Chapter Text
The job was straightforward. As straightforward as these jobs got.
Pierre hummed tunelessly to herself under her breath as she unbuckled the small case she was carrying, revealing a completely deconstructed rifle. She assembled it through muscle memory, hours of taking it apart and putting it back together so she could do it as quickly and efficiently as possible, just in case. She didn’t like surprises, but she was always prepared for them. The sniper set the rifle on top of the coffee table by the window of the small apartment. A studio around thirty floors up, she had toured it some weeks ago, assured the tenant wouldn’t be there. She opened her unmarked backpack, carefully extracting two explosives and setting their trip wires close to the door. She knew the commandement des opérations spéciales would barge their way into the room after breaking down the door, easily detonating the explosives. She could afford to put the trip a foot away from how far she needed the door to open for herself to escape cleanly. The explosives would probably kill the operatives, but more importantly they would obliterate any evidence she left behind. She was careful, but the extra insurance settled the rattling anxiety she felt in her chest before she knew she had completely gotten away with a job.
She moved back to the table, opening the window. It was an ironically nice view from an aesthetic standpoint. The hospital building was on the shorter side compared to this skyscraper, and allowed the observer to get an unobstructed view of the bustling city center. It was also a nice view from Pierre’s standpoint. she checked her watch. Visiting hours started in five minutes.
She could wait.
She moved into position, maneuvering the coffee table between her and the window, standing the rifle up on its bipod. she adjusted the valves and the focus of the scope, positioning the cross around a foot away from the revolving door to the hospital. She would adjust, obviously, but it was a good bet for a position to wait at.
She took deep and steady breaths as she sat in silence, completely focused and hypervigilant of any movement on the street below. Memories of other rifles, other targets, other stakeouts pushed for her attention, but she had always been good at compartmentalizing. It was necessary, in this work.
A black van pulled up to the front of the hospital. Pierre wasn’t phased by the three men in suits that surrounded Bruno Famin. They went with him most places, Pierre had gathered during her investigation. After all, anyone with such a strong connection to Oliver Oaks could due with some extra protection. Pierre tracked Famin’s slower stride up to the hospital doors. He was maybe twenty feet from the entrance. The guards were sloppy, not close enough to Famin’s body to make any kind of difference to the sniper. Pierre lined up her shot a few feet in front of Famin to track his movement, knowing the bullet wouldn’t hit instantly. There was movement in the corner of her eye, and she spared one of her few remaining seconds analyzing the breeze that had made the tree in her peripherals twitch. At the last moment, she nudged the rifle to the left by less than a micrometer and pulled the trigger. She counted the seconds, and on the sixth Famin’s head flew forwards, blood splattering onto the sidewalk, guards shouting in panic.
As soon as she confirmed the target had been hit Pierre disassembled her rifle, snatching up both the case and the backpack into her arms and carefully closing and locking the door behind her, mindful of the wires. She went straight to the back maintenance elevator she had located in the blueprints of the building and took off at a calm pace towards the stolen Alpine she had left in the employee parking area. She carelessly threw the ticket on the windshield to the ground and loaded the case into the trunk of the car, speeding off on the narrow roads of Paris.
After driving for around fifteen minutes, passing police and medical vehicles alike racing the other direction, she turned into a side street that led to an unsupervised underground parking lot. She parked neatly into a far corner of the lot, leaving the keys and the case with the gun inside the trunk as well as her last explosive. she walked calmly to the other side of the garage where she brought out the keys for the Renault sedan two rows down. As soon as the bumper of the car cleared the garage, she detonated the bomb inside the sports car. It was a shame, honestly. she had always liked fast cars, but using them outside the center of Paris tended to attract attention.
She turned the radio on as she approached the airport, half-curious if the apartment building had been searched yet, but it seemed the police were keeping it off the public radio. Quoi qu'il arrive. No matter. She would check it later.