned that several times over the phone during the last few weeks. It didn’t take long to learn Yvette’s plans either, which allowed him to slip into the elegant home. There had only been a handful of guards on duty when he made his way into the home. Nothing he couldn’t handle with ease.

He had tapped the phone line and placed six tiny microphones in various corners of the house. Along with a GPS tracker on both vehicles and several almost-invisible IP cameras that he could monitor from anywhere. The Governor’s plans for the Fourth would have been nearly impossible to miss.

The assassin pulled away from his scope and glanced at his watch: 8:50 pm. The fireworks would begin soon. He stretched his shoulder then resumed his position against the gun. He had made a special trip into the city a week ago to plan this job. He had driven a rented, mid-nineties, grey BMW into the city and parked it in a nonchalant underground car park over twenty blocks away. He had then taken a cab to a subway station ten blocks away. The subway had taken him within three blocks of the building. He had quickly walked the last three blocks to the building that he was now perched in.

Construction was nearing completion. The stairwells had been completed to the top floor. Thankfully no windows had been installed yet and there were no doors yet to slam behind him. Just bare walls, empty floors, and the empty concrete and steel shell. There were no noises except for the occasional scurrying of a frightened mouse or other small creature.

He watched as a single firework shot skyward and exploded, leaving a faint smoke trail as it went. Then, as if a gate had been opened, dozens of explosives rocketed toward the heavens. Bursts of red and blue and white flashed against the night sky, lighting up the faces of the crowds. Thousands of people were staring upwards as the sky continued to flash.

There were shades of green and blue and red as debris from the fireworks rained back to Earth. Children were running around the grassy field where the Governor and his family sat, each one with a long sparkler in hand. One little girl must have burned herself because she suddenly stopped running and dropped the remainder of her stick. She ran to her mother and buried her face in the mother’s chest and sobbed. Nobody around them seemed to even notice except for the father, who couldn’t be bothered long enough to look down for more than a second.

The assassin counted the seconds between the launch and detonation of the shots, calculated his distance to the target and steadied himself. He knew the grand finale was nearing and he had to be ready. The fireworks paused for a brief moment as the handlers readied, then… the sky lit up. It was even brighter than before. Fireworks blew up revealing the shape and colors of the American flag. The crowd began to cheer and clap as the night sky erupted in color.

He breathed deep and held it. He steadied his gun, centered the target in his sights, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The .50 caliber round blasted through the barrel and suppressor, tearing through the air toward its intended target across the river. The paunch, red-faced man still sat in his seat, even as many around him had stood with enthusiasm. Then, suddenly, something across the river caught his eye. A single dull flash. The angry expression that never passed following his conversation with the limo driver remained.

Even if he had known the bullet was headed for him, there was nothing that could be done. His fate had been sealed by the squeezing of the trigger. As soon as he spotted the flash, his right eye had been blown out, followed by the carnage of his wrecked skull. His lifeless body toppled backward, flipping the chair, and spewing blood through the air. Yvette’s platinum hair was soaked with crimson as chunks of brain splattered her face and fell into her exposed cleavage.

The assassin stared through the scope as he watched his target fall, already dead, to the ground. Only a few people around the Governor had even noticed what had happened. The percussion of the fireworks still sounded in the air, drowning out the sound of the gun, and the commotion on the ground. He could tell it would have been a blood-curdling scream from the mouth of the young, newly-widowed woman, but nobody heard her over the celebration around them.

By the time the hysteria began to settle in around the blood-soaked lawn by the river, the assassin had broken down his gun, quickly placed it back into the special-use briefcase, nabbed the spent cartridge, and had made it down and out of the building. Unseen. Unheard. By the time sirens could be heard in the distance, the assassin was in the back seat of a cab, well on his way to his car.

Chapter 1

Three Months Earlier

A beautiful Latina woman stood in front of him, rocking her form back and forth. The room was dark, save for a single bright light above them that seemed to shine directly on the young woman. Everything else around them was pitch black. He found himself sitting in an unyielding armchair, watching intently as she swung her body. She had already slipped her thigh-high black and grey plaid skirt down her dark, toned legs and removed the black lace bolero that had covered her shoulders.

Her skin glistened as she moved her body to a rhythm of music he couldn’t hear. She turned her body sensually as he watched her curves. She reached toward the straps of her almost-sheer, deep-red negligee and loosened one side. It slid to her elbow, barely containing her firm breasts.

The shrill chime from his cell phone blasted against his ear as he lay snoring, drool running down his chin and puddling on his shirt. The tranquility of waves rolling against the shore in front of him and seagulls sounding high above that had lulled him to sleep shattered as the phone rang again near his ear. He opened one eye, inwardly cursing the son-of-a-bitch who had interrupted his fantasy, and searched for the phone. Finding it laying on his shoulder, face down, he flipped it over and lazily slid an index finger across the