Consulting Sniper (Moran's Story)

Chapter 16: Affirmation

The day that Jim asked me if I knew who Mycroft Holmes was, I was in the middle of a mission.

At that point, it had been nearly four years since the mission in which I proved myself to Clay. He was long gone as a result. Reassigned. The stakes were too high for him to put that much on the line. But I didn't pity him in the least. I was too heavily involved with my job as leader of the sniper team in Clay's stead.

It was August. I was using my sniper rifle on the stand while laying on a roof. And even though it was August, it was still windy and cold on top of that roof that day, and I really did not want to be there.

I was holding my rifle steady. My two hands were thin; I had four tattoos in the space on each hand between my thumb and forefinger. Two rifles on my left hand, one with the barrel sawed off. A pistol and an air rifle on the other hand. The air rifle had little stars around it, glorifying it.

My arms were muscular from long workouts at the gym; I was in my best survival state in years. If I were to be suddenly cut off from Jim and forced to be on the run, I'd be just fine.

But as I mentioned, I did not want to be on that roof. So when I got a call from Jim, I thought it was him telling me I could go home. But the call, to my shock and disappointment, was for something completely different.

"How long were you in Oxford for?"

"Less than six months. Can I leave?"

"No. Did you ever meet any of the law students? They are approximately your age."

"I may know one or two. Who do you need information on?"

"A woman named Mycroft Holmes. And possibly another man named Tom Saylor."

I was flabbergasted. I stood up and yelled into the phone. "What do you want with two law students?"

"DON'T LOSE SIGHT OF THE PEOPLE ON THE STREET! HE MIGHT BE WALKING BY RIGHT NOW AND YOURE NOT PAYING ATTENTION!"

"Right," I said, laying back down. "But why specifically Mycroft Holmes and Tom Saylor?"

"Wait... Mycroft Holmes and a sailor named Tom?

"No, Saylor. His last name is Saylor, S A Y L O R," Jim said, spelling it out for me.

"Do you know them?"

What the hell was I supposed to say to that? Yes, and Mycroft also happens to be my long-lost twin sister?

"No, I don't know them. What do you need them for, though?"

"You sure you don't know them?"

"Yes."

"Do you know anything about them at all?"

"They are law students that graduated from Oxford. Nothing more that I can think of."

"Splendid. I need to do some research. Bye, Tiger!"

"Bye?" I asked into the phone, since Jim had already hung up.

Back to work. I watched the people walk down the street through the view on my rifle. None of them looked anything like my target.

I squinted at people's faces, trying to study them to see if they matched the description of my target. Still nothing. I was beginning to get a bit frustrated. Where was he?

Almost as if to answer my question, I saw him round the corner. I prepared my rifle to shoot, and did. He fell to the ground, a thin bloody trail leading down from the hole I'd put in his forehead.

Fucking hell. Moriarty just asked me if I knew Mycroft! GODDAMN IT!

I wondered what Moriarty needed her information for. Was she finally moving over to the dark side to join Jim and I? Or worse, did she piss off Jim? If she had, she'd be dead before she knew it.

I walked to a diner down the road. Unlike Baker Street, Conduit Street didn't have a Starbucks. But what it did have was better than a Starbucks...

It was a cheap diner on the corner. A medium coffee cost a dollar, which is cheaper than just about anything at Starbucks. This place even had grilled cheese. I don't think it exists anymore, but it was fantastic while it lasted. I loved that place. I used to sit there while I waited for Jim to contact me for another assignment.

That just reminded me, I needed to call Jim and tell him that I just finished my latest sniper mission.

I dialed Jim's number and listened for the dial tone. Finally, he answered.

"What?"

"Hey."

"Hi, Sabrina."

"I finished."

"How was it?"

"Lovely."

"Any witnesses?"

"Other than a bunch of clueless people on the street that called an ambulance, no."

"Shot him straight in the head?"

"It'd be hard to track the bullet back to where I stood. I don't think anyone in Scotland Yard could handle it."

"Excellent."

"Talk to you later," I said, right before Jim hung up.

I still had no idea what Jim wanted with Mycroft and that Saylor person. Now that he had expertly evaded my questions earlier and elected to tell me nothing just then, I was even more curious.

Judging by the echoes, Jim was sitting in his expansive office in the warehouse when I called his mobile. He was shuffling through papers. Did he know who I was? And was that the reason for why he was so abrupt with me?

I couldn't tell. I ordered my coffee from the waiter when he came by.

Then, I phoned Browner. He was another sniper on the team, one of my now-underlings. Clay's former best friend, but now they don't talk at all because of what happened with me during the mission. Browner stayed with me; he could have left too.

"Hey Browner," I said when he answered. "It's Mor. What's up?"

"IT'S FUCKING COLD IN HERE!" Browner yelled into the phone. I assumed he was the one who'd taken that job in the butcher's shop. The owner of the plant was a target for Jim, but I couldn't take that mission since I'd already taken the one I just completed.

"It's a meat fridge. What did you expect?"

"I figured at least the office would be warm. I'm just waiting for him to return so I can blow his brains out."

"Excellent. Did the Boss just call you recently? Asking if you knew a guy with the last name Saylor and another by the name of Mycroft Holmes?"

"Nope. It's really quiet in here. I think someone just heard me."

"Oh, shit. Sorry."

"That's alright. I don't think Jim expects anything less than a bloodbath over here anyway. He made me take one of the new rifles; you know, the Stealths? AND he made me take two pistols to boot."

"Even I don't carry that many guns on a daily basis..."

"Alright, he's coming. I gotta go. See you back at the warehouse," Browner whispered to me.

"Bye Browner," I said softly into the phone before I heard the phone drop. I heard seven shots fired, three from a rifle that wasn't Browner's. And then, more pistol shots than I could count.

I heard Browner pick up the phone, listen to see if I was still there. When he heard nothing, he hung up.

When the waiter brought my coffee, I sipped it slowly. For all I knew, I could be killed before I could have my next cup of coffee.