Boyd crouched on the roof, took the barrel from the case and screwed it into the chassis, slotted in the scope and stock, screwed in the suppressor.
He lifted his face to the sky and let the cool summer breeze blow a lock of hair across his forehead; wind, two and a half knots. He looked at his watch.
It was time.
He set the rifle on the tripod and looked through the scope to find his target, down on the street. The angle was very acute but…
The target collapsed, dead. A woman screamed.