Kindle Edition
Amazon
Books by John Schembra
Writers Exchange Epublishing
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: Writers Exchange
ISBN-10: 1921636947
Type: Fiction
Pages: 222
Copyright: May 2012
ISBN-13: 9781500421298
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
Vince Torelli book #3 pits him against a deadly sniper killing Consul Generals in San Francisco.
Available in both print and ebook.
There are sixty-six Consulates and Embassies in San Francisco, and avery talented, deadly sniper is targeting the Consul Generals, seemingly at random.
Homicide Inspector Vincent Torelli has a reputation for solving the toughest cases in the City, but this one is unlike anything else he has faced. The killings make no sense, lack motive, and appear to be unrelated but Vince knows there has to be a link between them. He struggles to find the connection and identify the suspect, but as he gets closer to the answer, he becomes a target himself. This can end only one of two ways, either by him solving the case, or by becoming a victim himself.
Excerpt
This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.
The mantra, pounded into his head during basic training, ran through his brain automatically as he sighted through the Kahles 10X scope, the reticule resting on the front door of the building over four hundred yards away.
My rifle without me is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will.
He made a slight adjustment to the scope to compensate for the wind, blowing from his left at what he gauged to be fourteen miles per hour. It was always windy in San Francisco.
My rifle and myself know that what counts in war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our bursts, nor the smoke we make. We know it is the hits that count. We will hit.
He shivered slightly as he lay in his “hide” on top of the building. It was a late Sunday afternoon in October, and the sun had already set behind the coastal hills. What little warmth it provided was gone as the shadows crept over him. He was secure that he could not be seen, even from above. He had constructed his “hide” to resemble the heating and air conditioning apparatus on the roof. Made of reinforced cardboard, it was painted exactly the same and was the same size and shape as the others. It would burn nicely, once he was done with it.
My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its parts, its accessories, its sights, and its barrel. I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage. I will keep my rifle clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will.
He chuckled to himself at that part. Clean and ready? Of course he kept his rifle clean and ready, but there were times he could hardly stand his own stench from the days spent stalking his prey, days during which he hardly slept or ate. Bodily functions were ignored. He would not eat, and drink only small quantities of water to minimize the waste his body would eliminate. When he had to dispose of his waste, he did so where he lay, not moving from his position. Moving meant dying, and he had no intention of dying.
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