Jack was positioned near the gates of the governor’s palace on the far side of the plaza. Jack Norton’s voice came through Tyler’s headset. Picking out a lone assassin in that melee would be a challenge. Stray dogs nosed among the carts while seagulls, drawn from the harbor by the promise of scraps, fluttered and swooped over the crowd. The locals had started setting up their market stalls before first light, and now the cobblestones were getting clogged with everything from wheelbarrows of bananas to crates of live chickens.
The sun wasn’t yet up and already the day was promising to be a steam bath. Sergeant First Class Tyler Matheson lifted the scope away from his eye, ran his thumb around the rubber eyepiece collar to dry off the sweat, then flattened himself against the courthouse roof to sight on the plaza below.
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