The naked edge

4

The spotter heard the Taurus before he saw it. A sentry had radioed him that it was coming. He thought he was prepared emotionally. Even so, his pulse increased until he felt pressure in his veins. Not because of what would soon happen. Instead, because of what had happened. As he and the sniper sank lower on the ridge, he had a sudden painful memory of two boys wading in a stream filled with goldfish. Another memory, equally painful, followed: an old man pounding a hammer onto an anvil, sparks flying from a strip of glowing metal.

Peering between boulders, watching the car emerge from the pines, the sniper murmured, "I can do it as soon as he gets out of the car."

"Not until I tell you."

"But-"

"There's a schedule," the spotter insisted. "The backup team needs to be in place, ready to cut the phone line to the house. That way, nobody can call the police. Otherwise, with only a couple of roads out of the valley, the authorities could seal us off."

"The survivors could still use a cell phone."

"This area's too remote for one."

"You're sure?" the sniper asked.

"I drove by and experimented, trying to phone restaurants in town. The calls wouldn't go through. Later, I confirmed it by asking the phone company. The canyon walls prevent transmissions from reaching here or going out."

The shooter gazed longingly at the car as it crossed the canyon. "So when will the backup team be ready?"

The spotter touched his left ear, securing the bud of a radio receiver. "They're saying ten minutes."

Staring toward the canyon floor, he concentrated on the figure in the driver's seat. Even at a distance, the solid-looking shoulders and chest were all too familiar, impossible to be mistaken. The intelligent brow and handsome jaw had always been attractive to women, although amazingly the target had a talent for minimizing his appearance when he was on duty, dimming the glow in his hazel eyes, lowering his shoulders, making himself almost invisible. He still wore his sandy hair in a professional neutral cut.

It's been close to three years, the spotter thought. How the hell are you doing, good buddy?

A painful combination of anger and affection seized him.

"He'd dead, but he doesn't know it," the sniper said. "Ten minutes? Sure. I can wait that long. This is what it feels like."

"Feels like?"

"To be God."