Standing in front of the mirror, she was admiring her latest acquisition - a one hundred thirty two carat solitaire. She had gone to great lengths to procure it, travelling over seven thousand miles spanning eight days and three continents. She had never done so much for anything that she owned, but she knew in her heart that this particular piece was worth all the trouble.
He reached the top of the terrace with perfect timing. He had needed to make it perfect, for the cameras on the foyer of the top floor would conspire to create a blind spot only for a duration of sixteen seconds over a period of six hours. He opened the terrace door in the fourteenth second. They closed on the sixteenth. Now, he would wait.
After she was done admiring the glittering chunk of diamond, she bent down and opened the second drawer from the bottom. From it, she took out an inconspicuous little metal box. The metal box contained a key. She took the key and walked to the other end of the room. She stopped in front of the Van Gogh - Road with Cypress and Star. She was more proud of it than most other things in the room and unlike them, it had been a gift and not an acquisition. She turned it on it's axis and there it was. A safe she had gotten installed specially for the solitaire. One couldn't take a chance with such a rare and expensive piece now, could one. She inserted the key into the slit and put her palm on the panel beside it. The panel came to life and turned green.
What was she doing, standing in front of the mirror for so long? That pompous woman, he thought. He would set her right, he knew it. He saw her bending down. What was she doing now? He adjusted the scope of his M39 Enhanced Marksman rifle. It brought into focus a shiny metal box with Gloria etched on the top surface. She took out something from it. What was it, he thought? A key! He wondered what the key was for. She disappeared from the frame of the single window into her study. He would have to wait some more.
She shut the panel firmly. What most might mistake for a palm-print analyzer was not just that. It also detected a heat signature that had to emanate from the shape of a palm. About a hundred and twenty people in the world knew about it. Only one person, though, knew that she had also installed a pulse detector on the surface. The detector, a sensitive piece of equipment, had been built in to completely fool proof the safe. Nothing or noone could surpass the security of the device. Being inside the governor's residence pretty much insured nobody would try to blast through it too.
There she was again. She had taken a couple of minutes in the blind spot of her room. What had she done with the key? A safe, he thought, eliminating any other possibilities. He didn't care. He wasn't after the solitaire. He had enough money to last him a hundred lifetimes, even with the way he lived. He wanted just one thing. His bullet in her skull. Nothing less would satisfactorily avenge the death of his father, the curator of the museum from which the solitaire was stolen three weeks ago. He had traced her with a lot of effort and now, he would do the job and settle for nothing less. He adjusted the scope again to bring her into focus. Her face glistened with beads of sweat on it...
She put the painting back into its position. There, it was unnoticable, even to the most trained eye. She started walking towards the door to the bathroom. The sunlight had started to make her sweat so she stopped at the window to bring down the blinds. She didn't notice, however, the barrel of a sniper sticking out of the edge of the terrace of a nineteen-storeyed building directly opposite her, aimed directly at her forehead just above the right eyebrow. How could she. It was more than eight hundred metres away.
He pressed the trigger lightly. The bullet zoomed through the thick air of India and cut a neat little hole in the glass window panel in front of which stood his target. It then entered her skull from a point just above her right eyebrow and came out from a little above her right ear and embedded itself in the mirror. The mirror cracked from top to bottom, but it reflected the last breath of the governor's daughter and the her bundling to the ground.
He reached the top of the terrace with perfect timing. He had needed to make it perfect, for the cameras on the foyer of the top floor would conspire to create a blind spot only for a duration of sixteen seconds over a period of six hours. He opened the terrace door in the fourteenth second. They closed on the sixteenth. Now, he would wait.
After she was done admiring the glittering chunk of diamond, she bent down and opened the second drawer from the bottom. From it, she took out an inconspicuous little metal box. The metal box contained a key. She took the key and walked to the other end of the room. She stopped in front of the Van Gogh - Road with Cypress and Star. She was more proud of it than most other things in the room and unlike them, it had been a gift and not an acquisition. She turned it on it's axis and there it was. A safe she had gotten installed specially for the solitaire. One couldn't take a chance with such a rare and expensive piece now, could one. She inserted the key into the slit and put her palm on the panel beside it. The panel came to life and turned green.
What was she doing, standing in front of the mirror for so long? That pompous woman, he thought. He would set her right, he knew it. He saw her bending down. What was she doing now? He adjusted the scope of his M39 Enhanced Marksman rifle. It brought into focus a shiny metal box with Gloria etched on the top surface. She took out something from it. What was it, he thought? A key! He wondered what the key was for. She disappeared from the frame of the single window into her study. He would have to wait some more.
She shut the panel firmly. What most might mistake for a palm-print analyzer was not just that. It also detected a heat signature that had to emanate from the shape of a palm. About a hundred and twenty people in the world knew about it. Only one person, though, knew that she had also installed a pulse detector on the surface. The detector, a sensitive piece of equipment, had been built in to completely fool proof the safe. Nothing or noone could surpass the security of the device. Being inside the governor's residence pretty much insured nobody would try to blast through it too.
There she was again. She had taken a couple of minutes in the blind spot of her room. What had she done with the key? A safe, he thought, eliminating any other possibilities. He didn't care. He wasn't after the solitaire. He had enough money to last him a hundred lifetimes, even with the way he lived. He wanted just one thing. His bullet in her skull. Nothing less would satisfactorily avenge the death of his father, the curator of the museum from which the solitaire was stolen three weeks ago. He had traced her with a lot of effort and now, he would do the job and settle for nothing less. He adjusted the scope again to bring her into focus. Her face glistened with beads of sweat on it...
She put the painting back into its position. There, it was unnoticable, even to the most trained eye. She started walking towards the door to the bathroom. The sunlight had started to make her sweat so she stopped at the window to bring down the blinds. She didn't notice, however, the barrel of a sniper sticking out of the edge of the terrace of a nineteen-storeyed building directly opposite her, aimed directly at her forehead just above the right eyebrow. How could she. It was more than eight hundred metres away.
He pressed the trigger lightly. The bullet zoomed through the thick air of India and cut a neat little hole in the glass window panel in front of which stood his target. It then entered her skull from a point just above her right eyebrow and came out from a little above her right ear and embedded itself in the mirror. The mirror cracked from top to bottom, but it reflected the last breath of the governor's daughter and the her bundling to the ground.
