Later that night, forty miles southeast of where he and Fierce were accosted just hours ago, there was no moon, few stars, and enough low fog to obscure almost everything on the ground.
Razz is equipped with his PSC-15 thermal vision goggles.
Below, the night shift supervisor was checking the false loading documents for a shipment of goods with Lone Star Inc. stamps – scheduled to arrive by shipboard container the following day. The old man normally did his best to stay away from the working end of this part of his business, but sometimes he had to make himself visible for the sake of appearances. Sid Brackhaven, Troy’s younger brother, was impressed by the way his supervisor worked the dozen men in the warehouse, giving his foremen suggestions rather than orders. He sensed his men had been working for this man for some time. Suddenly, the old man cocked his head, as if he sensed something rather than heard it. He turned to the younger Brackhaven…
“What is that truck doing there in the back, behind that stack of lumber?”
“Ah.” Sid replied, “It’s the consignment of fertilizer that was delivered this morning.”
“I didn’t order any –“
Razz pushes the button on the detonator. It wasn’t a blinding flash, and the sound was more of an angry gray WHUMP than an explosion. Surprisingly, there was only minor damage done to the surrounding structures. Yet, everyone on the bottom floor of the warehouse perishes. Some fourteen metas were killed, but only those few with dental records and a SIN were identified. One was the youngest nephew of a prominent Seattle politician. The Governor in fact, and the authorities would be wondering just what he might have been doing there…
The elder brother runs to the window in terror as he looks down at the gory sight that used to be his TK crew. His frantically dart back and forth, searching for his younger brother. Troy Brackhaven’s office was on the 8th floor and looked out over the expanse of the extended port area. There was a smog-induced haze that partially obscured Razz’s silhouette from his perch on the roof of the adjacent building. The TK Captain did not clearly see the silhouette from across the way, but Razz could see him behind the stabilized optics. The glass was married to his Ares Alpha with a magnified point-designated sighting system. After the target had been identified by the system’s laser range finder and the target designator, the weapon would not fire unless the gun was aimed precisely on target.
Razz identifies his target, Troy’s head, and presses the trigger, wavering around just a bit until the crosshairs momentarily rest on Troy’s lazy left eye. The rifle bucks, and a moment later a 500-grain round came through the plate glass and into the young Brackhaven’s right nostril. Still traveling at 10,000 feet per second, the heavy slug tore into his skull, causing it to explode and paint the inside of his office with cranial tissue and brain matter.
From the roof, Razz kicks out his hundred-foot-long, four inch thick braided nylon fast rope, and descends the building like a drop of oil coming down a string.