Transfer of Power

FOUR BLOCKS AWAY from the White House, in the bell tower of the Old Post Office, Charlie Wicker slid in behind his50 caliber Barrett sniping rifle and was looking through his Leupold Ml Ultra lox scope. On the wooden platform next to him his fellow SEAL sniper Mike Berg was doing the same thing with another of the exact same massive weapon.

The acoustic top was on the shooting platform. Constructed out of plywood and lined with foam, the covers would absorb ninety-five percent of the significant noise when the.50 caliber rifles were fired. Wicker was very confident the shot would work. So confident that he thought he would get the Tango on the first shot. If he didn’t, he knew Berg would.

The odds of them missing from this distance were almost zero.

The only thing that had made him nervous was the weather. Wind and rain did funny things to the flight of a bullet, things that he couldn’t always control and that drove him nuts. The wind had been steadily increasing for the last several hours, but as if they had been given a gift from above, it had just died down. Unfortunately, Wicker knew, the reprieve would only be temporary. They were in the proverbial calm before the storm. The black sky was descending from the east, and the relative calm would not last.

Wicker had been listening to the play-by-play as his team members jumped out of the back of the Combat Talon and was relieved the operation was under way. He would make the shot count. Only Wicker could hear what was being said between Harris and the other three jumpers. Having too many operators on the radio created unneeded confusion. Berg was to take his shot after he heard Wicker take his. There would be no commands, no signals. Nothing to distract the second shot.

Berg would shoot when he was ready.

The two snipers could clearly hear their spotters outside the blind calling out the descent of the four SEAL Team Six operators. Wicker focused entirely on the task at hand. His whole body was molded to the big.50 caliber rifle as the crosshairs of his scope stayed centered on the terrorist’s head.

Wicker felt no remorse over what he was about to do The man he was about to kill had put himself in this situation, and he had miscalculated the skill of his opponent. He naively sat behind the bulletproof glass thinking he was safe.