What a beautiful day to die.

Not for me, of course, but for another. The screams took seconds to arrive. To someone present, there was no delay, but for me, the moments ticked on forever. I was in an odd position in that I could not watch the target directly. I was peering through my phone. Thanks to technology, I would do what few would even attempt. Why? Misdirection. If everyone is looking the wrong way, they will never find where you are. This is crucial as I was not far, making capture easy if one knew where to look. Yet, this was my only choice. But let me back up and start from the beginning.

Today is the day a distinguished visitor is giving a speech at the Zócalo, in the heart of Mexico City. He is speaking of the grand plans of the wonderful nation called China and how the Belt and Road Initiative will help Mexico become great again. Of course, none of this would be possible if the U.S. hadn’t elected that orange ass clown. I’m not picking on the United States specifically because these clowns are at an all-time high. Pick a country and chances are a moron is in charge. China claims to be helping because of the benevolent nature of the world’s most populous country. If you believe that horseshit, then you should move there. It’s the place to live, especially if you are Uyghur, and you want free reprogramming (even Scientology charges). If you are not lucky enough to be Uyghur, there is still the oppressive pollution and overwhelming censorship, or is it the other way around? If you are a woman, then you are in luck as there are 30 million more men than women. But this is beside the point. I am not here to remind everyone to wear their Winnie the Pooh shirts when they visit China. Just joking, please don’t unless you want Chinese officials to harass you. I am here for the man extolling the virtues of that glorious land in the east. Given he is a distinguished guest, getting to him is not as easy as expected. This is a task that one usually loves–an open square surrounded by tall buildings. Someone understood this and took precautions. Unfortunately for them, they did a half-assed job, not that I am finding fault. If they went all out, then my work would be much harder. Despite not doing their best, the assignment is full of challenges. I need to be creative and extend outside my comfort zone. I dislike such things, but if what I did was easy, then everyone would do it. Ok, maybe not everyone, but there are enough psychopaths out there to make it seem that way.

For this job, I must get inside a government building, and with items they would frown upon if discovered. This presented two puzzles. First, I must get inside unnoticed, which will be easy. Second, I must sneak those items I needed, which is more of a challenge. The good news is that when I had what I needed inside, they would be slower to look here, and this buys me time. The first order of business was getting into the correct building, which contained numerous military personnel, so I used a uniform. This alone is not enough, as they also ask for identification, but it helps. I was not familiar with Mexican regulations but knew a good amount about European and United States uniforms, so this transfer of knowledge did not take long. Despite having never been in the military, I trained as if I was. I grew up a short time after the Russian army cashiered my father. The trouble was, he was born in the wrong place. He was from Ukraine but served in the Soviet military. After the split, neither side was sure if they could trust him. To the Russians, he was a Ukrainian, and to the Ukrainians, he was a Soviet and, hence, a Russian. The sad part is that he was loyal to both and would have continued to serve with distinction. But life did not turn out that way, so I became his single Spetsnaz trainee, and I couldn’t flunk out. Don’t feel sorry for me because I loved this training and would not be where I am today without it.

I approach the other soldier standing at the door and he salutes (it is best to make yourself an officer if possible). After returning his salute, I hand him my ID. He glances at it for less than a second and lets me pass. This guard must examine dozens of such cards a day and tires of such checks. Who else will show up here in a military uniform except soldiers? My attaché case goes through the x-ray machine as I walk through the metal detector. Neither I nor my attaché case raises eyebrows. This is where doing my homework comes into play. In Mexico, these machines are more for show. Sure, they usually work, but they set the metal detector on low, and person watching the monitor gives a cursory glance at items on the screen. And these devices are only as good as the people using them. Without exception, operators look for specific shapes. This means if a gun looks like a gun, they notice, but guns can come in many configurations. The bottom line is that most of these checks are window dressing to make the public feel safe and it would amaze you at what gets through airport security. Today I brought through part of what I need, the rest will come via another route. Once inside, I go up several floors. Halfway down a hall, I knock on a door. After pausing for a moment, I enter to see no one there. The office belongs to a mid-level military bureaucrat that is at home sick. Turns out, he ate something that gave him food poisoning, and will be out for a few days. Thanks, dad, I say aloud.

