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Meva ignored Bianca and climbed into the Land Rover with her entourage.
Her deputy handed her a list. "This was provided by the training base's archives. It records everyone with the ability to make extremely long-range sniper shots."
He took out another identical list. "This one was given to the 'Chimpanzee' by the base. I intercepted it."
Meva took both lists, crumpled one up, and casually tossed it out the window.
"Move out," she ordered curtly.
The three Land Rover Discoveries left the parking lot one after another.
Meva's phone rang. She answered, and the voice of her department head came through. "The son of a Scotland Yard Chief Superintendent is dead. They kept the news under wraps for a day, hoping to solve the case themselves. Go to the Forest Club and find out what happened at the scene."
Meva's gaze darkened slightly. "Understood," she replied curtly.
The three Land Rovers turned around in unison and sped toward the Forest Club.
Inside the car, Meva unfolded the list provided by the training base. Her fingertip moved slowly down the page as she scrutinized each name belonging to someone with the ability to make extremely long-range sniper shots, someone who had left a record at the training base.
Meva's gaze moved slowly down the list: Gianluca Fox, Josh Spencer, Alexander Duggan.
Her fingertip suddenly stopped at the name "Alexander Duggan." Something about it stirred her memory, yet it remained hazy, as if hidden behind a veil of mist.
"Contact the office," she told her deputy. "Find Alexander Duggan's complete file."
"Understood." Her deputy immediately took out an encrypted phone and quickly called the department's on-call team.
The Land Rover convoy entered a dark forest road. Before long, flashing police lights blocked their way.
Three police officers stood across the road. The one in front raised a hand to signal them to stop. "The road ahead is closed. The Forest Club is temporarily shut. Please turn around immediately."
Her deputy lowered the window and showed a credential bearing the royal crest. "Special Operations Division, MI6. We're here on orders to examine the scene."
The officers exchanged glances. One of them picked up a radio and sought authorization from a superior. After a brief conversation, they moved the police car blocking the road.
With a low growl of their engines, the three Land Rovers filed through the cordon and disappeared into the thickening mist among the trees.
The police had sealed off the crime scene layer by layer. The cordon trembled faintly in the night wind.
News that the son of a Scotland Yard Chief Superintendent had been murdered was a slap in the face to the entire United Kingdom police force. This was no longer a simple assassination; it was an open display of contempt and defiance toward the entire law enforcement system.
The political fallout was almost on a par with the Downing Street incident. The case had long since escalated from a criminal offense into a crisis of confidence in the country's law enforcement authority.
The police had packed the crime scene so tightly that no one could get through. The crowd included nearly every branch of criminal investigation, from uniformed officers to forensic experts.
Meva's gaze swept across the crowd before settling on the shadow of an Oak Hotel in the distance.
A man stood there, conspicuously out of place among the surrounding police uniforms. He wore a trench coat and radiated a calm, focused air, like a character stepped out of a classic detective novel. Several officers clustered around him.
His voice was quiet, yet exceptionally clear. "The degree and shape of the soil's compression could not have been caused by brief trampling or an accidental occurrence. This is based on the humidity records for the forest's central area over the past two days, the soil type, and the effect of daytime temperature fluctuations on the rate of surface water evaporation."
His tone was measured. "We can conclude with precision that the killer remained completely motionless at this spot for at least thirty minutes. Rain may have washed away some traces, so the actual time could have been longer."
He paused to let the officers absorb the information, then looked toward the luxury car beyond the cordon.
"There are no signs of a shift in their center of gravity, nor any scuff marks from adjusting their posture. This points to extraordinary focus, exceptional endurance, and an almost chilling degree of patience." He emphasized the qualities these signs revealed about the killer.
"As for the distance..." He raised a hand and pointed toward the target vehicle. "Measurements with a rangefinder, confirmed with a tape measure, put the straight-line distance at 223.3 meters."
"Fragments from the rear of the bullet found at the scene—their deformation pattern, fracture lines, and preliminary trace comparison—all indicate the weapon was an old bolt-action rifle chambered in 7.92×57 mm Mauser. This kind of rifle is highly accurate, but leaves little room for error. Hitting a fatal shot at this distance would require exceptional marksmanship and a deep understanding of ballistics."
"This wasn't just murder. It was an intimidation tactic that showcased professional skill. Only two kinds of people could make a shot like that. Either a top military sniper with specialized training..."
Meva picked up where he left off. "Or a professional assassin. An extremely professional one."
The man turned to Meva and offered his hand. "Walter Hansen, forensic trace examiner for Scotland Yard. That's the title they gave me, not one I gave myself."
Meva showed him her credentials. "Meva Lake, Special Operations Division, MI6."
"Can you estimate the killer's height and weight?" she asked, getting straight to the point.
"Of course." Walter pointed to the footprints beneath the Oak Hotel. "Based on the depth and shape of the depressions, together with the soil moisture analysis, the killer was between 180 and 190 centimeters tall. As for their weight..."
He paused. "If they were carrying a standard Mauser rifle, then after subtracting the weapon's weight, they would have weighed roughly 80 to 90 kilograms."
Meva quickly recorded these key figures.
MI6's file on "β" was completely blank. This man's analysis might fill in some of the missing pieces.
"What about the killer's nationality? Can you work it out?" Meva pressed.
Walter shook his head slightly. "The killer acted with extreme precision. There were no unnecessary movements, so we can't determine that from their habits."
"What about the tread pattern?" Meva asked, changing tack.
"Ordinary 5.11 tactical boots," Walter replied. "You can buy them at any military surplus store in the United Kingdom."
Meva nodded slightly and turned her gaze toward the Oak Hotel. Several officers were carefully making plaster casts of the clear footprints.
Walter hesitated briefly, then added, "There is another approach, though there's no guarantee it'll work."
"Let's hear it," Meva said.
"This forest is teeming with mosquitoes," Walter explained. "Bloodsucking insects tend to have a relatively limited range. If we could catch mosquitoes in this area, test for traces of blood inside them, and compare the samples against those of the people at the scene, we might be able to recover the killer's DNA."
He paused. "Of course, this would require collecting a large number of samples and conducting genetic analyses. It would involve an enormous amount of work."