American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 113 Intelligence (Part 1)

Wu Fusheng's expression became slightly unnatural, a subtle change that Beta's keen observation noticed: "What's wrong? Wu, do you also want to buy this painting?"

Wu Fusheng gently shook his head: "How could that be? I'm just amazed by Mr. Hawke's decisiveness. After all, from an artistic point of view, this kind of mechanically precise reproduction can also be considered a kind of postmodern performance art?"

Beta hastily signed the check and casually tucked the artwork, which Wu Fusheng jokingly called a "laser-printed painting," under his arm. This black-and-white line painting, "The Four Seasons," became the first piece sold at the exhibition.

The meeting with the author, Li Wen, was purely a formality. The Hong Kong man's reserved smile and formulaic speech made him look like a human printer.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Beta hurriedly left with the picture frame.

He strode through the revolving door, the hustle and bustle of a New York evening rushing towards him. Just as he raised his hand to hail a taxi, he suddenly heard hurried footsteps behind him.

"Mr. Hawke! Please wait!"

Beta turned around and looked.

Wu Fusheng jogged after him, his custom-made Oxford shoes clicking on the marble floor, forgetting even to use his cane. His silk tie fluttered in the wind, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, a far cry from his composed demeanor in the exhibition hall.

The way Wu Fusheng jogged over reminded Beta of those old London gentlemen chasing after buses, panting but still maintaining their impeccable attire.

"Is there anything else, Mr. Wu?" Beta gripped the picture frame, his gaze sweeping over Wu Fusheng's shoulder as he warily scanned the surroundings.

Wu Fusheng straightened his slightly crooked bow tie, his voice deliberately composed: "Mr. Hawke, would you be willing to part with it? I happen to have a client who is interested in this kind of special work."

Beta glanced at the picture frame tucked under his arm and a playful smile appeared on his lips: "$1000."

"This," Wu Fusheng tapped his cane lightly on the ground, "was sold for $800 just five minutes ago."

“1200,” Beta interrupted.

Wu Fusheng took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead: "The appreciation of an artwork requires time to accumulate."

"1400." Beta raised the price again.

The old gentleman's Adam's apple visibly bobbed.

“It’s 1600 now.” Beta deliberately shook the painting: “Time is money, Mr. Wu. Every extra word you say increases its value by 200. That’s how exaggerated its appreciation rate is in my hands.”

Wu Fusheng raised his palm in a gesture of surrender, and with his other hand, he pulled out a checkbook from his suit pocket. The pen scratched across the paper, and he wrote the amount of $1600 with such force that it seemed as if he wanted to pierce through the entire checkbook.

"Deal." He handed the check to Beta.

Beta held the check between two fingers, casually shoved the painting into the other person's hand, the gesture as casual as handing over a stack of old newspapers.

Wu Fusheng took the picture frame, his fingertips lingered briefly on the black and white lines, then turned and left, his figure quickly disappearing into the light and shadow of the Liberty Building's revolving door.

Beta watched Wu Fusheng's disappearing figure, a smile appearing on his lips.

If it weren't for the street surveillance cameras, he would have thrown that tattered painting in the trash can as soon as he left. It was such a cheap piece that it was so pungent that it wouldn't even be good for starting a fireplace, yet someone was willing to pay double the price to recycle it.

He folded the check twice and casually stuffed it into his wallet. As his fingertips touched the switchblade inside, a sudden sense of absurdity struck him. The commission he'd earned from a single international assassination, converted into hourly wages, was less than what he'd made from reselling these worthless paintings.
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Beta pushed open the door to the safe house; it was so quiet inside that the hum of the refrigerator could be heard.

Katalia's coat wasn't in the entryway, nor were her shoes in the shoe cabinet; it seemed she had gone to deal with those "personal matters" again.

He placed the $1600 check in the center of the coffee table. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting striped shadows on the check.

Beta removed the camera's memory card, and the printer began spitting out photos one after another. He used tape to cover the entire wall with these photos, and soon, every detail of the Central Park lectern was perfectly reproduced on the wall.

Looking down from the floor-to-ceiling windows on the 88th floor of the Liberty Tower, the Central Park stage is clearly visible like a model. Although there are several skyscrapers between them, these buildings appear as insignificant hills in front of the 541-meter-tall Liberty Tower.

This absolute height advantage created a perfect sniping field of vision. Through the photos, Beta could even see the grain of the wooden floor of the podium, the positions of the security personnel, and the angle of the steps the speaker had to take to get onto the stage.

Beta picked up a close-up photo taken with high zoom.

In the center of the image, the empty stage, which has not yet been set up with a lectern, is surrounded and obscured by a two-meter-high dark blue fence.

In the lower right corner of the photo, a police officer with a German Shepherd is bending down to inspect the seams of the fence, the dog's nose almost touching the ground; on the left, three security personnel in black suits are standing in a triangle formation, their headset wires dangling from their collars; in the background, several special agents wearing fluorescent yellow vests are adjusting a metal detector gate, one of whom is holding a detector that is emitting a green light.

Beta's gaze fell on another photograph, carefully analyzing the defensive positions of the high points surrounding Central Park.

Those carefully selected sniping positions formed a tight defensive network, almost invisible from a park-level perspective, yet they brought the entire podium area under absolute control.

But when the focus shifts to the Liberty Tower, this 541-meter-tall skyscraper makes the positions of all sniper teams impossible to hide.

The photos clearly show that each fire unit uses a standard two-person configuration. The observer uses an M151 sight for monitoring, while the sniper operates an XM2010 ESR enhanced sniper rifle.

Beta carefully examined every detail in the photo but found no trace of any electronic equipment used for counter-sniper radar.

However, the numerous sniper teams scattered across the high ground of the surrounding buildings have woven a human-made anti-sniper defense network. The deployment of these sniper positions has been calculated, with each location undergoing field of view assessment and firing arc planning.

The photos clearly show that their surveillance range not only completely covered the core area of ​​Central Park, but also included all surrounding high points that might pose a threat to the podium within the crossfire control range. This defense system, in theory, can intercept sniper threats from any angle.

However, this defense system clearly has a blind spot.

They had no idea that an assassin would shoot their employer in the ear from the Liberty Tower, 5687 meters away.

Beta stood up and reached out to grasp the carefully modified elbow crutches on the table. What looked like an ordinary medical aid was actually a disguised sniper rifle.

He rested his elbow on his shoulder, adopting a sniper stance, with the dark end of the "crutch" pointing directly at the photo nailed to the wall.

He had to go to the Liberty Building again to scout the location.

The 87th floor, which is under construction, is key. He needs to verify the construction schedule on-site and understand the workers' work patterns.

If, on the day of the operation, the construction team suddenly closes off the building, or even installs tempered glass to block the firing windows, he'll definitely unleash every curse word he knows.

(End of this chapter)