Fugitive

Chapter 17

For the next three days, I watched him every day. Every day was the same with this guy. On Monday, he got up at 6:00am. He ate cereal for breakfast. Then he showered and got dressed. After that he spent his time doing crossword puzzles from the paper and watching infomercials. At 10:00am a Russian woman arrived. She was a cleaner of sorts. The first day she vacuumed the house, the second she spent cleaning windows and the last she made dusted. She seemed to only stay for an hour or two each day. Leaving before Ivan had lunch. For lunch, he made himself a sandwich and then spent a lot of time on his computer. Then at three he left his house and drove to the closest gym about fifteen minutes away. He spent an hour there before returning to his home. In the evenings, a chef would arrive. At five on the dot. From the little conversation I heard, I could determine that the chef wasn't Russian. He may have even been Italian, but I'm not very good with accents. Ivan was apparently pretty well off, personal chef and a cleaner. Sounds pretty good to me. Not to mention his house. He is the only one who lives there (besides the security) and it's three times the size of Cat's house. Every day was the same. No visitors. No change in schedule. Two security men on him at all times, by his side and in his house. So, I decided the best way to take him down was during his drive to the gym. Or maybe at the gym. Just as he steps out the door. Problem is he picked that gym carefully. All the buildings in that area are one story only. No high vantage points, unless you want to get further away, and that means less accuracy. Less accuracy is risky, but I can do it. I needed to find a sniper riffle. A good one. So, on Thursday morning I didn't wake up early just to sit outside Ivan's house. Instead, I headed back to the pub. It was mostly vacant but I figured there would be someone in the back. Sure enough there were two guards outside the door. "Tell Grigory it's Jacob Rogers. I need a sniper riffle. Now". Their blank especially suggested they didn't care what I had to say or that I had the authority to say it how I did. Nevertheless, one of them disappeared and came back ten minutes later with a gun case slung over his shoulder. I opened it a bit to see what was inside. An AS50. I smiled. Perfect. I'm familiar with it. Not as accurate, or powerful. It mean's I'll have to compromise on my stake out position but it will work just fine. I nodded at the men, slung the bag over my shoulder and walked out. I threw the bag into the back seat of the rental. Once again, I questioned what the hell I was doing. I wasn't a killer. I shouldn't have done this. It wasn't right. Wasn't just. Yet there I was. And there he was. I walked around some of the further away buildings, trying to figure out some good angles and potential locations. These buildings were higher, better vantage points. I pulled out the scope and aimed it at where I knew Ivan would get out of the car. The shot would be 600 yards. The AS50 is accurate for 1600 yards so there shouldn't be a problem there. Wind speed is something else altogether. There hadn't been much wind. It'd been rather still which makes me think a storm was coming. As long as I could keep the shot clean everything would be fine. The spot was good but held some risk. If Ivan spontaneously decided to park on the other side of the lot, closest to the door, I wouldn't be able to get a clean shot. So, I moved on. The next position was higher, more cover but further away. It was a fairly populated hotel. It would make it difficult to get out quickly after the shot. I wasn't worried about the police. By the time they got to the crime scene and figured out where the shot was taken from, I would be long gone. Sometimes they don't even search the area until a couple of hours later. They're too busy trying to keep the crowd back and get the body to the ME's. They definitely wouldn't be able to stop everyone for questioning. It's too populated in this area for that. Shooting Ivan was obviously a crime. Which would make me a criminal here, not just in the States. The police here would have a reason to arrest me. I'm a criminal back home, yes, but here even if someone recognised me, the police wouldn't have the authority to do anything about it. Because I haven't committed a crime on Russian soil they have no reason to arrest me. It's all about extradition. Extradition is the process where a person outside of the United States is handed over by a foreign government to the US government for trial/ punishment in the States. It requires a treaty between the States and the country where the person is located. America doesn't have a treaty with Russia. So theoretically I'm safe here. Forever. Unless I commit a separate crime here. Which I guess I'm about to do. I learnt about it after the whole Snowdon thing. I don't know much about what he did. Something about releasing government secrets? I suppose if America and Russia suddenly create a treaty, which I doubt is likely, I could be arrested here. I was worried about the people in the building. There was no guarantee I wouldn't be disturbed, and I knew for certain someone would hear the shot. There was no silencer, even if there was it would still make a sound loud enough to be heard by someone in the next room, or the corridor. Instead of trying to find a room I searched for a way onto the roof. Luckily there was a map stuck on the wall, in Russian, but the pictures were enough. It didn't have the service rooms, stairs or elevators but I could tell where they would be. From there I took the stairwell to the roof. Ventilation systems took up a lot of the space. There were a few crates, no doubt left there are seats by staff. There were plenty of places to hide. I removed the scope from my pocket. 