Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1107 Ominous Omen
The following morning, at Narendra Estate.

The weather was lovely, with sunlight streaming through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows and onto the corridor covered with expensive Persian carpets.

Narendra had just gotten up and was sitting at the dining table enjoying her first cup of Darjeeling tea of ​​the morning, waiting for her servant to bring her breakfast. Her mood should have been as bright as the weather outside the window.

However, a series of hurried and frantic footsteps broke the silence.

The old butler, Rajiv, was pale, with fine beads of sweat on his forehead. He almost staggered to his side, his voice trembling, "Sir...sir...something terrible has happened! 'Raja'...it...it..."

"What did you say?!"

Narendra frowned, nearly dropping the teacup in his hand.

"Raja" is the name of his most beloved Bengal tiger, kept in a large enclosure deep within his estate. It is majestic and a symbol of his power and ambition.

"What happened to Raja? Explain yourself!"

"It...it's dead!"

Rajiv almost burst into tears.

"This morning, when the zookeeper went to feed it, they found it lying there, motionless... The veterinarian rushed over and tried to resuscitate it, but couldn't. They said... it was sudden death, the cause is completely unknown, and an autopsy may be necessary..."

"what?!"

Narendra abruptly stood up, and the expensive teacup in his hand finally crashed to the ground, shattering with a loud bang, splashing red tea onto his silk pajama bottoms.

An unnamed anger instantly surged up his head.

"Sudden death? I spent so much money hiring the best veterinarians and the best zookeepers, and this is the result you give me? A bunch of useless trash! All of you are useless!"

He roared, his voice echoing in the empty hall, silencing the servants.

He stormed off the table and headed to the paddock in the backyard of the manor, where he found his beloved Raja lying motionless on the ground, his once fierce and domineering eyes now only a lifeless gray.

"What on earth happened?! It was perfectly fine last night!"

Narendra's eyebrows shot up, each one radiating murderous intent.

"Master...it was...it was an accident..."

The veterinarian began to explain nervously, repeating platitudes like "sudden death," "unknown cause," and "further examination needed" to justify it as Raja's fate, a divine arrangement.

"Damn it! I've paid so much money, and all I've raised are useless pieces of trash like you! You can't even take care of a pet! Get out of here right now! Get out of my sight in ten minutes, before I blow your head off!"

Narendra, unable to vent her anger, unleashed a torrent of abuse on the veterinarian.

An indescribable restlessness and a vague unease gripped him.

The sudden death of a tiger is considered an ominous sign in his culture.

The breakfasts that followed were rather bland.

The inexplicable tightness in my chest not only didn't dissipate, but became even more pronounced.

He rubbed his temples and waved to his secretary, "All the schedules for today are postponed. I'm not feeling well."

The secretary looked troubled and cautiously reminded him, "Sir, at ten o'clock this morning, Mr. Jorgensen, the chief negotiator of the 'Scania' Group, will be visiting in person. It concerns a multi-billion rupee order for upgrading our shipping fleet... This... I'm afraid it's not easy to postpone."

Narendra took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the palpitations and restlessness in his heart.

Business is business, especially this big deal, which is related to the group's strategic layout for the next few years.

He cannot let personal matters interfere with public duties, especially not ruin a multi-billion ruble cooperation based on some inexplicable "premonition"...

"...Understood." He waved his hand, his voice weary. "Leave at nine o'clock sharp."

At 8:50 a.m., the convoy was ready.

Seven heavily modified Mercedes-Benz S600 Guard armored cars were parked in front of the estate's main gate.

The car body has smooth yet substantial lines, and the windows are all specially treated to ensure that nothing can be seen inside.

The elite agents of Gurkha Security Company, dressed in black suits and wearing communication devices, with eyes as sharp as eagles, were already in position.

Captain Amir conducted a final communications check via walkie-talkie; everything was in perfect order, exuding a professional and detached air.

Narendra sat in the back seat of car number 3, and the car dipped slightly.

As scheduled, car number 3 is the VIP car today.

Leaning back in the soft seat, Narendra habitually picked up a document, trying to concentrate, but Raja's lifeless eyes and the inexplicable tightness in his chest kept bothering him.

This strange feeling reminded him of his arch-nemesis, Zayed, that damned, stubborn rival.

The last assassination attempt was meticulously planned, employing expensive "professionals" who tracked and investigated for a whole month. It seemed foolproof, but it failed at the last moment!
Zayed, who only suffered minor injuries, seized the opportunity to sensationalize the situation, garner sympathy, and even began organizing a fierce counterattack, bringing himself considerable trouble. It is said that Zayed has declared he will "take revenge."

