CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The assassin was back in his tree for the second day in a row, watching the compound. He'd been there since dawn, covered in camouflage to escape detection. He took a sip of warm, brown liquid from the flask he’d brought, annoyed that it only had a few drops left. Adjusting the sniper rifle resting on his legs, he went back to scanning the area a few degrees downhill from his position with his high-tech binoculars.
The first thing he'd done was calculate the distance between his roost and the door to the building where his targets had all gathered again. Even though he had two days left to eliminate them, he was getting nervous and wanted to get the job over with, so he could head to the tropics and lose himself in his four Ws—whiskey and a warm, willing woman.
The
