SISTER JESSICA

Written by Phil Handford
Above image by Beanz

The streets were beginning to quieten down for the night as the people drifted back to their homes. Sister Jessica slowly tightened the silencer onto the end of her rifle. She looked around her for the umpteenth time to check nobody could spot her on the rooftop. All the windows opposite were in darkness, and besides the building she occupied was a storey higher than any of those surrounding giving her a clear view for at least two blocks.

Confident in her hiding place she returned her attention to the high powered rifle lying across her lap. She pulled the telescopic sight from her under her habit and screwed it in place on the gun checking the alignment notches on each side. She opened the breach again and checked it was free from any obstruction.

It was the fifteenth time she had checked the weapon since she had been sat there on the rooftop. Unloading the gun one more time to clean all the components she glanced back at the entrance from where her target would appear.

Her hands were sweating with nervous energy. This was her first proper mission since she had joined the convent all those years ago. She had trained hard and knew the weapon inside out - but best to check it just one more time.

She remembered the day she had joined the convent, she had been so happy and proud, excited about all the good work she could carry out, the homeless she could help, the needy she would feed. She had never realised how dire the predicament of the nunnery had been. It had been several months before she was trusted enough to be given the full briefing of the mission of the religious retreat she had joined.

She had wept for days afterwards at the whole gloominess of the world, then with in iron resolve had signed up for the full training package. She wanted to be a special agent nun. She wanted to do her part for the order.

Movement below caught her eye. She lifted the gun to her shoulder and squinted through the sights. A tall dusky skinned man left the hotel doorway and walked cautiously around, dark glasses covering his eyes. One hand inside his habit, clearly fingering a weapon. Sister Jessica turned the sights back to the entrance. She waited a second and then he appeared.

The old monk tottered out, leaning heavily on his jewel encrusted walking stick. His diamond covered crucifix glinting under the streetlights. Father O'Brien, Head of the Monastery of Saint Bernard. The richest monastery in the land. Contempt for him filled her mind. Pushing the gun into her right shoulder she carefully took aim. It was time he was brought down to earth. He'd had this coming for years. His constant charity work and inspirational speaking had turned the Monastery around from a single small run down Abbey, to World wide conglomerate of office blocks and factories.

All the other Monasteries had been forced to join with them or be forced out of business - and now he had turned his thoughts to the convents. He wanted the Nuns business as well. As he tottered across the sights of her gun, Sister Jessica had the opportunity to start redressing the balance.

She forcefully squeezed the trigger.

With a near silent crack the barrel spewed forth its contents, sending them hurtling toward the unsuspecting monk as he stepped from the door of the hotel and moved toward the waiting limousine.

Direct hit. Just above the right eye her target, the force of the blow knocked him to the ground. Body guards seemed to spring from behind bush and car. The bell boy pulled out a gun from his long jacket and fell to one knee, pointing his pistol in every direction except hers. Medics ran from the hotel lobby, crouching around the form of the prostrate monk on the pavement.

Her fingers working quickly she dismantled the gun and put it back into its case. Picking up her binoculars she took one last look at the scene below her. Two police cars had arrived now, the coppers talking frantically into their radios, whilst desperately looking around to re-assure themselves that no more shots were coming in.

She looked back to the monk, her target. He was sitting up know, dazed and confused, the bright green ink running down his face and through his beard. His hand rubbing his eyes was also glowing with the fluorescent liquid. Ha, there's no way he could attend the charity ball now.

The rumours of his juggling skills would never be known, the night would surely belong to Sister Emma and her singing parrot. The funds would come into the convent coffers and they could keep the orphanage open for another year. Mission accomplished.

Smiling to herself Sister Jessica took the steps back down to the street two at a time.

The mother superior would be so pleased. Getting back to her car Sister Jessica threw the gun case onto the back seat. Firing up the engine of the souped-up Datsun Cherry she forced the car into first gear and sped away into the night.