My father was a visionary. He learned everything possible to give his troops an advantage, and later, he passed this knowledge on to me. Someone in his unit saw an episode of MacGyver and started calling my father Comrade MacGyver. The analogy was fitting, as my father did many of the same things this American t.v. figure did except in combat situations. The enemy called him The Black Plague because of the illnesses he spread amongst them. More than once, he added his particular makings into a well or gave a prisoner infected food. Somehow, the prisoner escaped and gave his fellow soldiers a gift from my father. None of what he was made was anywhere near weapons-grade biological agents, but still effective. Most people do not fight well when suffering from food poisoning.

In today’s Mexican army, there is no fighting, so such an officer did not bother to come into the office. He would be out today and tomorrow, and likely longer. The time varied, but everyone is sick for two days or more. The odds are good he ends up in the hospital but not to worry because this illness is not fatal. With any luck, he will have no idea what happened here. After locking the door, I go to work. I had several tools with me and began working on the floor. The floor is wood planks, and there is a gap between the wood flooring and the cement structure. The gap is enough for someone to hide in, and this is what I intended to do. Another reason I chose this spot is because the opening to the outside is a door and not a window. The doors extended to the gap between the wood floor and the cement. This meant all I needed was a slight cut in the glass, and I would be ready. After I pulled up the wood slats, I took off my uniform and hung it up so it wouldn’t get dirty. Next, I pushed myself into the gap, grabbed the rest of the equipment, and put the floorboard back.

I spent five minutes in meditation to relax my breathing. I do not mind confined spaces, but this is a tight fit, which I do not enjoy. As I meditated, I thought about how I might react in certain situations. I would spend the next twelve hours in this spot that might contain rats and insects. How would I respond if a rat ran across me or took a nibble at my leg? I am not afraid of such creatures, but dislike being near them.

Once I was relaxed and ready, I used a rag to dust. I did not want to sneeze at a critical moment. Once I finished, I pulled out a glass cutter and began my work. The glass is old and not tempered, so I cut an odd shape that resembled what a rock might make. They might not discover what I had done for a long time, but when they did, I wanted them to think the glass was this way because of an accident. Next, I watched and waited. The platform was in place, and I spent a good deal of time examining it as I walked through the square. To ensure nothing happened to their guest, they hung a sheet of bulletproof glass down from the top of the platform in front of him, stopping inches from his head. There was another piece that started at the floor and went up. Yet anyone watching would imagine the speaker in open space. Yet the bulletproof glass covered enough area that only a shot straight on would hit him. This meant a sniper could not use a taller building farther away and the police occupy the floors where such a shot was possible. However, there was one weakness in this plan: the area behind the stage.

The back is covered with a black curtain, and the authorities must have determined that no one would take a shot at someone without seeing him. In this way, they were mistaken. Thermal imaging made it possible to see beyond this. I also placed a small camera in front to see the speaker that way. The biggest concern was the curtain. Luckily, the material was thin and would not change the course of a bullet. At least that is what I thought. It felt like the normal draping used in events, but one never knew. What if this obstacle somehow caused me to miss? So far, I had never missed when it counted, but there is always a first time. I still fretted over every little detail until I finished the job and am home, and even then, I wonder about leaving clues. One clue here and there might lead to being identified, and then my capture and either death or life in prison, neither of which I wanted. Being caught is something I had thought about a great deal, and so I approached each mission differently.

Most of the time, I used sniper rifles, but different models with various caliber bullets. This meant constant practice with a wide range of firearms, and there were many a time I wished I was in the military and could stick to one model. This training proved helpful in that I could make use of whatever is available. Despite the abundance of firearms worldwide, sniper rifles are not so common and often I did not use my first or second choice but what I found. Depending on the job, I might smuggle in my own weapons, but this is not always possible, providing there was time. I had a cache in Rio, but I can not put them on a commercial flight if I needed them in Lima. Driving between the two is an adventure that demanded a week. Even going from Rio to Recife takes 35 hours to drive. I could fly one of my planes, but getting from Ukraine to Peru takes forever, not to mention the fuel cost. I swore that someday, when work was slow, I would expand my collections to other places.

Lucky for me, Mexico had no shortage of guns brought in via the United States, so I had access to everything I required. In the present situation, weight was an issue, so I decided on a Blaser R93 Tactical sniper rifle. This is not the lightest weapon, but weighed less than others, and it had a feature I liked: a straight-pull action design. This makes firing a second round much fast than a typical bolt action that requires a turn as well. With the curtain, I might need a second shot, although I doubt that will turn out well if I do. In other situations, I would use an Accuracy International AS50 that had a quick rate of fire. Unfortunately, it is too heavy for this mission. The AS50 is my favorite weapon and one I always want to use, but often cannot for various reasons. Using any sniper rifle sets you apart from others and the range might give you away. I say might because one never knows with technological advances and what level of attention a police force gives to a job. For this reason, I pretend they can do everything I can imagine, such as determine range and gun used even if they can’t. With my training, I am as skilled as any military sniper and likely one of the best. Lucky for me, I never trained in the military, as that would leave a trail. I have wondered how many ex-snipers police had questioned because of the shots I made.

