Sniper One

by Roy F. Chandler

  Gilroy flew east to find a gunman, and that part was easier than he had anticipated. The Wagners were stupid, but they could shoot. Best of all, they would do nearly anything for money, and they really did need money. Perfect for their task. If the Wagners screwed up, they would be able to describe a good shot called Tex who wore a full beard, had long hair, and who never removed his tinted glasses. Not much for the law, and the nickname was never used beyond this operation. No one else ever had or would hear him called Tex.

  Todd Gilroy also believed himself clever, and it was obvious that if he could discover who his mysterious benefactor was, he might be able to milk the cow long after the deal was ended.

  So, Gilroy recorded most messages. He rented expensive electronics that allowed incoming calls to be traced to their sources. Most such devices would not work beyond a single area code, but if a conversation was long, Gilroy's machine could work its way through the connections and find a number.

  The caller was also careful. He mailed from different places throughout the United States, and his calls came from many numbers.

  When he traveled east to find his shooters, Gilroy also hunted for the planner.

  A few of the telephone calls had been initiated at the Sixplex Ranch—where Clicker Bell and the same army colonel lived. Damn, Bell had luck!

  Calls from the same phone had to be more than coincidental. It was carelessness. The mysterious caller was somehow connected to the ranch, which explained his knowledge of many details.

  Whoever was doing the calling was close to Bell and the professor named Shelby Grant. That was clear from the names occasionally dropped and the information obtained. The man would have to be wealthy to pay out the cash Gilroy was already receiving. Perhaps a Sixplex partner? The names were easily obtained.

  His caller sometimes used a cellular phone which Gilroy could not trace, but Gilroy called other numbers used by his money provider, and they were usually hotels or motels. Running them down required traveling, but desk clerks came cheap for harmless information, and a few insignificant bribes gained copies of who had been in residence on the day of a telephone call.

  The comparisons were simple and a single name leaped out. Henri Deladier. A Frenchman. A man, who further research showed, owned chemical firms. A man who would likely have trade with Iraq.

  Gilroy guessed that he had his man. He would sit on his information, but later on he would ... well, Todd Gilroy judged, with what he knew and would learn, he would never have to work again.

  +++

  Greg Maynard watched Clicker Bell doing pushups. He had already finished, but Bell looked as if he could continue through more sets.

  They were using a new system of physical conditioning that Bell had heard about, and it was proving remarkably effective. The technique consisted of a few repetitions of many sets of a particular exercise before moving to the next routine. They performed the resistance exercises three times a week and lifted weights on two other days. Despite his still healing body, Maynard could feel his strength and endurance leaping. In fact, he guessed they were ready.

  Maynard said, "How many of those are you going to do, Bell? I'm starting to cool off."

  "Last set, Colonel." Clicker's breathing was labored, and his pressing slowed.

  The idea had been to perform two pushups, then four, then two, resting for fifteen seconds and repeating. Keep at it, building reps as you improved, gaining the strains and pains you desired. Bell thought the system was developed by a former Seal, but got it fourth or fifth-hand so they might not even be following the exact program.

  Maynard said, "Knock it off. We've got something to talk about."

  Clicker allowed his belly to touch the floor, relaxed, and rolled onto his back. His chest lifted and fell from the exertion, but his voice was strong.

  Propped on an elbow he said, "You aren't ready."

  Maynard acted indignant. "The hell I'm not, and don't get ahead of what I am going to say." The Colonel huffed and puffed for a moment.

  "Look, Clicker, every day we wait is against us. We might already be too late, but the quicker we get over there the better our chances will be.

  "You act as if we were going into combat or something. You about live with your Rock rifle, which can't go to Iraq with us, and I can't take a nap without hearing you whanging away at targets all over the ranch. You must have run a thousand miles and we've walked another thousand. George Patton is ready, the ATVs are in place. The Lear is all rigged out. You are in top form—for an aging guy—and I am as good as I need to be. We are ready!"