732 yards. Clear shot, from both angles. It didn't matter where he parked, I would get a clear shot as he walked to the door. The sky was grey, light disappearing quickly. Clouds pulled themselves in front of the sun. Both good and bad. No sun meant no glare from the riffle, but it also meant low visibility. 732 yards was no hard task, reasonably easy really. With the right skills, knowledge and weapon. On the way back down the stairs I was stopped by a woman. She was a maid, cleaning the bedrooms. She spoke to me in Russian. "Chto ty zdes' delayesh? Tebya ne dolzhno byt' zdes'. Vy dolzhny nemedlenno uyti". I only picked up a few words I knew the meaning of. 'Vy' was you. And I'm pretty sure 'ne dolzhno' is shouldn't. Her tone helped get the message across. She seemed angry, but the kind of angry that doesn't scare you enough to want to do what she says. More of a warning anger. Either way I quickly apologised. "Prosti". Sorry, one of the few words I took it upon myself to learn. I left quickly, heading back to the car. By then it was lunch time. I moved towards the first restaurant I saw, it would be a pleasant change from the usual quick snack. There were mostly families inside. It didn't bother me that I was alone. I'd ever had a problem with being by myself in public or otherwise. Cat had a bit of an issue with that. She didn't like eating alone, or seeing a movie alone. If none of her friends wanted to see it she wouldn't either. Even if she really wanted to. I think, to her, being alone kind of gave off the impression that she didn't have friends or wasn't a social person. Which she totally was. She really didn't need to worry about that. She didn't even go to the bathroom herself at school. Though I'm pretty sure that's a girl thing. Children crawled onto their parents laps and ran around the tables. Nice and busy. Distracting. But it was okay. Good even. It allowed me to prepare for later. "Do you speak English"? I asked as I approached the counter. The man motioned to a man to his left who was pouring some water into glasses. They had a brief conversation which ended in him leading to me to my table. He spoke English. "You from America"? I nodded. "Yes, I'm here for another few days, I think". "You enjoying your stay in Russia"? "Well, I'm here on business, so I can't say I've fully experienced everything Moscow has to offer". The waiter nodded. Something he's heard before then. "This is your table, here is your menu. Give me a wave when you would like to order". "Spacibo". Thank you, one of the other words I learnt. He nodded and walked back towards the front of the restaurant. The place was nice. Dim lighting to set the mood. White tablecloths and red napkins. The floors, a dark wooden colour, chandeliers hung from the ceiling. I opened the menu. Again, everything was in Russian and I had no idea what anything was. In the end, I hailed the waiter over and got him to explain the dishes to me. After a while he brought me my meal. It was some type of fish dish with a name I can't remember nor pronounce. He also ordered me some sweet pancakes as dessert. Insisted they were the best in Moscow. Though I had nothing to compare it to, I'll admit they tasted delicious. By the time I'd finished eating it was a few minutes passed two. Good timing. I had an hour to set up and wait. Back in the car I disassembled the gun. Its design makes disassembling it quick. Average time to disassemble is three minutes. I took four. I was taking my time. I placed the gun into a separate bag and entered the hotel. I nodded at the receptionist who didn't bother to ask for ID or offer to take my bags. I went straight to the stairwell and up onto the roof, pulling my jacket over my body. A small breeze had picked up. Not a big deal. I reassembled the gun, making sure everything was clean and in working order. The last thing I wanted was for the gun to jam. I had about a fifteen second window to get the shot before he disappears into the building. If all else fails I can get him on the way out. But it has to happen today. The week is almost up. Confirmation was another problem. I needed evidence of Ivan's death. Plenty of time to worry about that later. I checked my watch. 2:46pm. Half an hour. Anxiety was beginning to kick in. My hand kept finding its way to the back of my neck, rubbing it, nervous habit. This was wrong. So wrong. The next 20 minutes were spent questioning the moral and ethical reasons for killing him. It was selfish. I was doing it for me. I knew that. It made me worse than hired killers, because at least with them it's their 'job' and there is no emotional connection or relevance. As 3:10pm rolled around I got into position. He would be here any minute. Gun positioned and all lined up I waited silently. My breathing slowed. Ivan arrived at 3:17pm. His car pulled into the lot. For half a minute, he sat in the car gathering together whatever gear he had. The front door opened first. Guard one stepped out. Then the passenger side, he held the door open for Ivan. Ivan stepped out, a gym bag followed. He waited for guard one to lock the door then took two steps towards the gym. His guards stood on either side of him. They didn't matter. I had a clear shot. They weren't important. My gun followed his movements as I gently pulled on the trigger.