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PLEASE notify me if you discover anything weird in my English, for I'm no native speaker, big thanks

God's hand and Destiny's chains

Chapter 1

(This is set 3 weeks after the episode „The killer in the crosshairs")

The hotel room was bathed in a beautiful sunset, letting the creamy white and turquoise decoration glow. The place breathed the decent luxury a five-star accommodation should bear. There was nothing only remotely reminding at cheap, not authentic or superfluous things. It provided a perfect shelter from the imperfection, ugliness and deceit of the outside world. An almost perfect one… for the heart and mind of the room's occupant could not be gilded, tinted in pastel colors or bathed in poetic sunsets.

Jacob Broadsky stood in front of the mirror and studied his reflection. The injuries the splitting rifle had caused had healed nicely, only some small reddish scars still crossed the right side of his face. The past three weeks he had had time to tend wounds, oh yes. Showing a low profile and covering tracks had been of the essence, after the FBI with 'pit bull' Booth was on his heels! However, Jacob was a skilled man, and he had resources and contacts. He managed to disappear from the picture and observed the hunt for him from afar, logging in secret police files now and then.

However, now the time to keep a low profile was eventually over! He had to take this scab of a corrupt cop finally out! Broadsky reached for his shirt. No, he was not the man to take money and do not his assigned job, even if the money was secondary. He wouldn't simply let a bad guy escape, only because the FBI thought to botch at his trade!

The tiny Jing-medallion around his neck vanished under the shirt, but he rested for a moment, holding the fingers on top of it. Through the fabric, he could sense the sinus shape of his part of the medallion. The other half had been at Paula's necklace… and had been buried with her.

Paula, he thought again, still hurt as if the news of her death had just reached him. This wound would never heal, not even in years. Jacob knew very well.

How could you do this? He asked the question at which Booth had not answered when he first met him. Well, he would meet him again. It was inevitable. Maybe he would answer then… and explain how a human being could be that careless, unaffected and blind.

He slipped into his jacket and adjusted his tie.

Maybe, he stated, it was the symptoms of the same sickness this whole system of so-called justice was infected with! They didn't look at the victims anymore. They only looked at their books and regulations, through whose gaps the bad guys easily slipped, a laugh at their face! The more money one of the evil-doers provided, the more likely it was he got away with everything: forgery, rape, even murder.

Their lawyers were astute, and if the defendant was prominent and rich, they hauled him out of the deepest crap. If nothing did help, they lied and cheated and bribed.

He was sick of this so-called justice. And he was sick of listening to the henchmen of this justice blabbering about the right to kill, about good and evil and so on. What greater right did THEY have to take a killer, rapist or whatever out? They were right because the government and the legal system had invested them with that right? What a joke!

Jacob took his suitcase, switched the lights off and opened the door.

They let a man who had killed a family with little children walk free – where was the right and wrong in this case? And afterwards, they hid behind regulations and orders.

The door fell shut.

Jacob Broadsky was on the hunt again. He did hide behind nothing and no one. His orders were not spoken by other men, mired in corruption up to their noses. I have a clean conscience, he repeated in his mind.

Flickering city lights filled the darkness like colorful spots a black canvas. Not a very good time for a sniper. Nevertheless, what had to be done had to be done. And this was probably the last chance, he would get to ice this man! There was a rumor he would leave the country.

Jacob lay stretched out on a metal strut in the upper part of a construction area, secured by a mountaineering harness. The rifle he had acquired and then adjusted during the past weeks, pointed down in a 40 degree angle. He had never shot from such a position, not counted the practicing of the last days. However, this hadn't been quite the same.

He glanced at his watch. It was 8.40. His target was down there in the bar, enjoying his life after the acquittal. But not for much longer…

Broadsky wasn't afraid the FBI could step in between this time. He had been very careful to lure them on a false track, and he knew, that they were unaware of his true whereabouts. This had meant he had to skip another target – but well, one after the other, and this man down there was next on the list!

He shifted his position to one providing a little bit more comfort. Now, nothing remained but to wait. As far as he had figured out, the target usually stayed in this location for 2 to 3 hours. The later he walked out, the better, because fewer people crossed the area.