Whatever I do to him, he will do back to me.

"Trash! They're all trash!"

He muttered a curse under his breath, it was unclear whether he was cursing the failed killers or the veterinarian from this morning.

The convoy drove smoothly out of the estate and merged into the morning traffic in Goa.

The city's hustle and bustle could be faintly heard through the excellent soundproofing.

Narendra put down the documents, took off his gold-rimmed glasses, and rubbed his throbbing temples vigorously.

The car drove onto the overpass leading to the city center, with bustling streets on both sides and the azure coastline in the distance.

I walk this road almost every day.

It is one of the three daily travel routes.

This route passes through a busy downtown area, and Narendra initially thought it was unsafe. However, the bodyguard captain, Amir, said that the more people there are, the safer it is.

After all, even Zayed was afraid of getting his hands dirty with the blood of innocent civilians.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the city center, an abandoned 28-story building stands like a giant concrete skull on the edge of the city.

This is an unfinished building left over from an ambitious real estate project many years ago. It was abandoned due to the developer's broken capital chain and complicated property disputes, leaving only the exposed cement frame and empty windows overlooking the winding elevated road below.

This place offers excellent views but is rarely visited by people, making it a haven for wild pigeons and stray animals, as well as an ideal stage for certain special operations.

On the tenth floor, in a bare, unobstructed hall.

The hunter lay motionless on a sturdy platform temporarily erected from scaffolding pipes and heavy wooden planks, his body as still as a rock.

His cheek pressed against the cold, rough stock of the Anzio "Monster" sniper rifle. The nearly two-meter-long weapon was already chambered, the 20mm AP-I armor-piercing incendiary round lying quietly inside, awaiting the command to unleash its destructive power.

The long, rectangular muzzle brake attached below the muzzle foreshadows the terrifying recoil and sound it will produce when fired.

To his left, the observer "Fiddler" was carefully scanning the direction of the elevated bridge entrance in the distance through a Steiner Military 15x80mm high-magnification observation scope—based on previous reconnaissance, Narendra would most likely take this route today.

The field of view through the observation mirror is astonishingly clear; you can even see the license plate numbers of distant vehicles and the approximate movements of the people inside.

His lips moved slightly, and his voice was clearly transmitted to the squad channel through the bone conduction headphones.

"Wind direction: southeast, wind speed: 3 meters per second, intermittent light breeze. Humidity: 65%, visibility: good. Distance set at 920 meters. Road traffic is stable, target has not yet appeared."

About three meters to the right of the violinist, the second sniper, the "drummer," occupied a slightly forward position.

He was operating an M82A1 Barrett heavy sniper rifle, its .50 BMG magazine already full. His mission was to create chaos and sound the opening drumbeat of the hunt.

The air was thick with the smell of dust and cement, and there was an almost stagnant tension.

"Boss, is the boss's plan really flawless?"

The drummer's voice carried a hint of barely perceptible doubt as he gently stroked the cold barrel of the Barrett.

The violinist didn't turn his head, remaining in an observation posture, but he also echoed in a low voice, "Yes, boss. Once the first shot is fired, there are too many variables. Our position has at most a one-minute safety window. Once they react, call for backup or the police arrive, it will be very difficult for us to escape."

The hunter's eyes remained glued to the high-magnification sniper scope, his voice deep and undeniably confident: "Shut up, focus. When has the boss ever missed a beat? He understands these bodyguards' thought processes better than we do. They're not robots, but their training allows them to make the most 'standard' reactions in fractions of a second. And what we're going to use is their 'standard'."

He adjusted his breathing slightly and continued, “Remember your roles. Drummer, your shooting must be precise, creating chaos without prematurely revealing our main intentions and true firepower. Violinist, your eyes are my eyes; the data must be absolutely accurate.”

"clear."

The two responded in hushed tones, suppressing their slight unease and focusing on their respective duties.

Time passed by minute by minute.

The traffic on the overpass flowed like a river of metal.

As noon approached, the temperature began to rise.

Sweat beaded on their foreheads.

High temperatures always make it hard to concentrate and easily breed irritability.

A bead of sweat slid down and seeped into the corner of his eye. The drummer reached up and wiped it, then took off his sunglasses and wiped them on his clothes...

Suddenly, the violinist's speech quickened and his tone rose: "Attention! Target spotted! A convoy of seven black Mercedes S600s has entered the elevated highway from Entrance 3! Speed ​​approximately 60 kilometers per hour! Maintain a 10-meter distance!"

　Asking for a monthly ticket! Asking for a monthly ticket!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)