BIA Ch. 133

The four men went next door to room 1807.

“Give me the scope.”

Isaiah said to Mickey. As if finally realizing Isaiah’s true reason for coming here, Mickey quickly took the 34mm scope out of the gun bag and handed it over. Taking the scope, Isaiah went to the living room window, aimed the reticle at the center of the church’s side door, and used the high-speed dial to adjust the magnification to 8x, 16x, and finally 24x. Fortunately, there was nothing obstructing the view.

“Uhm……”

As he lowered the scope’s magnification back to zero and confirmed the erector tube was zeroed both horizontally and vertically, a small voice spoke up beside him. It was Alejandro.

“Do you… perhaps need help from the police…?”

He had seemed to sense something was wrong ever since Isaiah approached the window with the scope, hovering nearby and holding his breath.

“The police station is close. It’s Friday evening, so it might take a little time, but still, they can arrive in 7 minutes, no, 5 minutes. So…”

Alejandro said urgently. Saying 7 minutes then reducing it to 5 implied not only that the police could help him quickly but also served as a threat, meaning Isaiah wouldn’t have time to escape if he tried anything foolish.

“Not needed.”

Isaiah replied curtly, placing the scope down on the window seat. Then he snatched the gun bag Mickey was carrying and took out the disassembled M24A2 from inside. Alejandro gasped at the sudden appearance of the rifle. Harold gasped along with him.

“What is that!”

“Shut up and this will be over quickly.”

Before Isaiah could even finish speaking, Alejandro screamed and bolted towards the entrance. Fortunately, Mickey immediately lunged and caught Alejandro.

“Make him stop screaming.”

At Isaiah’s command, Alejandro screamed even louder, piercingly. Mickey hurriedly clamped a hand over his mouth, apologizing repeatedly.

“I’m sorry. Please just cooperate for a moment.”

Watching Mickey use his whole body to hold down the struggling Alejandro, Harold, despite his own panic, quickly pulled out an FBI ID.

“Uh, you might not believe this, but we’re FBI. There are circumstances, so just cooperate a little, okay?”

Of course, Alejandro didn’t look like he believed him. Seeing Alejandro thrashing wildly like a harpooned fish, Harold cursed and got up. Harold went straight to the kitchen, opened the sink drawers one by one, and returned to the living room a moment later holding duct tape.

“Surely you’re not planning to tape his mouth shut with that…?”

“Well, are you going to keep holding his mouth shut by hand?”

Harold pushed the horrified Mickey aside and taped Alejandro’s mouth shut with the duct tape. Regardless of his temperament, Isaiah preferred Harold’s way of working over Mickey’s.

“Ca-can you breathe okay? Are you uncomfortable?”

Mickey asked Alejandro anxiously. Alejandro, mouth taped shut, continued to struggle frantically, so Harold, deciding it wasn’t enough, bound Alejandro’s hands and feet with duct tape as well. Now, the two of them had undeniably become a pair of robbers.

Meanwhile, Isaiah, having finished assembling the M24A2, inserted the final piece: a magazine loaded with 10 rounds of 300 Winchester Magnum ammunition. He double-checked that all the scope’s settings were zeroed before mounting it onto the rifle. Since there was no bench rest, he had no choice but to stand, holding the rifle in an off-hand stance, and put his eye to the scope’s eyepiece pad.

Instantly matching the point of impact with the point of aim to complete the zeroing, he immediately used the high-speed adjustment dial to increase the magnification. The church’s side door, which had looked fingernail-sized from afar, instantly filled the lens. As he adjusted the focus, even roughly, a spot where the paint had peeled off the door became visible. Yesterday, while smoking and looking at it, he’d thought that spot was about Chester’s head height, and looking through the reticle’s markings now, it seemed accurate. Isaiah first aimed so the center of the crosshairs precisely overlapped the peeled paint spot.

