Dr. Alonzo Manuel flipped on the hall light and dropped his briefcase. The worn leather satchel thudded in the empty hall. “Anybody home?” he yelled. The rest of the two-story Tudor house was dark. He paused briefly then saw the note taped to the hallway entrance: We’re at the pool. Love, Maria. Shucking his overcoat and kicking off his loafers, he padded into the large living room.
Outside Dr. Manuel’s mansion, a hooded figure waited. He had been crouching behind a hedge for over an hour but felt little fatigue or cold. The soothing lyrics and melody of "Our Children" drifted through his mind. The Apostle's gentle lullaby had become his mantra, especially the chorus of "...Our children are safe, really nothing else matters at all...". He couldn't have thought of a better theme song for his work.
When the Caddy’s headlights had rolled over the semi-circular drive five minutes earlier, the figure had tensed, suddenly alert. A smile played across his lips as he raised the gas-operated assault rifle. One life to save many.
Now, the Steyr AUG snugged comfortably against his shoulder, its 1.5x Swarovski optical sight clear and still. Contented and suddenly warm, the man nicknamed the White Fox waited a little longer. Every time he clutched the seven-pound AUG Bullpup in one hand, he felt like a Star Wars storm trooper.
Inside the house, Alonzo Manuel poured himself two fingers, thanked Jack Daniel and tossed the amber liquid down his throat. Not a bad choice for the last thing he tasted. Al, as his family and friends called him, strolled over to the ceiling-high bay windows and tugged open the heavy drapes.
The three shots were rapid, their piercing echoes resembling the thunk of Manuel’s glass tumbler as it struck the polished oak floor.
One more for the righteous.
