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Zusatztext “ The Sniper and the Wolf reads as if transcribed from futureheadlines and back room covert CIA briefings; it’s a non-stop adrenaline ride!cover to cover!” Informationen zum Autor Scott McEwen with Thomas Koloniar Klappentext "Hot on the trail of 'The Wolf, ' a rogue Russian military sniper-turned-Chechen-terrorist, Gil Shannon turns from hunter to hunted when his mission is exposed by a traitor high up in US government. Shannon must turn to an unlikely ally--a deadly Russian special operative--to help even the odds. But when they discover that 'The Wolf' is just the tip of a global terrorist plot whose goal is to upend the US economy and the stability of the Western world, Shannon and his team of operatives must track the terrorists down before their plan comes to fruition"--The Sniper and the Wolf 1 PARIS, France The hour was closing in on three o’clock in the morning, and Master Chief Gil Shannon lay prone atop an empty freight car on the outskirts of Paris, a Remington Modular Sniper Rifle pulled tight into his shoulder, eye to the Barska nightscope, its illuminated green reticle highly visible in the darkness. He studied the blacked-out warehouse one hundred meters across the rail yard to the east. The April night was cool, and there hung on the breeze the distant whine of a locomotive as Gil adjusted his posture carefully, needing to urinate, waiting for Dokka Umarov to show himself. His right foot ached dully where he’d been shot the year before during a combat jump over Montana—much of the metatarsal bone having been replaced with an experimental titanium implant—and his chest tightened with anxiety that nowadays seemed to haunt him whenever things got too quiet for too long. He drew a deep breath, slowly letting it back out, taking his hand from the grip to flex his fingers. “Are you tensing up?” asked the voice of his overwatch, an earpiece nestled comfortably in his ear. Gil smiled in the darkness. “Are you watching me or the target area?” The voice chuckled softly. “I see all.” “You see too much,” Gil muttered good-naturedly. “How about you get off my nuts and watch if Umarov slips out the back.” Again the chuckle. A few minutes later, Gil said, “This little meet and greet’s takin’ longer than it should. I wonder if—” “Heat signature! Sniper on the roof!” Gil didn’t so much as twitch, but kept his eye to the scope. “North or south?” “North side,” the voice said. “He’s been hiding under an awning of some sort . . . no, I think it’s a proper hide. He’s sliding back under now. Umarov must have anticipated satellite surveillance.” “Can you see the rifle barrel?” “Enhancing resolution now . . . Yeah, I can see six or eight inches of it—the suppressor.” “Which way is it pointing?” A slight pause. “About twenty degrees to your right . . . south of your position.” “He hasn’t seen me, then,” Gil said. “But that’s obvious.” He let his eye scan back and forth across the flat roof of the three-story structure, cluttered with water tanks and air-conditioning units, ventilation ducts, and enclosed observation platforms once used by train spotters. “I can’t find him. You didn’t get a look at his optics by any chance, did you?” “Yeah,” the voice said. “Big scope.” “Shit,” Gil muttered. “That means infrared. Sounds like maybe I brought a knife to a gunfight. What was he doing out of the hide?” “Stretching his back, I think.” “At least he’s careless. That’s something.” Gil relaxed and proceeded to piss his pants to solve that nagging issue. This was more difficult to accomplish while rem...