Now came the important part. The distance from their position to the church was 800 yards. It would take about 1.5 seconds for a 180-grain 300 Winchester Magnum bullet to travel 800 yards and reach the target. Since this M24A2 hadn’t been modified, the rifling would undoubtedly have a right-hand twist, meaning the bullet would drift to the right. Considering the drift effect over 1.5 seconds…

40 cm.

Without taking his eyes off the reticle markings, Isaiah moved the muzzle very slightly to the left. The roughly adjusted focus blurred wildly. In that state, Isaiah asked Mickey.

“What’s the current wind speed? Direction?”

“Ah, just a moment.”

Mickey quickly pulled out his cell phone next to Alejandro.

“What the hell, you bastard! Your phone works fine!”

Mickey ignored Harold’s shouting, looked up the weather information for Eloy, and called out.

“Westerly wind, speed is 2 m/s.”

In that case, over 800 yards, a 180-grain 300 Winchester Magnum bullet… would have a deviation of 66 cm.

Isaiah moved the muzzle once more. The reticle marking was now completely offset to the left of the paint spot.

“What, are you calculating all that manually? Just use an app. Like Mil Dot Ballistics1), you know.”

Harold chimed in smugly from the side. Bringing up something like Mil Dot instead of Exbal2) made it clear he’d never used it himself, only heard about it.

“I’m more accurate.”

Isaiah dismissed him curtly and asked Mickey.

“Temperature?”

“Currently 11°C.”

Like most snipers, Isaiah preferred working in hot regions rather than cold ones. Of course, part of it was being more accustomed to hot environments from spending time there, but it was more about the change in the point of impact. In low temperatures, the gunpowder burns cooler. This lowers the pressure upon firing, slowing the bullet’s velocity. Lower temperatures also mean higher air density, increasing the time it takes to reach the target. Bullet velocity directly affects the point of impact.

If it’s 11°C now, it’ll probably be around 10°C by the time the service ends. They said there were dry weather warnings across the country, so the humidity is likely below 5%.

Isaiah raised the muzzle. He fixed the muzzle so the center of the crosshairs rested on a point three marks above the paint spot on the reticle. In the end, aiming at a spot completely different from the initial target paint spot, he used the fine adjustment dial to bring it into sharp focus. Finally, he used the elevation dial to set the point of impact.

“Cars are starting to gather.”

Mickey, who had approached beside him at some point, said in a tense voice. He was holding Isaiah’s scope. It was fortunate he knew how to use a scope. Since there was no bench rest, putting the rifle down was awkward. He could serve as a spotter, at least.

“Where is everyone now?”

Isaiah asked without taking his eyes off the target.

“They’re gathering in the front parking lot.”

“How many cars?”

“Four so far……, no, five. Looks like more are coming.”

The number of men Martino’s side agreed to send was twenty in total. Exactly half the forty men originally promised. In return, they were able to keep Lombard, which they almost lost entirely, thus preventing Bran from needlessly getting his hands dirty. Now, all that remained was for him to take care of those twenty men’s share. That much should be nothing. It was unlikely all twenty of them would have pulled their weight anyway, so by simple calculation, killing twenty men would more than fulfill their side’s quota.

It should have been easy, but strangely, his heart tightened. His grip on the rifle kept tightening involuntarily, forcing Isaiah to repeatedly open and close his hand.

“Maybe the service isn’t over yet.”

Mickey said anxiously. Then he immediately exclaimed, “Ah.”

“It’s over! People are coming out the front door now.”

The side door was still quiet. The back door was also silent. Isaiah held his breath, keeping the rifle aimed steady so the crosshairs wouldn’t waver.

“Huh? What’s this?”

Suddenly, Mickey took another step towards the window and muttered. He’d never had such a distracting spotter. If he’d been a real partner, Isaiah would have requested a replacement immediately after the mission.

“What.”

“Martino’s men are going into the church.”

Mickey said in a bewildered voice.