“He’s always considered himself a bit of an aesthete,” said the voice over the radio, “and tonight he’s in for a real show.” The helicopter’s rotors made talking impossible without a radio. The pilot turned around in his seat and held up one finger for the two soldiers to see. They both held up one finger in reply. Both soldiers gripped their harnesses tightly, making sure that the sudden deceleration of the helicopter wouldn’t knock the air out of their lungs. After what felt like minutes, the helicopter came to a complete stop, hovering over a rooftop. The soldiers quickly undid their harnesses, kicked two ropes off the side of the helicopter, and then quickly slid down them. The pilots were too busy trying to ascertain the exact position of the rooftop to say anything to the two soldiers, but they felt the helicopter lighten and after a few seconds, they turned towards home. After the helicopter left, the two soldiers quickly turned on their night vision goggles. Both had a natural antipathy for the heat of the Middle East and were sweating heavily under their uniforms. They made their way to the edge of the rooftop towards the only building in the city that was not actively falling apart.

“Heads up. There it is,” one of the soldiers said as they set up a sniper’s nest on the rooftop, “the house of the most powerful man in the Middle East.”

The other looked at his comrade, surprise visible in his features even through the green light of night vision. “He’s also the most wanted man in the Middle East, so stay alert.” The sniper needed no reminder of the crimes and reputation of Mohammed Ziad. The man was a terrorist turned politician that everyone wanted gone. Most of his subjects were fairly ambivalent as to whether he should go or not, but the rest of the world agreed that something needed to be done. When Ziad heard of this, he desperately tried to ameliorate his standing with the major world powers, but the world had seen enough of Ziad’s war crimes to force China, America, and Russia to agree that his actions had to stop. In one final, desperate move he invited the adversaries of the leaders of the three countries to a dinner in the very house the sniper was looking at now in an attempt to aggrandize his foothold in the countries. This forced the three countries to act, and send a sniper team to quietly take Ziad out of the picture. The sniper was the first of two parts of this team, the other being his Russian spotter. The sniper was interrupted from his thoughts as his spotter discreetly tapped his boot against the sniper’s leg.

“There he is,” the spotter said in a hushed tone. The sniper snapped back into his focus, and adjusted his aim up to the balcony on which a man stood smoking a cigarette. “Do you have him?” the spotter asked.

“Yes.” the sniper replied. The sniper took a deep breath and felt the world outside his scope fade into the background. He fixed his crosshairs on the man’s chest.

“Fire when ready,” the spotter said. The sniper heard the shot, and in the space of a breath, Mohammed Zaid, the most powerful man in the Middle East was dead. “Target down,” the spotter said with the utmost satisfaction in his voice. Without a word, the two comrades stood up and left the chaos behind them, walking towards the edge of town, where the helicopter would be waiting to take them back to base.