The harsh, glacial wind buffeted the white survival tent off and on, threatening to unseat it from its anchors. A flapping sound filled the tight, dim interior whenever it blew. A single, polar-camouflaged backpack filled with items necessary for surviving the northern Siberian weather made the perfect elbow prop. Stretched on his stomach, wearing layers of arctic gear, Agent 47 peered through the high-powered sniper scope at the Russian military base nearly a mile away.
Agent 47 stood over six feet in height, with broad shoulders, piercing blue eyes, and shaved scalp. The barcode tattoo on the back of his skull indicated his number and his name. His breath came at measured beats, visible in the frigid temperature even with the white balaclava pulled over his face. He sighted the soldiers past the blowing snow as they quick-marched between Quonset buildings.
A hole the size of a grapefruit had been cut into the rear of the tent, allowing Agent 47 to set the sniper rifle's muzzle in the opening and granting him visibility. He'd been in the tent nearly 48-hours, awaiting a Russian general scheduled to depart the base within a certain timeframe. According to the mission briefing, the general was corrupt like nearly every other ranking military official, but this one must have slept with someone's wife or daughter. Another corrupt Russian would replace him. It seemed like revolving futility, but the ICA had accepted the client's contract and Agent 47 was now enjoying the winter-like climes of the Siberian wasteland.
Although Agent 47 could have blended in on the base, his approach would have been noticed too readily. Sound traveled on the frozen plains, and the supply truck was scheduled to arrive outside of Agent 47's window of opportunity. The ICA had the resources to parachute him in, but exfiltration would have been an issue. Quick escapes weren't a good idea in Siberia.
Instead, Agent 47 had driven a sno-cat 60 miles across the tundra and hiked another five miles until he was within range of the base. After setting up camp, he'd cracked into the hand warmers and began his wait.
The general's face was barely on the positive side of being identifiable when Agent 47 pulled the trigger. The suppressor on the sniper rifle did not completely muffle the crack of the shot. Sirens began to blare from the base and soldiers scrambled for weapons and snowmobiles. Using high-powered binoculars, Agent 47 verified the target was eliminated before breaking down the sniper rifle and stowing it in a polar-camouflaged case. He hoisted it and the backpack onto his back before leaving the survival tent.
It took a few seconds for Agent 47 to unearth the guide-line attached to a tent anchor and knot it to the ring affixed to his belt. He pulled the anchors using a claw hammer and watched as the survival tent was swept away as the wind kicked up again. Swirling snow aided in hiding Agent 47's retreat.
His next assignment better be in the desert.