Then there is the question of location. When I take a shot, where should I? As close or as far as manageable. At a certain distance, luck comes into play and if I miss, I might not have a second chance (besides, I am without a spotter). Even if I can make long-range shots, should I? Could the police figure out that one person made a handful of shots? This seems unlikely given the number of countries I operate in, but is possible. If I am caught, I do not want to be charged with all I have done. Now I need to wait until nightfall, which is difficult, as there was little to do. For this reason, I ended up looking at my watch every thirty-second until the hands said 2 a.m. Then I came out of my hiding spot and spent the next few minutes stretching. Despite being in a confined space, I still exercised my muscles, as I did not want them to get stiff in case I needed to move quickly. Once I finished and my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I dress in my military uniform and exited the office. After opening the door a crack, I looked around. Seeing no one in the hall, I moved to the stairs and up to the roof. Once there, I take out my phone and start an app.

Five minutes later, I hear the buzzing sound of my two eight bladed drones. Each one carried a cloth bag that provided the equipment I need. Next, I looked for a place to hide them. I thought about where to put them for a long time. If I left them in the open, they would be easier to spot, but might also take off and return to where they were before. If I hid them, they could not leave, but they would not be found, at least for a while. I decided to hide them. The goal is to bring the equipment back here and use the drones to take away the evidence. After hiding them, I returned to the office. I assembled my sniper rifle, that included a thermal imaging scope, and a Glock 26 with suppressor. I put together everything in the dark and squeezed back into the hole. Once I settled in, I dozed off, but woke when I thought I felt something brush against my leg. The idea of a rat nibbling on me jolted me awake, but I never discovered what woke me. In my equipment was a spotter scope, and I observed all that was going on. How many would be here today? The space is open, and I hope I did not injuries others. This might seem like a contradiction, but I had rules I lived by.

Those I kill deserved what they got. My father taught me this, although he had no way of knowing this is what I would do. He talked about fighting in Afghanistan and the horrors that went on there. More than once, I asked him how he could kill someone, and he always had a justification. He was serving his country. This was when I learned that the reason must be honest and not a lie. He did his job serving the Soviet Union, but what happens if what you are told is a lie. How often does this happen? The trouble is that some of what he did was necessary, but some crossed a line. Being in the military, he claimed he could not say no. In the end, he committed horrible atrocities in the name of following orders and serving his country. When the Soviet Union broke up, no one trusted him because they knew what he did. I might kill others for money, but I did not have to report to anyone and would not let my past haunt me like what happened to my father. Despite this, sometimes I felt guilty about what I did. No matter what society says, ultimately, man is unfit to judge other men, and in doing so, we pay the price. Feeling guilty was not ideal, but at least this means I was not a psychopath incapable of understanding right from wrong.

So why did this man have it coming? He was one of the key players in a group who kidnapped women and brought them to China. Aside from human trafficking, he is also an arms dealer and known for his abusive ways. I can’t think of anyone who will miss him when he is gone, except maybe his dog. For a moment, an idea flashed before me, but I could not catch it. This caused me to focus on my target. Why was he here on behalf of the Chinese government? He had contacts within the government, but I remember nothing about construction companies. This man is rich and owns many businesses, but none of them involve building roads. If this is not how he made his money, why would he be here? This is the first time I wondered if there was something wrong with this picture. Due diligence was crucial to what I did, and my previous research told me this was the right person. Did I make a mistake? This was a question I considered, but have no way of figuring out now. Besides, my instruction are specific. I received a name but was told to kill the speaker. I am paid to kill an idea as much as a person. It was important someone dies at this event. This meant I had to act even if I killed another. The client did not care, since this was an act against the Chinese government. But killing the wrong person upsets me and is why I did due diligence. Yet they paid me so much because they expected me to do the job.

