E ra a hot day feature of the month of July 1995, en she Dubrovnik police station you could not solve the damn case involving a huge drug trafficking involving a powerful Mafia boss boss with some Italian Americans. Three years of stalking were not served with anything, then the commissioner Gardelli decided that the best solution was to entrust the case to an investigator SISMI, Mr. Goor. He had a formidable curriculum vitae: sergeant for the U.S. Army, thirteen missions of maximum danger in Vietnam, five years of hard work in the FBI, three years in SWAT, and resolved thirty-seven cases considered lost, in short, a true genius of 'anti-crime. Commissioner Gardelli was sure that the "genius" would solve this damn case.
T yson Goor was a man in his forties, from the very robust build, about five feet high and eighty-five. He had a troubled life, from childhood he had followed the footsteps of his father, who was also military, and he practiced with any type of weapon, but fired blanks. His father taught him as a child how to survive in the most absurd, then sixteen, had begun his military career now getting big hits, which led him to the rank of sergeant. Twenty-five year, tired of the war, sought and obtained leave to deal with the security of his country, the United States, and then went into the special department of the American police SWAT. At the age of twenty-eight years, decided to take a break and thirty, he entered the FBI, where he became a great private detective. He stayed there five years, then passed to the Italian secret services, in order to serve the country where they were born some of his closest relatives. Despite these skills, people who knew him considered him to be hospitalized, because she loved "playing soldier" liked to sergeant in uniform and go into the fields with automatic rifles and pistols to kill imaginary enemies. He decided to live in Sicily, where the vast silence that reigned in the remote villages would not have created problems caused by his love for the arts of war. That afternoon he was sinking into his armchair in his hand he held a sniper rifle with silencer, and sought to shape a post across the room, the shot was blocked by a spherical pendulum hanging from the ceiling swaying in front of the gauge, and just in time to gauge the precise alignment with the hole in the middle of the pendulum to allow the passage of the projectile. So far he had taken twenty-seven times the target through the viewfinder of a total of fifty shots: was a formidable sniper. After thirty minutes of firing the gun decided it was time to train with the gun, then went to the basement, where there were electric sixty-six shapes that moved on rails, which had installed him, and sometimes stand behind the protections. He began to shoot at silhouettes and after two minutes were all without a body part. Now he wanted to smoke a cigarette, watching passers-by with his sniper rifle, and if it had not passed no one would have watched a little 'birds. As he thought, not a soul was in that godforsaken road, then began to spy on a farmer when he heard a noise machine and said what the hell was going on the viewfinder. Were two in the afternoon and a party of blacks vehicles with tinted windows was heading towards him, only to turn into a nondescript street in the middle of sorghum. He wondered where they went, then decided to give up watching television and weight training: a television program transmitted at that time a lot of fun. He then began to smoke and had reached 5 in the afternoon. The procession of cars was leaving the road and was pulling away.
By Athanasius of Matthew, Alberto Corato, Zovo From Luke and John Munaretto
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