BIA Ch. 146

No matter the excuse, he couldn’t stop the tears welling in his eyes. Isaiah finally pulled his eye away from the scope and wiped his tears with the back of his hand. Beside him, Kestrel muttered in disbelief.

“What the, you, you… crying?”

“Be quiet.”

Isaiah mumbled lowly, wiping his tears. The sound of Mickey and Samuel, watching from behind, gasping in shock could be heard.

“…Samuel.”

Suddenly, as if remembering something, Mickey called Samuel’s name. When Samuel looked over, Mickey gestured towards the office door with his chin, suggesting they step outside for a moment. The two left the office together. Isaiah thought they had stepped out of consideration for him crying.

Any other time, he would have been annoyed by such clumsy consideration, but right now, even that clumsy consideration was appreciated. Because the tears just wouldn’t stop.

He had naturally assumed there was a clever plan to bring Cedric down and save Bran. That’s why he had come all this way, trying to get the ledger to Samuel as quickly as possible. To think that the secret found in the cabinet was actually a ploy to save him, not Bran.

Moreover, considering when Bran gave him this ledger, it meant that Bran had, for quite some time—since the moment he involved Isaiah in this plan—entrusted his protection to the FBI and set up second and third safety measures so the FBI couldn’t use him for other tricks.

— If it comes down to it, you can keep it on your person. Anyway, you must have it. Never let it leave your body.

His tone had been so firm that when Isaiah asked if it was perhaps an order, he had smiled and said.

— It’s a request.

The more Isaiah realized Bran’s love for him, the more his tears wouldn’t stop. He was grateful, but as much as he was grateful, the fact that nothing could be undone now pierced him deeply. As Mickey said, the water was already spilled. He had spilled it. At the time, he hadn’t thought it was the wrong choice. Honestly, even now, it was the same. If the same situation repeated itself, he would probably make the same choice.

Just that before doing so, he would tell Bran. How about we try this? This is what I want to do, what I’m going to do. He would tell him, even if just as a notification, and give Bran more time to prepare. The best would be for them to put their heads together and solve things, but if that wasn’t possible, he would want to do at least that. Though now, it had all become a futile resolution.

The water was already spilled. Spilled water cannot be gathered back up. But the cup wasn’t broken. For now, that was the only solace. Because what he had sought to save was the cup, not the water.

Isaiah wiped his tears and placed his eye back on the scope’s eyepiece. Though bloodstained, his sturdy, flawless cup was visible. The blood drenching him made him look like a holy grail.

Soon, he would get into the police car. To get a slightly better view before then, he was adjusting the focus with the fine-tuning dial. Suddenly, Bran’s gaze, and that of everyone around him, converged on one spot.

Isaiah instinctively turned the scope in that direction. Two police cars had just arrived, their emergency lights flashing brightly. Four officers got out of the first car. From the car that arrived next, one officer each got out from the driver’s and passenger’s seats. They all gathered around the back seat of the second car. Finally, the door opened, and someone got out, escorted by the police.

It was Cedric.

The old man, wearing a coat and even a muffler, collapsed on the spot as soon as he got out holding an officer’s hand. Shaking his head as if unable to bear looking at the gruesome scene, the old man said something to the officers, then tried to run towards the injured and the bodies being carried out on stretchers. When the police restrained him, he clung to them and wailed. And this was the man who had sent the Barone thugs armed with machine guns for this very purpose. Anyway, the old man’s acting skills were top-notch.

Isaiah turned the scope back towards Bran. Bran was watching Cedric from afar, from a slight distance. Surrounded by lawyers and police, Cedric didn’t seem to have seen Bran yet. Bran was smiling as he watched the wailing Cedric. Actually, he had been smiling since earlier, but was it just his imagination that the smile seemed a bit more bitter now?

Even so, it seemed he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. The police surrounding Bran were visibly tense, tightening their cordon around him even more. Were they afraid Bran might harm Cedric?

But that was realistically impossible. First, he wouldn’t have a weapon now. SWAT agents would have taken all his weapons in the first sweep, and the police would have taken even his lighter during a secondary body search. Besides, even if he had a gun, he couldn’t possibly fire it. Doing so wouldn’t just end with being arrested as a perpetrator caught in the act. Pulling out a gun while dozens of armed police and special forces members were watching was tantamount to attempting suicide. It was like demonstrating, demanding they put a bullet in his head right now.