  Inwardly, Clicker sighed. The Colonel was right. They were not going into combat. The plan was to ride in on the ATVs, let two of Patton's strong young Jordanian relatives dig, and get out with the shield—if there was a shield.

  He was also correct about taking along the N. A. Rock sniper rifle. There was no way the weapon could be gotten into Jordan without a ton of explanations. The plan was to enter unobtrusively, just Americans visiting a village of relatives and friends, and then leave—without making waves. Exotic sniper rifles did not enter such a picture. Clicker had not purchased the piece for use in Iraq.

  Bell had gone for the rifle in June, and now in mid-August, he had fired nearly three hundred rounds through the stainless Hart barrel. The rifle was correctly broken in, and he was getting good with it.

  Lt. Col. Rock, USMC (retired) had remained in Jacksonville just outside Camp Lejeune Marine Base, and he was producing the finest, toughest, and most accurate sniper rifle in the world.

  Because each was a custom rifle, the weapons were hugely back-ordered, and unless you were somebody special, you could expect a year's wait before your rifle was delivered.

  Bell was someone special, and Colonel Rock had said "What do you need, Clicker?"

  "I need a rifle that will shoot long, straight, and stay in exact zero forever despite any abuse it gets."

  "That's our rifle, Gunny. We don't make them any other way."

  "That's why I'm here, Colonel. I want a 7mm that will outshoot a .308 Winchester...."

  "We like the 7x61 Sharpe and Hart. Feeds through a standard action, is not over-bore, won't wear out your barrel like some 7mm's will, and it shoots a hell of a lot flatter than a .308 Winchester."

  Clicker chuckled. "Funny that you should choose the 7 x 61. I just had some dealings with that caliber."

  "It's one of the best, Clicker. The cartridge dates back to about 1953, but Sharpe designed it with all of the right considerations. With modern bullets and powder you can get the magic 3000 feet per second muzzle velocity that a lot of us think makes a big difference."

  "What scope, Colonel? I'm most familiar with the Marine Corp's 10X Unertl, but...."

  "Too hard to get, and it isn't best anymore. Where will you be shooting? In the open, in the timber, in mixed woods and open?" Rock studied Bell thoughtfully. "Maybe this rifle will be used on two-legged animals, could that be, Clicker?"

  "It really could be, Colonel Rock, and I'm not sure what kind of terrain I might be in. Could even be urban if the hunt goes that way."

  "Damn, Bell. I assume all of this hypothesizing is about legal and moral shooting, isn't it?"

  "Absolutely, Colonel. If it occurs, I will be on the right side."

  Rock said, "Glad to hear it, Clicker." He paused, "Of course, when it comes down to an actual shooting, there is only one right side, and that is the side that wins."

  "That's why I want this rifle."

  "OK." Rock returned to the scope question. "We will rig your gun with the Rock one piece scope mount. The scope will be the Leupold 3 1/2 to 10X tactical. The new one has 1/4 minute adjustments in elevation so you can zero to a gnats eye lash.

  "No one that might shoot other than bench rest should use more than ten power, Click. You can't hold fourteen and higher magnifications if you aren't sandbagged in or on a strong bipod. I would be surprised if you don't already know all of this, but I want you to hear it anyway.

 
"You know that you should always carry a variable scope on its lowest power, so that you can shoot at anything that hops up close-in. Long shots give time to twist in some power, but if a target appears in your face you will wish you had zero power."

  "Yeah, I'm onto all of that, Colonel. Giving that kind of advice is what I do these day."

  "Outstanding." Rock tapped on his bench top. "It happens that I keep an action or two in reserve for cases like yours. Police departments call in, and I like to respond fast to the real guys. It's clear that you need your rifle yesterday. We'll move it right along.

  I'll barrel up an action, it'll have our special trigger guard, of course, get it bedded, have everything black oxided, scope mounted, and have my son shoot it in. Where do you want it zeroed?"

  "One inch high at two hundred yards."

