The Assassin's Trail by J.C. Fields Page A

opening when the man’s wife left for the weekend and his girlfriend came over for a little swimming and sex in the mansion’s pool. The shot was easy, 200 yards from an elevated wooded area overlooking the back of the house. After only an hour in his hide, the man sent the girlfriend into the house for more drinks. Billy shot him as he walked around the pool. Center mass shot, one .223 slug from Billy's Remington 700, perfectly placed in the man's heart and the other hitting the upper torso as the dead man’s body fell into the pool.
    Billy didn't wait for the girlfriend to return poolside. He simply crawled back over the rise, calmly walked back to his pickup and drove away. The Remington 700 had been disassembled and disposed of at various spots along the Potomac. He could always buy another 700; they were accurate right out of the shipping carton, one of the reasons he liked them.
    At first he thought it would bother him, but when he saw the man, it didn't. The target had black hair with a dark complexion, reminding him of the type of men who planted the IED in Iraq. He slept fine that night and every night after.
    The second target posed more of a problem. The guy worked all the time, and other than when he left for the airport, the only places he went were his office and apartment. Billy had specific instructions: the job had to be completed in Washington, D.C. Finally he decided the best opportunity would be after the man got his morning coffee. The guy followed the same routine every morning, went to the same Starbucks, got the same coffee, and then drove to his office with the top down on his expensive convertible.
    The night before Billy did the job, he borrowed a motorcycle from a guy who lived in the same apartment building. The best part was the guy didn't know Billy had borrowed the bike. He returned it before the neighbor left for work. Both the SIG Sauer and the suppressor were tossed into the Potomac River later in the day.
    Now Ortega had given him a new challenge, one he was concerned about. The first two men were obviously rich, but nobody knew who the hell they were. At least Billy didn’t, and since there was very little mentioned in the newspapers or on TV, apparently nobody else did either.
    But this job was different. The target was a congressman, a relatively new and little known one, but still a congressman. His planning would have to be more precise and careful.
    While not under a strict timeline, the job had to be completed anytime during a three-week window starting this coming Friday. Details of the congressman's itinerary for the next three weeks were provided in a package, postmarked New York City. As he read it, three opportunities were pointed out, but he would observe the congressman for a few days and see for himself. If he could find other openings, they would be preferable. Better to be unpredictable, just in case he was being set up.
    He trusted Ortega, but only so far. Ortega had been a Master Sargent and Billy a Corporal, and while not close buddies, they knew and respected each other. Ortega had witnessed some of the inter-squad marksmanship competitions the Division put together. Billy was proud of the fact he won every time he entered one. After being wounded, he lost track of Ortega and never saw him again. Then one day out of the blue, Ortega made contact. But complete trust wasn’t part of the deal.
    Glancing at his watch, he was due at the pistol range in an hour. After his shift, there would be time to drive by the congressman’s house and start his recon. 

Chapter 17
     
    Springfield, MO
    Wednesday
     
    Kruger parked his Mustang in the back of a nondescript three-story building in the center section of Springfield at half past nine in the morning. Not knowing how long it would take, he had told Stephanie not to expect him until later that evening.
    JR was waiting for him in the lobby with a cup of coffee in his hand and said, “Restroom’s next to the stairs. When