I had rules, but once I agreed and gave my word, I did the job. I thought these rules helped make me the best, but now I am not sure. It is hard to know who is number one because there is not an annual assassin’s convention where we give out awards. Maybe those guys over at 538 can make up one of those Elo ratings for assassins based on distance, weather conditions, and the person killed. Of course, if this were the case, I would be number one because I killed a head of state. Ok, he was a dictator of a tin-pot republic and had only been in charge for less than a year, but I took him out and most of his cronies. The guy in power now is there because he was one of the few left alive. He is the reason I am in this business and why he is also a good leader. I told him if he cheated the people, I would come after him but not go as easy as I did on his predecessor. This threat should scare the shit out of anyone, but that is a story for another time. If I’m not the best assassin in the world, I sure charge like I am, and so far, no one has complained. One benefit of my job is that I don’t receive complaints. I wish the same were true in the service industry. They eat shit all day for little money. I have been tempted to kill a few assholes in Starbucks. So the next time you are thinking about being rude to your server, consider that I might be behind you and ready to snap your neck. Assholes in Starbucks are on the top of my list, so don’t kid yourself that I won’t. As for the present victim, it is too late for him now. Better luck in the next life.

I slowed my breathing and focused on my movement to get these questions out of my mind. I could not have distractions or doubts when I took the shot. The time for all that was past. Now I must focus on the moment and the task at hand. I watched the sunlight come up, and workers set up. They assembled the stage the day before, but put out chairs and speakers this morning as the event begins at 10. Luckily, the President of Mexico is not be in attendance; otherwise, I would not be here. There is security, and then there is security for a head of state, and I was not being paid enough for the latter. Besides, I had nothing against the president, even if he is an idiot. That is the problem with democracy. Idiots elect idiots, so what else can one expect of government? The wise are too rare to impact politics, and so stupid is as stupid does. This is the reason I don’t vote. What’s the point? The people will still elect a comedian no matter what I do.

And they wonder why there are so many problems. Oh well, I have a job to get done. As people arrive, I turn on the camera and watch via my phone. It is tiny and will probably never be found. I stuck it in brown modeling clay in the corner of a ledge on a second-story window of a building facing the square. Even someone looking would have trouble finding it. The camera enabled me to see what was happening and identify the speaker before taking a shot. There is a small delegation of Chinese talking, and one of them must be him. I realize too late is that the camera does not zoom in. The picture quality is good, but the group is at a distance, and seeing individual features is impossible. Making matters worse is that they are all dressed in the same dark blue suits. I wish I had a better camera. Even though I make a great deal of money, these expenses add up and equipment is often used once. Each drone costs $4,000 plus scopes, guns, et cetera. The total on this job runs to over $20,000. In Mexico, I have storage space, but who knows when I will use these materials again if ever.

Watching the camera, I had a vague notion of who was speaking. Previously, I had a positive id of the individual before I took a shot. Today, the distance between the speakers and me is too far to make out the name said. This is a situation where I wished I was in the military, as this lack of identification might scrub the mission. If not, someone higher up the chain of the command is blamed. A sole proprietor has no such luxury. I have to do my job and hope for the best. As I watched and waited, I asked the Chinese to move closer to the camera, but none of them did. I guess they didn’t hear me. First up was some local politician, followed by two others, before the target. I heard a name that sounded correct, but I am not sure. I focused on my breathing, aimed the rifle, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet sped toward the victim.

I debated whether to go for a headshot or the body. The head was my standard target, but this is a usual situation. Should I aim for the body? Despite knowing this, I was afraid such a shot might not kill him, and finishing the job would become complicated. I have no idea if my victim suspected he was a target. The answer seemed no, but anyone who survives an attempted assassination is more careful. And a person with his money could afford the best security. Getting to him then would pose a much greater challenge. A moment after I squeeze the trigger, I see the target fall over. Then the crowd screams. Looks like I hit the mark. Despite the tight space, I disassemble my gun and put everything back in the canvas bags except my spotter scope. I watch as everyone runs around, but I spot no sign of snipers on the rooftops. If they are there, they are looking for movement in various buildings. This is the reason I stay hidden. No one will find me. They will search for a while, but not forever, and then I can leave.

With luck, the police will not look at the victim to determine where the exit wound is since if someone did, they would search in my direction. Going through this building would complicate my escape, but I had planned for such a possibility. For now, I must wait. Someone entering the room now might smell the cordite and know the shot took place here. If that happens, I have a narrow window of escape and would likely have to kill several people. Inside the canvas bag, I take out a small fan and air freshener. With these two items and time, the scent of the gunfire will disappear. What I am doing is a risk, albeit small, since someone might notice the smell and realize the office is empty. Yet, as unlikely as this is, such possibilities happen more often than seem possible. Maybe this is God’s way of providing justice.

