"Samarin fingered me. Not to mention the fact I strangled him to death, cut off his hand, and shot Martins. I'm just saying the precedent has been set and it seems I'm the one with the more illegal end of the stick," I muttered under my breath.
"To be fair you're also the world-class long-range sniper so I'd say it's a good bet you would take the shot. Though I can't really comment on the whole dead person fingering your thing. I could take your mind off it later if you feel so inclined. I could show you a real good time, Zelin."
"I'd rather jump off this ledge."
"We both know that's a lie," he quipped cockily. If we weren't in the middle of an assassination, I'm sure Ashton would have taken his flirting a step further. His innuendos and suggestions were seldom without a heated look or a brief touch. There was a spicy retort on the tip of my tongue when my parted lips were cut off by the glorious sound of Ashton identifying the target. "Bingo, two o'clock."
"Blue shirt?" I asked for confirmation, finding the man in the blue striped button-down easily. I zeroed in on businessman through the scope, watching intently as he exited the lobby through the glass doors, turning onto the street two buildings down.
"Yep. Five eight, black shoes and hair, and a beard. Heading north about four miles an hour. Looks like someone's in a rush." If there was one thing snipers and spotters were gifted at, it was approximating speeds. I suppose it was an acquired skill.
"Wind at two knots?" I asked, recalling a Russian flag I saw flapping in the wind off the side of a building minutes ago.
"Two knots, northeast," Ashton confirmed. "We have maybe five seconds to get this on the road once you take the shot."
"Good. Get the hand, my eyes are on Romanoff." I didn't wait for Ashton's response before taking a deep breath and slowing my heart rate. I let myself get in the zone, my life between the crosshairs and the scope as everything faded out of my awareness. And with an exhale, my right hand twitched on the trigger as the recoil shot through my body. I barely had time to watch the bullet embed itself into the middle of Romanoff's forehead through the silenced sniper before I pulled myself back over the ledge.
Screams filled the air below as I started to dismantle the weapon, handing the body to Ashton. His own gloved hands pressed the cadaver's fingerprints against the trigger of the now unloaded gun. Klein wasn't just a liability; he was our escape now.
Keeping a dead man's hand in your freezer was a recipe for disaster but done right, it was freedom. As soon as his fingerprints got run through any federal system, the CIA will have a way to know. This not only shows the Americans their asset is alive but also that he has gone rogue. That takes any possible heat off of Ashton and I and the CIA will keep thinking Klein is alive because there's nobody to prove he's not.
That's a perfect scenario if there ever was one.
But we weren't fools. You see, everything we did was extremely strategic. Everything from my blue blazer to Ashton's black suit was meant to match two workers that had jobs in this building. After observing them this morning, we found very similar clothes and walked right in with our heads down. Now, we take every piece of the weapons except the body so it looks like we forgot it.
Then, we commence phase two.
"I'm jumping," I told him while pulling off my heals and putting them in my briefcase with the rest of the gun.
"Don't break your face, Sweetheart. It would be a shame if you ruined what you had going on," Ashton quipped in his usual fashion. Sweetheart. It was far from a term of endearment coming from him. If anything, it was a sign of his easy-going attitude in a time of crisis. It was entertaining to us both at the very least.
I took his response as the okay, the souls of my feet digging into the rough gravel as Ashton placed the cold, pale hand in his black backpack. I didn't wait for a response before tossing the briefcase with all my might over the South wall, opposite the North street where the shooting took place. This location was perfectly chosen for it's back to back buildings with no streets between.
I backed up before running at full speed, the pads of my feet burning against the rock and concrete before I leaned over the edge. The most average human could jump was ten feet. I could get maybe twelve. That's why it was immensely useful that the building I was landing on was shorter.
I easily crossed the twenty feet, rolling as I hit the tar-covered roof, skidding across the top. There was no time to look to see if Ashton made his jump. I needed to have faith and assume his much longer and stronger figure easily made his angled jump South-East. If he didn't I was on my own, but that was something I couldn't think about until I made it to the rendezvous point within the next fifteen minutes.
It took all the strength in my body to jump to the next building on the left before breaking into the custodial door at the top. My heart was pounding with adrenaline as police sirens filled the air. No sane person would dare make these risky jumps, not even a criminal with a vendetta. Most people didn't even have the athletic ability, let alone the guts.
Quickly, I put on a new pair of shoes and hiked my pencil skirt up, pulling a pair of dress pants up and discarding my blue blazer in my suitcase before entering the custodial door. I closed it softly behind me, darting down the metal stairs before entering the main hallways of the office building with my head down. My fake black hair fell over my milky skin as I casually walked down the hall.
Within seconds I was downstairs in the service stairwell. It felt almost natural to me by now. The nerves of roof hopping faded as I entered my calm zone. It was a space every snipper had; one that dulled all the hustle and bustle of your surroundings while heightening your senses. It made it easy to focus on the important things, pushing all of the worries outside of my consciousness. The docile mindset that allowed you to do anything.
Stab a guard, choke a civilian, frame an innocent person.
All of it was within my skill set and none of it was outside my moral boundaries.
What a pity.
A side exit Ashton had found by hacking the office buildings security system made it easy for us to plan our escape routes. Inside the shallow alley, I pulled off my wig and pants again, tossing the two with the briefcase in the dumpster. Call it gross, but I had to use my hands to dig through it to get to the bottom. I couldn't afford for this to be found.
It took another two seconds to remove the black button down to reveal the tan one underneath, that too becoming abandoned in the dumpster beside it.
And without even making eye contact with anyone, I held my chin up high and left the alley. My heels clicked on the sidewalk with all the confidence in the world, fears deflecting off my defined face like water on plastic.
Now I just had to hope Ashton's escape went as smoothly as mine. If not, this next month would be a long and dangerous one. Here's to hoping I don't end up with a bullet in my head by the end of this.
Wishful thinking.
XVIII
Start from the beginning
