Jeez, sometimes I wished the Army would have me back. This paparazzi gig paid way better, but being a sniper rated higher. Respect, however, didn't pay the bills. If I nailed the pic on this Saif Gadhafi war-criminal guy, the check from World of News would be more than two years pay from Uncle Sam.
Also I didn't have to lug as much shit around in the Army. On top of 50kg of mission gear I now had to pack in the confirmation camera, stabilizer rest, and damned satellite com-link that let my editor bug me whenever the hell he wanted.
Like now.
"No, Vince, I got no idea how long."
"Yadda-yadda-yadda!"
"I know, I know. Look, ya gotta trust your intel and ya gotta trust me, okay? He'll be here today."
"Babble-babble-babble. Babble?"
"You got it, chief. Consider that shot got. Ahmed out."
I was tempted to turn the thing off or maybe throw it down the hill, but re-acquiring the satellite in a hurry wasn't advisable procedure. My paydays depend on prompt delivery; news has a very short shelf life. Still, it made me happy to disconnect the audio and get back to being alone.
Alone wasn't easy for most men. Some men learn to deal with it, others never did. I liked being alone; it was one of the things that led me into sniper school in the first place. Which, eventually, led me to Oman. If I got the pic, when I got the pic, I could afford to stay off remote, arid ridges for quite a while.
For a while I kicked back and considered what nice, remote places I'd like to go, preferably somewhere I didn't need to dig a hole within three meters every time I had to take a shit. The list was long and pleasant, and I wasn't done yet when the driveway sensor buzzed.
A look at my watch told me it was too early for the regular guard patrol; a peek through the c-cam zoom revealed no irregular activity at the compound. Well, hell. The little WalMart wireless motion sensors were ten times cheaper than military-issue stuff, but just as trustworthy. I'd have to put eyes on.
I popped the lens cap back on and low-crawled around the jumble of stones that concealed my hide from the compound's dusty driveway. No car on the drive, nothing at all as far as my eyes could tell, but thermal showed a figure crouched in the brush by the sensor.
Fear prickled the back of my neck before reason spoke up; if it was one of guards the compound would be going crazy. I scanned the horizon; cliffs west, compound in the wadi north, beach on the Arabian Sea to the southeast - and a tiny boat on the beach.
Someone was trying to scoop my shot.
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