Fane had a powdered cake donut shoved in his mouth already. He swallowed, almost choking. “You guys forgot to reset the password from last time, even with the new pad.” He shrugged. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth, leaving sugar dust on his glove. He glared at it, swatting the powder out of it.
“So, what was his time?” Orlov asked, looking around for a score.
“Twelve minutes, twenty-seven seconds for a thirty minute run. Score of 590 out of 600 on accuracy with each target worth a total of 10 points. Mark down of 8 points per each target not hit dead center,” an individual in military uniform at a terminal supplied Orlov.
“You’re joking!” Orlov exclaimed, leaning over the soldier to look at the screen. A rectangular graph of data points ran under a series of images of destroyed targets. The voracity sent a shiver down Orlov’s spine.
“We did say he was our best.” Zephyr smiled, before turning back to his charge. “You’re favorite from that uppity little rabbit food place you’re always talking about. You better thank me for that run.” Zephyr wagged his finger at Fane.
“I like to think large rhino food.” Fane shoveled another donut into his mouth.
“He only missed one target out of sixty?” Orlov bit out indignantly, searching for the one target not destroyed.
The soldier at the terminal pointed to a line of images. A series of targets had knives buried clear to the hilt in them. “Nope, he hit all sixty clean, the boards just don’t register knives as legit ammo. They marked him down automatically.” One of the other staff shot a disdainful glance at the man in black.
“You guys said I can pack out what I want,” Fane shrugged. He was more relaxed than he had been at the party. Orlov studied the lithe man in black. Easy confidence slid off his shoulders and dripped from his fingertips. No, Orlov checked himself. Fane wasn’t confident. This was something he could do blindfolded. Proficient would be an understatement. This was his specialty. He needed no faith in himself, blind luck, good luck, or a higher power. This was second nature to the man.
Orlov took a step toward the redhead. The man’s piercing ice blue eyes checked him in place. Malicious dog was an inaccurate description. Viper. Assassin. Orlov swallowed. He extended a hand. “Fane Anson, would you be willing to discuss working with the Punjab in training our men?”
Fane looked at the hand, hunching into himself. His adrenaline high never lasted long enough.. His bravado dissolved. The chill in the room evaporated. “I’m not really…I’ve never been field tested, Mr. Orlov.” He tried to back away from the invitation.
“Well, he technically still has the week off. Anson, go get changed. We don’t mind you having the privilege of talking with Prince Orlov about working in a partnership,” the General supplied.
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