The Hit (Flash 300 words)

By Richard Banks

In less than two hours he would be away to La Paz where he was Jarvis, the real estate man. But for now he was Chapman, a coffee broker, and would remain so until his flight from Heathrow. He took a pride in his work, it was almost a craft, one he had perfected over many years. Each job a logistical puzzle; he relished the challenge, no problem too difficult to resolve.

         Weeks of meticulous planning had secured him this room with a view. On a Saturday afternoon it was empty of all those who worked there, as were the other offices in the block. The room was on the third floor, at his preferred elevation, the sun at his back. He unpacked his briefcase of the disconnected parts within, reassembling them with a quick fingered dexterity he often practised with eyes tight shut. He was in the zone, pulse beating at a steady fifty-five.

         He raised the blind a few inches and pushed open the window, he would fire from within the building unseen by anyone looking up into the dazzle of the sun. All that was needed now was the correct alignment, the target to appear in the expected place, at the expected time. Due 2pm at the Embassy he would be leaving the hotel by the front entrance no later than 1.45, walking briskly across the wide pavement into the safety of a bullet proof car. There would be two, maybe three seconds in which to take aim and fire.

         Through the tinted glass doors of the hotel he could see dark shapes gathering for the off. Outside a limousine was gliding into place. The hotel door opened and out came the target with his minders. He aimed centre forehead. One shot only, and it was done.  

Copyright Richard Banks