Free Night of the Assassin (Assassin Series 4_prequel) by Russell Blake

deliberate squeeze was best.
    The radio crackled and the report came back. A bull’s eye.
    “Good shooting.”
    They repeated the exercise for ten shots, all of which landed within a one inch grouping.
    “I think we’re done here, young man.”
    Raul looked up at the coach. He was emboldened by his success, and wanted to try for a personal best. He got along well with the man, so he floated his idea.
    “Why don’t we try it at fifteen-hundred meters? Just to make it interesting?” Raul suggested.
    The coach looked at him like he was crazy. “Pretty cocky, huh? That’s an impossible range with that weapon and that ammo, not to mention that scope. You want to put money on it?” the coach asked. Fifteen hundred meters was just under a mile away, and was the absolute maximum of the rifle’s range.
    “Two hundred pesos says I nail it three out of five. Although I agree that this ammo is crap for that distance. I’d prefer to load it myself for better consistency, but hey…” Raul said.
    “Fine. But three misses, we go home and I’m two hundred richer.”
    The coach got on the radio and issued the instructions to the man downrange, who obligingly moved the target to the farthest point on the range before taking cover.
    “It’s your funeral. Fire when ready,” the coach said.
    Raul took his time, made further adjustments to the scope, then repeated his meditation process where he became one with the weapon. The discharge almost startled him, so focused was his concentration. There was no need to wait for the radio to report. He knew what it would say.
    “Bull’s eye, eleven millimeters off center,” the radio crackled.
    “To the right, or the left? Or low or high? Tell him to be specific, would you?” Raul groused.
    Wide-eyed, the coach studied Raul like he was from another planet, then posed the question.
    The response came back. “To the right.”
    “That’s what I thought he’d say. Wind’s died down a hair in the last thirty seconds. Tell him to clear,” Raul said.
    Once he got the go ahead, he repeated the impossible shot. Four more times. All shots grouped with under an inch of variance.
    The coach gladly handed over the two hundred pesos for the single most astounding display of marksmanship he’d ever witnessed.
    “You’re a fucking monster, you know that? That’s superhuman voodoo shit right there. I’ve really never seen anything like it and I’ve been teaching for over ten years. Before that, I was one of the top three marksmen in Mexico,” the coach acceded.
    “Those that can, do…”
    Both men laughed together, in spite of a twenty-five year age difference. Raul would never again shoot with that accuracy at that distance, preferring to limit his performance to more average expectations. It wouldn’t do to show off, or to develop too much of a reputation. Better to have had a one in a million day and then graduate in the top third of the class than at the top. He remembered Emilio’s sage counsel from when he was just a sprout. Never show too much of your hand. To give your enemies information is to make a gift. And friends can become enemies. So know how good you are and then take private pleasure in that accomplishment. Becoming celebrated makes you a target. Better to be in the middle of the herd when the hunters came, than at the head.
    Into the evening, Raul enjoyed his place in the spotlight amongst his peers, as news of his exploit circulated. As much as he enjoyed the adulation, a part of him knew that the hubris that came from being the best was a fickle charm, so he resolved to enjoy it for now, because it would be the last time he allowed others to get a glimpse of what he could actually do. Information was power, and allowing, no, inviting others to understand his capabilities was foolhardy.
    His goal was to drain what experience he could from the service and then slip away like a ghost. It would serve no useful purpose to be noticed any more than he already had been.