As I look around, I do not spot anyone searching for a shooter. Since there was only one shot, everyone assumed the assassin vanished. Escape is never as easy or straightforward as in the movies. I could walk out of the front entrance, but I might be stopped. There are cameras in the lobby, and anyone leaving now would receive extra scrutiny. Besides, I need to go to the roof and get rid of my equipment. I could leave everything here, but if they found this spot, they would find countless clues. Based on my time here, strands of my hair could be present. This will not lead anywhere, but a hint here might one day link with another somewhere else until they form a pattern.

A helicopter circled for twenty-minutes, during which time the police arrived. Now is the moment of truth. My heart beat faster, and I worked to control my breathing. The question is, will they move the evidence before someone looked over it for clues? Forensics might make notes and remove the body before telling anyone else about their findings. The bullet hole in the curtain is small and might go unnoticed. There is also the question whether the police thought I am still near the crime scene. Logically, they will conclude I left. The investigation would proceed at a methodical, if slow, pace. If this is the case, my escape will be easy. As I watched, I saw a detective point at various buildings, none of which are in my direction.

Time ticked past, and soon there were only a handful of people at the crime scene, and none showed signs of knowing the direction of the gunshot. Nor did anyone suspect there was a camera watching them. At two in the afternoon, when I am certain no one will notice, I move the wood flooring and come out of my hole. Once out, I change into my military uniform, replace the floorboard, and peek out the door. Given this is a Saturday, I have little trouble reaching the roof unseen. I attach the canvas bags to the drones and find a spot for them. If someone searches up here, they will find them, but there is nothing I can do about it. The drones will remain here until dark before I use the return to home function to move them. Once they are ready, I return to the ground floor and find a fire exit. The entrance of the building has cameras, but there are none elsewhere.

I kept the Sig with me. This is another reason I did not want to walk out of the front entrance of a government building even if there are no metal detectors for those leaving. I studied the emergency exit door, unsure whether it is alarmed. A sign said it is, but usually, they are not. The alarm is magnetic, so I crossed my fingers and pushed. One problem with old buildings like this is that equipment is also old. The alarming mechanism is at least fifty years old, perhaps more. This made finding information about such a device difficult, as a quick search on my phone proved. As I shoved on the door, I took a deep breath and waited for a sound. Instead of any noise, the door groaned as if it hadn’t opened in fifty years. As it closed, I made a mental note of the location before leaving. If I needed to get back in the building, I would use this door instead of the main entrance.

I exit into an alley, and I walk towards my hotel a few blocks away. The building is old and they accept cash without questions. Growing up, my father obsessed over my learning other languages, so I am fluent in Spanish.

“No one speaks Ukrainian outside our country and Russian is dying fast so you must learn other languages,” my father said anytime I complained. Since I had begun at an early age, I spoke like a native speaker, but one from Spain and not Mexico. The language is slightly different throughout the world, and one listening to me would say I am from Spain. I have to be careful, as I am wearing a Mexican military uniform. My goal is to pass the lobby unrecognized. I was not in uniform when I checked in, nor when I leave. As long as reception did not see me now, I would not have to worry about my accent. Once in the building, I kept my head down and walked towards the stairs. Despite my heart beating faster, no one called out to me and there were enough people at the front desk, so I doubt anyone noticed me. In my room, I changed clothes and packed.

Once I finished, I waited for nightfall. Waiting is the worst part of what I do. The job of sending a bullet to someone is done in less than a second. I spend the rest of my time planning and waiting. Out of boredom, I switched on the television, and after flipping through channels, I find a story about the shooting. Seeing the picture of the victim confirmed what I had suspected–something was not right. The name given to me is the same as that on the news, but the pictures did not match. The image they show is of a man at least ten years younger. This is often the case since they seldom have an up-to-date picture unless it is a mug shot. Yet even considering the age difference, the photos are not of the same person, although they look similar. Cosmetic surgery might explain several of the differences, but there is the nose. The younger man had a delicate nose while the pictures I saw were of a man whose nose had been broken. True, this break might have happened later, but something is still not right. For a moment, I blamed myself for killing the wrong person, but realized this was not possible. Even though they looked different, they still too similar for me not to shoot. This seemed like too big a coincidence. For whatever reason, someone hired me to think I killed one man when, in fact, I killed another. Why?