Novel3

11:20 pm. The train was late. It didn�t really matter, from my position on the station roof I was shielded by both an ancient stone chimney and the darkness of a small town at night. The platform was sparsely populated with family members and passengers and shouldn�t be a problem.
     I flexed my fingers and carefully straightened first one leg, then the other, massaging the dull throb in my left calf. I had been on the roof for over 4 hours now, shinnying up the gutter pipe just after the 7:12 train followed its bright headlamps from the station.
     The gun across my knees was a Falcon OP99 sniper rifle. I double-checked my instructions and inspected the meadow with a telescopic sight. Still no sign of the damned train. The air was crisply cool and I was more than wishing I were taking a hot bath and not sitting on the roof of a train station.
The crowd below began to thin. The train was 20 minutes late now and most of them were fading back to the relative comfort of the heated waiting room. Just as the door closed behind the last of the stragglers, a headlamp appeared in the distance.
     �Murphy�s law.� I chuckled under my breath, shifting my weight to steady the gun along the western side of the chimney and snugging the spring-loaded butt of the rifle into my shoulder.
     The train seemed to hang in the distance, its headlamp never brightening until suddenly the engine was sliding up to the end of the platform. The passengers and family members pushed their way through the station doors, their sudden haste dispelling any of the camaraderie of the long wait.
     Deep breaths. Steady the gun, squeeze don�t pull the trigger. A short, dumpy man with greasy hair was exiting the third car from the engine, clutching a briefcase and glancing about with worried eyes. Stupid of him to send someone who is that scared of being caught. I thought this leader was supposed to be smarter than average. Mentally shrugging my shoulders, I aimed carefully, felt a sudden breeze on my cheek and adjusted my aim slightly, then fired. Before he had even slumped to the ground, with surprise on his face, my gun was in its specially constructed case and I was sliding down the back of the roof. 2 minutes later, I was handing my ticket to the conductor of the first car.
     �What happened over there?� I nodded my head toward the crowd now gathering around the fallen man.      �I don�t know. Some man just keeled over. I think they said he must have had a heart attack or something.� The conductor didn�t seem to care too much one way or another. I guessed he was annoyed at the delay when his train was already so late.
     �Aaaaaaaaan Boooooooooooooord!� he was already finished with me, hollering out the universal warning of imminent departure. I was in my seat and the train was slowly pulling out of the station before the reason for the man�s collapse was discovered.
     �He�s been SHOT!� The voice was female, American, and panicked. I smiled to myself as the train and I left the hullaballoo behind. I would have to drop my gun in 20 minutes, but until then, I was free to savor the unexpected feeling of a job well done. It was my first �real� assassination. I think my training was a success.