The sun is rising on the estate. A flock of geese are crossing the dirt road leading to the square. The fountain in the center has run dry; the only sign of life aside from the geese is a dog lying in the fountain. It is difficult to get a good lay of the land from my position; the bell tower I am in is not at the best angle or height for my task. The tower is about 60 yards out. The high entryway of the old Italian building is obscuring my view slightly.

I look at my watch to see that it is seven-thirty. I am late assembling my rifle. I open my briefcase and grab the body of the rifle. Without the stock, barrel, or firing pin, this was nothing more than a piece of useless metal. I lift the stock out of the case and attach it carefully to the rifle. If I get the position off by even an inch, my shot would be ruined. The barrel is next on the assembly line. I screw it on to the front of the rifle and lift it to my shoulder. It appears that the stock and barrel are on correctly.

I wipe sweat from my brow and look up at the sun. Why do they always give me the difficult jobs? I have a black .50 caliber rifle in a bell tower in the middle of a desert. They didn’t even give me a suppressor. I lift the scope out of the case and attach it to the top of the rifle. I look through the scope to see that the sight is off by a few centimeters. Just perfect, now I have to adjust my shot to accommodate. Besides that, there aren’t any distance increments on the crosshair. Are they trying to make me miss? Finally I Insert the firing pin and lay the rifle down next to me. Now, I wait.

Hours go by and I still have not seen any sign of new life. I check my watch again and see that it is almost noon. The target should have arrived by now. Just as I am about to give up on the mission, I hear a car’s engine roaring behind me. I turn my head to see a silver Porsche 911 approaching the estate at unreal speeds. I guess that it is modified because no average car can go that fast. It blasts past the tower and leaves my ears ringing. I try not to focus on my newly bred migraine and look back down my scope.

The Porsche stops about five yards away from the entryway. The engine runs for a few more minutes, and then finally cuts off. I take in an apprehensive breath and await the moment of truth. The driver’s door opens and a man in a matte black business suit steps out. This is my target. I turn off the safety on the rifle and line up my shot. Just as I am about to pull the trigger, the passenger door opens. I shift my attention to the other side of the car, and my heart sinks.
Stepping out of the vehicle is a woman in a white sundress. Her hair is waist length and jet black. Aside from one minor flaw, she is absolutely gorgeous. It is that one flaw that makes me rethink the entire mission. Her belly is sticking out like acne on an adolescent’s face. She is pregnant, and probably my target’s significant other.
Why am I always stuck with the tough jobs? If I let the woman live, then that would be leaving a witness. If I kill her, then I am ending not only her life, but also that of her unborn child. What am I to do?

I line up my shot again, aiming for the back of my target’s head. With a bullet of this size, there will be quite the mess left behind. That is always what I find most satisfying about this line of work. Knowing that someone else’s life is in your hands is one of the greatest feelings in the world. If I get this just right, maybe I can keep his blood from splattering onto the car. I pull the trigger and time seems to slow down. All of my past assignments flash before my eyes. Every target before this one has been some big political figure. This man is just an accountant. Who wants him dead so badly that they would hire a professional assassin to take him out, and for what reason?
The bullet makes contact with his skull and blood splatters across the ground. His body crumples into a lifeless heap on the ground as the woman screams out in terror. She runs to his side and cries over him. I may have just ruined that woman’s life, but I really don’t care anymore. I gave up caring long before I became an assassin.