The situation was the same for the other organization members. Those who could walk on their own two feet would have had their weapons confiscated first. Then they were being handcuffed and escorted away.

In short, Cedric was currently in the safest position in the world. Four police officers were even sticking right beside him, escorting him as he looked around the scene. He would probably remain under police protection like this for a while, holed up somewhere. He’d likely abandon his unnecessarily large residence and hole up in police-provided accommodation, somewhere easier to guard, receiving their assistance while cooperating with the investigation.

But there was one thing even Cedric hadn’t anticipated. The existence of a sniper watching him from 1480 yards away.

Isaiah felt his heart pound. He was so excited that the hand gripping the scope trembled slightly. With trembling hands, Isaiah completely detached the scope from the rifle. After setting all magnification to 0, he remounted it and finished zeroing it, then instantly increased the magnification with the high-speed dial. He ran to the desk, pulled a Lapua Magnum round from the caddy bag he’d tossed there, and shouted to Kestrel by the window.

“What’s the temperature outside right now? Wind speed? Wind direction?”

“What?”

Kestrel turned to Isaiah with a stunned expression.

“Why…? Don’t tell me, you’re planning to hit that old geezer?”

“Quickly!”

Isaiah grabbed the bullet and returned to the window. He urged Kestrel again.

“Find it quickly, quickly.”

Spilled water cannot be gathered back up. If so, shouldn’t he at least make a good splash?

“Damn it, hold on.”

Kestrel took out his phone. While he searched for the weather information, Isaiah removed all the 215-grain .338 Winchester Magnum rounds from the magazine of the M24A2 resting on the windowsill and inserted the 250-grain Lapua Magnum rounds he had brought from Virginia.

“7 degrees. Westerly wind, speed 4 m/s.”

As expected, the temperature had dropped significantly. The wind had also doubled in strength. Moreover, the distance to the target here was absurdly far compared to Tayten. To make matters worse, Cedric was leading the police around the church, rambling about something. Probably explaining his version of events during the disaster.

At this distance, even a 0.1mm miscalculation could result in the final impact point being off by more than 1.5 meters. It was best not to even think about hitting a moving target. Even if there was an anticipated route, complacency was forbidden. No one knew when or how a person’s mind might change.

But there was one thing that absolutely wouldn’t change. The way back. Anyone who arrived by car would leave by car. Indeed, although six officers had gotten out of the police car carrying Cedric, two of them hadn’t followed Cedric but stood by the car, talking amongst themselves. It meant Cedric’s party would be getting back in the car soon.

Isaiah first aligned the crosshairs on the rear door of the police car Cedric had exited. He planned to shoot when Cedric bent down to get into the car, so he adjusted the muzzle height by adding just enough elevation for head height and began calculating the impact point in earnest. The straight-line distance from Devereux Financial to the church parking lot was 1480 yards. Intuitively, it would take about 3 seconds for a 250-grain Lapua Magnum round to travel 1480 yards and reach the target. The drift effect would then be 84 cm to the right. The error due to the westerly wind also to the right… 110 cm.

“You turned it too much.”

Kestrel, who was watching Isaiah adjust the scope’s windage, said.

“This is right,”

Isaiah retorted immediately.

“Isn’t it a .338 Remington? It shouldn’t drift that much.”

“It’s Lapua.”

Kestrel frowned, making an ‘Eh?’ sound.

“You’re shooting Lapua Magnum at this distance? With a light breeze blowing?”

Isaiah ignored him and focused solely on adjusting the point of impact. As he set the final impact point, applying temperature, humidity, and angle of depression, Kestrel clicked his tongue beside him and said, “Impossible.”

“At this distance, under these conditions, there’s no way. If you were serious, you should have brought Remington Ultra Magnum rounds.”

Kestrel spoke so definitively that Isaiah momentarily thought, ‘Should I have?’ But he quickly shook his head. No, no need to be swayed. I’m right.

There was a reason he had chosen Lapua over Remington in the first place. Whether Lapua or Remington, the speed was similar beyond 1000 yards. Of course, Remington was slightly faster, but the recoil was incomparably stronger.

Recoil upon firing affects the point of impact. And at this distance, minute changes cause enormous differences. For a muscular guy like Kestrel, maybe, but for him right now, the Lapua Magnum round was optimal.

Yes, my judgment is absolutely correct. I am the best sniper on this planet. When it comes to shooting, there’s no one who can judge as accurately as me. Don’t waver. Isaiah repeatedly told himself.