Consulting Sniper (Moran's Story)

Chapter 6: Odd Job Interview

I was skeptical. Was it a ploy by the army to capture me? I figured I'd at least go on an interview to see if it was a legitimate job.

The office where they wanted me to meet with the dig's orchestrator, who I'd later call "boss," was a dark and dingy little one. And trust me, the boss himself was no better looking than he likely sounds.

He was a relatively chubby man sitting at a big, mahogany desk in a relatively sparse room with a gray concrete floor and also gray walls, bringing out the brown of the desk and the deep blue of his pinstripe suit.

Mahogany. I hate mahogany. And pinstripe suits. For the sole reason that Mycroft loves both of these things to death.

"What do you want?" My future boss asked me, looking up from whatever paperwork on his desk was so engrossing that he didn't even notice me come in.

"I'm here for an interview. I'm Sabrina Moran."

"Oh, for the secretarial position?"

"No, for the guard position?" I asked, my eyes blinking rapidly. "I brought my rifle too, like you said. You wanted to see how I shoot?"

"Oh, yes!" The man yelled, jumping up from his chair in sudden recognition of who I was and what I was there to do. "Come with me. You and I are going I have a little talk."

As we walked out, he saw the worried look on my face. "Don't worry, the job hasn't been filled yet. I just need to see how you can shoot in this side room over here. And if I'm satisfied, then we can talk money."

Money. Something I hadn't had for a while. I was almost literally dressed in rags. I put down my gun bag and pulled my old regulation rifle, followed by my sawed-off-barrel rifle and my army pistol.

"Which should I use?" I asked.

My future boss's eyes went wide. "What are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why do you have three guns that you use regularly? I'm not engaging in any illegal activity here, I hope you know that."

"Oh, I know. Shooting is what you'd call a hobby of mine. So which should I use?"

"The rifle with the short barrel first. Then the pistol. Lastly, the long-barrel rifle."

Well, I was going to do as he asked. I took out my short barrel rifle, stood back from a target that was placed near the far wall on a stand. I aimed and fired three times. I hit the target each time, three disjointed cracks audible from where we were standing.

Next, for the pistol. I wasn't as good with this. I felt sort of naked trying to shoot with it after having used the rifle, which brought my body close into itself. When I fired the pistol three times, it was with my right arm outstretched and my right hand on the trigger. My left hand hung down at first, but after the first shot, I brought it up to the gun to guide the shots.

Three more perfect shots. Finally, I took out my long-barrel rifle and attached a silencer to the end. This could get really loud.

I stood even farther back and aimed. Three more shots into the center of the target. My boss was very impressed.

"Satisfactory, Ms. Moran. Very satisfactory."

"Now can we talk money please? What an odd interview, you know?"

"Ah well you're not exactly trying out for the most mainstream job in the world, now, are you?"

"Right you are," I said as I followed the man back into his office. I felt so small compared to my surroundings and the man himself, even though I was not the smallest woman you could meet. I was five-foot-eight, taller than Mycroft by one inch and Sherlock by three inches.

"Take a seat across from me, Sabrina," my boss said. I was still getting used to people calling me Sabrina and not Sabrina Moran all the time now that Moran was officially my surname and not my middle name or the first part of that dreadful hyphenated Moran-Holmes last name that people sometimes assigned me.

"Well, Sabrina. I was thinking twelve euros an hour?"

"I was thinking sixteen.

"That's excessive. I'll settle for thirteen."

"Fifteen or you don't have a guard. I know no one else had tried out for this yet. I can tell."

"Fourteen and a half?"

"Fifteen."

"Fine, then. I can't believe I just did that... You'd better do a damn good job over there, Moran."

"I will, sir," I responded. And I meant it. I intended to do the best job I could possibly manage in the given situation as I'd been taught by the army which I had been so cruelly thrown out of.

"The expedition leaves at the end of the month; that is in two weeks. So you've got time to pack whatever you need or think you'll need. You know how customs is with guns, so I'll have to help you with that. Don't bring anything but these three."

"I don't have any others. But I've got throwing knives too, hand-knives. You want me to bring those?"

"NO! You know how they don't like people with things like that going on the airplanes nowadays... They'll detain you for days, Ms. Moran; oh, it's absolutely terrible. I can't afford you getting stopped at the airport. You're sure you aren't bringing any other weapons?"

"Completely. You know I don't wanna get stopped. I'll come only with my rifles and pistol."

"Fantastic, Ms. Moran. I see this as a very promising arrangement, do you not?"

"Yes, thank you for the opportunity. I'll meet you at Heathrow in two weeks?"

"Monday, April 30th. Eight o'clock a.m. sharp. They'll be digging up a city that supposedly existed there in the two-thousands b.c. We are going below the equator, Ms. Moran, to a city that the ancients once called their 'new world.' It sounds great, I just had to finance some part of it."

"Seemingly so, bossman."

"You see, Ms. Moran, I am a bit of a philanthropist. I own this business; its growing, but I knew this was a great opportunity to get our name known. We manufacture tools, like the ones they'll use on the dig mission. How could we not?"

"Right, boss."

"Great. See you in two weeks at Heathrow Airport."

"See you at Heathrow."