***
Terry flipped the latches of the suitcase he had brought with him and started assembling the rifle. Both Amy and Gabby were tied up by their wrists and ankles, with duct tape over their mouths. They were sweating and shaking, but Terry paid them no mind. He had a job to do.
The pieces of the DRD Tactical Paratus .308 rifle lay encased in their foam slots. Terry pulled each piece out with precision and efficiency. He was able to assemble the rifle with no tools in less than a minute.
Terry released the lever to assemble the barrel along with the gas tube and gas regulator, unfolded the stock, then tightened the barrel nut into place. One final twist and the barrel was connected. He then pulled the assembly over the barrel and made sure to push the takedown pin to lock it into place. He twisted the suppressor on and loaded the magazine.
Terry carefully opened the dusty window on the second floor that gave him a good view of the hospital’s entrance. The Paratus originally hadn’t come with a scope, but the Nikon ProStaff 3-9 x 40 he purchased to accent the rifle fit easily on top after assembly.
The crosshairs scanned the hospital parking lot. Terry pulled his eye off the scope and checked the photograph of Daniel that Jones had given him. It looked like the picture had been taken from his recent congressional profile. Daniel wore a fine jacket, shirt, and tie, all neatly pressed. The signature American flag pin on his lapel, which so many politicians wore, completed the outfit.
Terry tossed the piece of paper back down and then pressed his eye into the scope again. He kept his breathing slow, steady. His finger remained off the trigger as he waited for his target to arrive.
Every once in a while, Amy or Gabby would moan and shuffle, causing Terry’s concentration to break. After the third disturbance, he rested the rifle against the wall and walked over to Amy. He pulled a knife from his belt and held it against the soft flesh of her neck. Amy shut her eyes. Her nostrils flared quickly from her accelerated breathing. Gabby’s cries grew louder from the scene unfolding before her. Terry held up his index finger to his lips. “Quiet.”
Their movements ceased. Terry withdrew the blade from Amy’s throat. He brought his hand to Amy’s forehead and gently stroked her hair away. Amy shuddered. Terry continued to caress the side of her face, and with each touch, Amy tried to turn away, until Terry finally pulled his hand back. He let out a sigh.
“Your husband was a lucky man. Stupid,” he said. “But lucky.”
Terry picked the rifle back up and rested the pronged legs on the windowsill. He had the scope’s crosshairs targeted at the hospital’s entrance when he heard a crash from downstairs.
He immediately spun around, aiming the rifle at the top of the staircase. He waited. Listened. But no further sound echoed from downstairs. Terry took one soft step across the floor, then another, and another, all the while keeping his ears open and finger on the trigger, until he made it to the railings of the staircase.
Amy and Gabby were both watching him from the corner of the room. Their eyes darted from Terry to the staircase. Terry peeked over the side, glancing down into the first floor.
Terry knew someone was down there. The police? No. More than likely, it was a drunk stumbling in from one of the bars, either looking for something to steal or a place to piss. Going down would give away whatever element of surprise he had. If whoever was down there saw him, he would be forced to kill them, and on jobs like these, the fewer dead bodies you had to deal with, the better. He already had his hands full. Terry moved his glance back over to Gabby and Amy. There couldn’t be any loose ends.