  "Good choice—unless you are always shooting long. You got the dies to load 7 x 61? You'll have to hand load, you know."

  "I figured you would have the dies. I load other cartridges, so I've got the rest."

  "Right again, Gunny. Want bullets? Cases? You've got to use Vihtavuori powder. It is cleanest and most regular, and...."

  The rifle arrived three weeks later.

  Clicker explained his planning to Colonel Maynard.

  "While you are worrying about a shield that is probably a hundred miles from where we will be looking, I am keeping that guy Tex in mind."

  "You should have told the police about Tex, Clicker."

  "How could I do that without letting them know I had talked with the Wagners? The last thing I need is for someone to suspect that I had a hand in putting the brothers down."

  "Well, that is all settled and done with, as far as the law is concerned."

  "Right, but we know that Tex is still out there, and as sure as I am standing, he was not the instigator of the shooting. It has to be someone who knows about the camel, about me, and probably about your interest in finding the damned shield."

  "Which is why we never speak about our plans beyond you, me, and Sydney."

  "Ha, and you call me paranoid."

  "You are glad I am paranoid about this, Bell. If we sound interested, whoever it is might hear and set that Tex on you again."

  "That's why I practice, Colonel. I'm trying to get back my old edge. If this Tex can shoot like the Wagners claimed, I might not get any kind of chance, but if I get a shot, I want it to be my best ever. And that is why I've set up a few traps."

  "What traps? Hell, these aren't things I'm going to catch a leg in are they?"

  Clicker pointed toward a distant ridgeline. "Everything look normal over there to you?"

  "What am I supposed to be looking for?"

  "You're supposed to be able to see the best spot a sniper could ever want to pick someone right off this porch."

  "It all looks too good to me."

  "Well, a trained sniper knows never to use a spot that stands out. Real snipers don't get in bell towers and tall trees."

  "God, I know that, Bell."

  "What a trained man does is find a hide that has background which will help conceal him and that he can withdraw through after his shot. So, step right over here."

  A few steps gave them a slightly altered look at the ridgeline. "Now, if you look where I'm pointing, you'll see sky behind a small spot along the ridge. You see that?"

  Maynard saw the spot. "You think a sniper hoping for a porch shot will get in that exact spot. He won't realize that he has no background from this one angle, and you will see him when you come or go?" The Colonel was clearly doubtful.

  "If he comes, that is where he will set up.

  "What I did was go over there and make sure that no other position along that whole ridgeline offers what that one spot does. It's the only place with a field of view that leaves the sniper hidden. It has the best routes of withdrawal of anywhere along the ridge. There was another pretty good place, but I had a man chain saw a number of trees out so that the second position was less inviting. Yep, there would be no reason not to choose that spot, and if he comes, that is where Tex will set up."

  "Then what do you do?"

  "If you went upstairs, you would find a second story window always open that looks right at that spot. Deep in the room I have a table placed exactly right, and the sandbags I will need are on the table waiting."

  "How far is it over to there?"

  "Just shy of eight hundred yards. Exactly what a real sniper would prefer. When he shoots, if he shoots that is, the sound will seem to come from that woods strip about three hundred yards out. Hell, Colonel, no one would look eight hundred yards out for hours after the shot was fired, if they looked at all. To most eyes, that ridge is way beyond reasonable range, but you and I know that a good man with the right rifle will make a killing shot every time from that distance."

  "Damn it, Bell, I'll never feel comfortable sitting on this porch again."

  "Nothing has changed, Colonel, only now we have a chance of seeing him before he shoots.

  "The thing to remember is that he won't take a moving target at that range. It is too easy to blow a moving shot beyond six hundred yards, and it is a lot safer to limit moving shots beyond four hundred.

