ONE LAST JOB- a Miles Mazurski Novel

Chapter 1- To live is to Die.

Jumeirah Emirates Towers

Dubai

Friday, 6:57 PM

February 5th, 2016

The air was hot and dry. The sun was scurrying behind the ocean from behind his position and he smiled. Rule number 23 for killing a man, surprise is key and while the glowing orange orb settling into the horizon was considered romantic by many lovers, it was Mother Nature's way of providing perfect camouflage. Miles couldn't wait until his mark came out onto the terrace for his nightly blowjob from his underage Russian whore. It made it easier when the young Prince just stood there in mid-nut when he put a bullet through there forehead.

Al Arzaha, while extremely rich and equally smart and powerful in the ways of politics and business, his understanding of security was that of a blind and deaf Wal-Mart loss prevention stooge. They guy was also a first class piece of shit that sold the United States government a bag of shit the size of the Brooklyn bridge and was an inside man within Al- Qaeda since long before Bin Laden took hold of the reigns. Miles scanned the balcony of the palatial hotel through the scope. He had made all the proper calculation and adjustments and with the hotel being only 1,000 meters, 'Janis' would make short work of the traitorous prince. The sun created harsh, dramatic shadows across the balcony of the Mirage Casino Hotel. Heat waves created moving colors as Miles sighted in the Berretta M107A1. Once satisfied, Miles looked at his watch and sat back into the shadows of the office.

The building was under construction and provided a perfect hide for the job. No activity after 6 pm, no security patrols to muck things up and more importantly, an easy escape route once the target has been removed.

He leaned against a pallet of drywall and pulled a metal flask from his sweat-covered vest. His gloved thumb gently rubbed the globe and anchor embossed on its leather case. He let out a small grin and took a long pull from it. He looked out the windows from the dark room, past the target's hotel to the sandy beach beyond. The peninsula was lined with white sandy beaches and packed with people, families swimming, relaxing. He picked up his binoculars and zoomed in on the blur of ants playing in the sand of the rich land.

Through the zoom, he could see their faces. Mom, Dads, and their entire cadre of children were laughing, smiling and were enjoying the hot sun of the Arabian paradise. A flash of bright orange caught his eye and he swiftly moved the binoculars toward it. There was a little girl about six or seven years old, he guessed. She was kicking a multi-colored beach ball back and forth, with what he assumes was her older brother.—both were laughing and smiling widely. Miles caught himself joining them. His breath caught in his big chest and he quickly traded the binoculars with his flask.

A sharp crackle came over the com-link in his ear, startling him.

"Gunny, "The voice filled with slight static.

Miles tapped the earbud, "Here, Skip," he said.

"Extra guests coming to the party," Skip Mulak replied with slight panic in his voice. That was never good, Miles thought.

Miles knees creaked and popped, as he lunged on the bare plywood floor. He peered through the Barrett's scope.

"How many candles on the cake?" Miles scoured the balcony, into the penthouse beyond it. He could only make out the Prince and his party favors of the evening. He was blind to the anything below the Prince's floor and desperately needed his Assistant's intel and fast.