It was a sure thing the man told him. Over and done with just like that. Umberto always wanted to believe the man but knew deep down that in his business no sure thing ever existed. Since early morning before the sun was well up over the horizon, Umberto had checked and re-checked critical elements like wind speed, wind direction, light source, range, temperature. There were also other important details such as getting into a good position to take a shot. That was vital. Umberto knew that no detail, however small, could be overlooked. He worked alone and liked it that way and though it was sometimes difficult, it was far better in the long run than working in pairs, when only one usually returned.
![](https://culinarytravelsinfrance.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/e6146-churchsquare.jpg?w=200&h=150)
Umberto looked up at the sky, he knew the target would appear soon. He kissed his Virgin Mary medallion that hung around his neck, one last time silently praying not for forgiveness but that she would give him courage and a steady hand. Grasping his Polish bolt-action 7.62x51mm caliber sniper rifle, he sighted through the Leupold 4.5-14×50 telescope, relaxed, waited for his moment then expertly squeezed the trigger.
It was high noon in the little village below, barely three quarters of a mile away, church bells rang, Sunday services were over. Children were running out into the square chasing each other in their finest Sunday outfits. As a tall man with blond hair and dark sunglasses descended the church steps and onto the square joining others standing under the hot sun. Umberto watched as his target jerked suddenly to the right, taking one step back then forward and finally crumpling to the ground like a sac of potatoes, motionless in front of Las Iglesisas de La Santa Maria. Umberto watched the confusion below, people running, hands pointing in every direction. She knelt beside his lifeless body, pounding on him with her fists while his blood splattered across her yellow Sunday dress. It was all over in a matter seconds. She looked up towards the hills and stared in Umberto’s direction. Calmly and efficiently he packed his rifle which he would dispose of later, restored his spot as best he could and quietly retreated following his planned exit route. Another job successfully finished.
Umberto had completed more assignments than he could remember and no longer entertained any thoughts of remorse or sadness. He had once, he remembered, and it almost drove him mad waking him at night with dreams of one victim after another parading before him. Since that time, he had learned to think of each target as a project which was approached with cold, factual, technical analysis; it was safer that way or so the man had told him and he had come to believe it. He did not think of himself as being a bad person, he was a good and God-fearing man and after everything was said and done, it was a job that, for better or worse, he was particularly good at doing. The man had told him he was “gifted” but Umberto was tired of it all and deep down that made him afraid of being sloppy.
Before each assignment, Umberto always received his rifle, disassembled and nicely packaged with a bow very much like a present, from a man known to him only as Gregory; a man who spoke English and Spanish equally well but with a heavy accent that might have been Eastern European but Umberto could not tell for sure. When delivering the present, Gregory would always arrive immaculately dressed even when the temperature would wilt most living creatures. Despite his large frame, every move seemed smoothly choreographed and deliberate, almost as if he had been a trained athlete. Whatever it was, Umberto never felt at ease with Gregory – those pale blue eyes lacked even the slightest hint of warmth, they seemed dead inside and reminded him of eyes on a shark. His thin lips, pasted on a waxen-colored face, would barely smile. Umberto thought that Gregory’s presence cooled a hot place very quickly. Nursing his habitual tea with lemon, Gregory would tell him about his next assignment which meant committing a face to memory along with location and other details on the mission. Gregory told Umberto that for future assingments, he would soon be using a Russian made rifle or perhaps the ultimate, an 82A1/M107 Barrett. This made Umberto smile and made things more as he always wanted to use an M107 Barret, long considered to be the mother of all sniper rifles. The Russian rifle was clearly inferior to the Barret and he told him so; that seemed to make Gregory smile. Umberto was reminded that everything depended on the client. He would receive no further communications from Gregory until, once again, it was time to receive an assignment. That time had now come.
The rendez-vous was in San Sebastián in the Parte Vieja (Old Part) a place called Txuleta right on the Plaza de la Trinidad. It was warm outside but pleasant enough with a gentle wind blowing from off-shore. As he made his way across the square, along with the tourists, Umberto thought he saw Gregory sitting at a table but he wasn’t sure. A sudden flock of pigeons flew up, a sharp glint of reflection from somewhere and in that next moment Umberto jerked, twisted and crumpled to a heap in the old town’s cobbled square. He heard voices, screams, muffled sounds then darkness. In the midst of the confusion, a man in a straw hat finished his drink with lemon and got up leaving a nicely wrapped empty box by the chair.