  "Each time we come in or out we will take a peek at the ridge from where we can see through. The sniper will not just lay down, level his piece and squeeze off a round. He will study his field. He will work on his ranges. The distance will be different to other places around the house, and he will want to be sure of them all. A twenty yard difference in range estimation from that far out means a different sight setting or different aiming point or he will miss. He will get only one shot, so he will take his time and be absolutely sure. He will prefer to see us come and go a few times. He will want us sitting or standing, not moving. If he sticks around that long, and he will have to, one of us will see him. If we see him, I will shoot him."

  "It's odd that I do not feel dramatically relieved to learn all of this, Bell."

  "You'll get used to it, Colonel, and like you say, Tex won't be coming anyway, will he?"

  Shelby Grant read slowly with impressive enunciation from his latest acquisition.

  "These are the words of Hadatna, slave of the Great Khan, as translated from the original silver plates now in possession of the University of Irkutsk. We can accept that this is a most accurate translation because...."

  Maynard asked, "Where is Irkutsk?"

  "Just north of the Gobi Desert." Grant attempted to resume.

  "Who is the Great Khan? I thought there were a bunch of Khans."

  Grant's stare became stern. "All of them were Great Khans to those who served them, Clicker. Now, if I may continue? I will, at this time, read only the portion concerning the ceremonial camel known as Ushi."

  "Burdened by the weight of the Shield, Ushi, most magnificent of her race, was the last to flee before the might of the storm.

  I, Hadatna, attempted to follow, but the blue hooves of Ushi touched only lightly the desert floor while the limbs of this servant sank deep into the sands. Ushi, the strong and beautiful, disappeared within the veils of wind and sand and was seen no more.

  I, Hadatna, sought shelter within a small fold of the earth, and breathed into my coverings until the wind fell and the sand settled. Then I sought others, and we in turn sought the path of Ushi, for she and the shield of the Khan were everything, but the storm had raged for three suns turnings, and we found nothing.

  So was lost Ushi with her bells of gold bearing the Shield of the Great Khan, and our journey had failed."

  Grant fell silent and no one spoke for long moments. The voice from the ancient past still bore tragedy.

  Greg Maynard broke the silence for them. "Well, that is one hell of a story, and I don't doubt its truth. It would have been nice to search for that shield, but someone else will have to do it."

  Clicker said, "Maybe you should let the Iraqis know about the possibility, Professor. They could launch a proper search with all of the magnometers
and gear to search the desert for miles around."

  Maynard snorted. "Hell, Bell, we're still bombing them. That government is a miserable bunch, and I don't think we should tell them anything."

  Clicker rose, stretched and agreed. "Point well taken, Colonel. I'm for a quick snack and out of here." He nodded to the ranch partners gathered for the occasion, gave Maynard a special tilt of the head to come with him, and left.

  When they were alone, Clicker said, "Now, if one of the others present at that meeting was the guy who employed Tex, he just might try to call out and...."

  Maynard said, "And we will try to listen in on any calls going out for the next hour or so?"

  "Why not? It could happen."

  "Clicker, you do know about cell phones don't you? Why would the guy use a house phone? It isn't one of us, anyway. I've known these men for a dozen years. They are not criminals, and they do not need money."

  "Fame might tip one of them."

  "Fame? How could he explain getting possession of the shield? We would know what he had done, and....

  "And all he would have to say, is, 'I was inspired by Dr. Grant's tales and decided to try for myself, and guess what? I succeeded.

  "Worst of all, the shield story could be true. I think you are right. We had better get ourselves in gear."

  "It is time to go, Tex. The famed genie is escaping the bottle. Grant is presenting his latest findings to everyone who will listen. We will have to move before the Iraqis hear and begin their own investigation.

  "I'm waiting."

  "I will overnight money, but use your own credit cards when you can. You must arrive in Baghdad without suspicions.

  "You will be met and transported to the old radar site. You will locate the hide and be transported directly to the airport from which you will fly out."

  "Clear enough. I guess I won rt have time to sample the delights of the ancient city."

  "There are no delights in Iraq. As the comedian Danny Kay said, "Get in, get it, and get out"

  "I'm packing. Will you let me know how it comes out?"