Family Betrayal

[l3wt]

Arland, wearing an insignia-free, largely featureless flight uniform, (which was Sabre policy just for the sake of extra deniability) had been leaning against a few stacked cargo crates in the docking area, discreetly observing unfolding events until Goodman's voice came through his earpiece.

He shifted upon hearing his instructions. He remembered the two women Austin had spoken of, he'd watched them head off to the bar. He licked his lips, thinking the scenario through from a tactical perspective.

The bar and the corridor leading to the room with the package - 101 - was not far apart, but the targets would have to cross a rather open area without any notable cover to reach it. He just had to find a good position to cover that area from, and check his fire in case Austin entered his sights.

Cold blue eyes swept the area for anything he could use as a firing position, preferably something out of sight and suitably elevated. He found something soon enough - a maintenance access ladder, out of sight from the bar, leading up to the trusses that held light fixtures and provided additional ceiling support.

He walked over to it, casual as can be and moving with the malignant grace that came so naturally to trained combatants, making sure to not expose himself unnecessarily to the targets' line of sight. Then, when he was confident enough that no eyes were on him, it was up the ladder.

He made good time on his climb, but the small bag in which he'd concealed his weapon and its assorted equipment and ammunition weighed him down, making him short of breath when he made it to the top and crept out on the trusses. Hidden in the shadows behind the light fixtures, he would be all but invisible.

He moved nimbly along the metal supports until he reached a good vantage point, with full view of both the entrance of the bar and the necessary distance the targets would have to traverse to get to room 101. He clocked the time it had taken to get into position unnoticed at about... Three minutes.

Good enough. If the targets couldn't wait to shadow someone for five, they were hardly professional, and Austin would be able to hand their arses to them gift-wrapped.

He opened his comlink to Goodman.

"Goodman, I'm in position, setting up to fire now. Give me an update."

As he spoke, he unzipped his bag and retrieved his firearm: An L18A1 PDW, or Personal Defense Weapon - Best described as a compact assault rifle, it was meant to be a light weapon used by pilots and vehicle crews to fight with if they had to abandon their vehicles or otherwise participate in regular firefights. It was a sleek, menacing design, complete with a retractable stock and an attachment rail system... Capable of firing its caseless high-velocity ammunition at an impressive 900-1000 rounds per minute, on its fully automatic setting. A very much traditional kind of weapon, but advances in ammunition composition allowed it to penetrate even modern body armour with enough effort.

The only problem was that it wasn't exactly a marksman weapon, but at this range - what, 50, maybe 60 metres? - Arland didn't need it to be.

Austin had told him to use a scope, though, so he would. He reached into the bag again and fished out an advanced combat optic, slotting it neatly onto the rifle before laying down on the metal beam and shouldering the weapon.

If the two women just waltzed into his field of view now, they would die, and that would be the end of that.