….

10.20. The street was still bustling with activity. Despite his special clothes, Jacob began to freeze. Some minor pain was nagging in several parts of his body, too, caused by the uncomfortable position on the strut. He had experienced worse, though. If he had to quit tonight, because he wasn't in the condition anymore to hit the target with a clean shot, he would do so rather than risking collateral damage. However, still he was in perfect shape and master of the situation.

The bar's door opened again. A couple walked out, slightly drunk. Another guy vanished inside. Down on the road, an ambulance siren shrieked. Noise was something that did not disturb the sniper in any way. He had been trained to keep things like gunfire, exploding bombs and other nice stuff out of his conscience while he stared through the scope.

There! His target left the bar!

Broadsky's whole being was focused on his task now. Another step further… Yes. The victim wasn't stable on his feet anymore; his movements were quite erratic, what made it more difficult to lock on. Ah… now he had to throw up… good… perfect… clean … posi-

The man broke in his knees. The red puddle forming beneath him left no doubt about the cause of his fall.

What the hell…

Jacob took his finger from the trigger, which he hadn't pulled back yet. Who had fired that shot? He retreated as fast as he could from his too vulnerable position. Down below, already a crowd of agitated and hysteric people gathered. For sure someone had called the police!

While hastily loosening the mountaineering harness, Jacob saw a black shadow hushing over the roof of the already completed part of the building some meters below him. No doubt, this had been the other sniper! He had to know who was messing with his business! Without another thought, Broadsky grabbed his precious weapon again, fastened it on his back and jumped down. The sound of his touchdown, followed by the metallic click of the unshackling rope alarmed the other sniper for sure. The person sprinted away from the sound. Jacob could pinpoint it. He knew this construction area, and in the place where they were now, only two possibilities for escape existed. He ran to block the first and easiest option and catch his opponent there.

Whoever it was - he was fast and with his black body suit and mask perfectly clad for this area! He had almost reached the scaffolding's platform again. In between the multiple layers of struts, it would be impossible to catch him! Jacob lunged forward with one final effort and grasped the opponent's right leg from behind. However, he landed that hard that he nearly lost his grip again. And the other one struggled and tried to get free. But he wasn't strong enough. The next moment had Jacob pushed him down eventually and held him in a firm grip.

"Who are you?"

Gasping for air, the stranger tried to turn his head and see his captor.

"Jacob?"

He was double startled. On one hand, because it had been the voice of a youngster or a woman, on the other, because it had said his name. He reached out and tore the mask from the strangers face. A woman indeed. And as far as he could discern…

"I don't think we have met before," he said without loosening his grip.

"'Course we have. Only then I wore brackets and had a punk haircut! It's me, man! Destiny Bennett!"

Now he let her go. "Robert's daughter."

"Yes." A little smile crossed her face. "The one who stole your dog tag."

"I haven't forgotten. What for heaven's sake are you doing up on this roof and taking a guy out who was my prey?"

"C'mon, you're not a cop either, are you?"

"That's a different thing," Jacob answered. A police siren sounded from the distance, and it was closing in very fast. "We should move," he continued, "or we will get in unwelcome trouble!"

Destiny was on her feet already. Jacob pointed in another direction. "We climb down over there, through the elevator shaft!"

While Broadsky could find his way through the nightly tangle of construction platforms, struts and concrete parts fast, thanks to his night vision gear, his new companion had problems. Destiny might be a good sniper – considering her age an almost perfect one, he thought – however, she hadn't made the right preparations for her hit. This would've proven fatal, if she hadn't run into him! One time he could only prevent her from slipping and falling some meters down in the very last second.

"This is not a business for little girls!" Jacob hissed through his teeth, hauling her up again.

"I'm a Sergeant of the Marine Corps!" Destiny replied angry. "Believe me, I already kicked some asses!"

"Tonight you would've kicked your own!" He made a gesture in the direction of the gathered police force at the street facing side of the building. "They would've got you, because you did not secure your retreat."

"Fuck it!" Destiny crawled beneath the hoarding. "At least I iced the bastard who killed my friend!"