The Plan

Beta's steak knife scraped fruitlessly against the tough steak twice. "John, your cooking really needs some improvement."

He tossed the knife aside and directly grabbed the steak, which was comparable to a tire, and shook it.

John nodded.

Beta threw the steak back onto the plate and slowly wiped the sauce from his fingers with a paper towel. "I'm going away for a few days. Leon, you guys can stay here if you want."

"I'm taking Matilda back to the apartment," Leon said, his voice hoarse.

John simply responded briefly, "You decide for yourselves."

The night outside was as deep as ink.

Beta leaned against his headboard, the cold light of his laptop reflecting on his face. He inserted a USB Drive and began planning his trip to France.

As the pages of the file flipped by, his gaze fell on the last few pages, which detailed the crimes of the target Indian businessman: bribery, money laundering, smuggling, and violent crimes. Yet, he always managed to evade justice thanks to his high caste privilege and a corrupt judicial system.

The file indicated that the man's trip to France was ostensibly for the procurement of fixed-wing aircraft.

Beta's fingertips tapped lightly on the touchpad. For a businessman without an airline, what else could he buy in France besides Airbus passenger jets?

The answer was obvious: Dassault fighter jets.

Clearly, the employer did not want this Indian businessman to successfully complete his military procurement deal in France.

According to the itinerary, the 25th would be the day the Indian businessman arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport, and the day he would officially set foot on French soil.

Beta clicked open an underground trading platform, meticulously searching the virtual storefront for blueprints of Charles de Gaulle Airport or plans for surrounding buildings. This type of intelligence circulated like ordinary goods in the underworld; anyone with connections could get their hands on it and resell it for profit.

Beta slowly scrolled the mouse wheel, the list on the screen continuously sliding down. A file labeled "Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport and Surrounding Building Plans" caught his eye.

He clicked on the seller's profile: a 15-year-old account, 8,000 transaction likes, and a perfect five-star credit rating.

In the chat window, Beta typed two words in white font: "Quote."

The other party seemed to be in their daytime, and a reply instantly popped up: "20,000."

Beta countered: "5,000."

The other party waited a moment: "Deal."

Beta chuckled softly. "Heh!"

Payment completed. A moment later, his inbox contained a document and accompanying CAD drawings. Files like these, which had been resold countless times, had long lost their value for encryption.

He clicked the print option, sending the file to the large plotter in the basement, then got up and went downstairs.

The kitchen on the first floor was still lit.

Beta followed the light and found John sitting alone in the circle of light cast by the spotlight, a half-empty bottle of whiskey beside him. The amber liquid gleamed coldly in the light.

Beta pulled out the chair next to John, casually flipped over an empty glass, and poured amber liquid into it. "Insomnia?"

John tapped his knuckles against the rim of the glass. "Yeah."

"'Yeah'?" Beta said. "How about I call you 'Mr. Yeah'?"

John downed the drink. "Not great."

Beta placed the empty glass on the table. "Since you can't sleep, come help in the basement."

The bottom of the glass clinked crisply against the marble countertop.

John stood up and followed Beta toward the basement.

The large plotter hummed with mechanical operation, and an A2-sized blueprint slowly descended like a waterfall. Beta casually pulled off the printed sheet and secured it to the whiteboard with magnets.

John curled up on a sofa in the corner, watching Beta categorize and pin various pieces of information around the blueprint.

Beta asked, "If I were to snipe the target as he disembarks, how could I ensure he stands still for six seconds?"

John replied, "Fire a warning shot first. The bodyguards will immediately pin him down."

Beta shook his head. "The bodyguards will pull him into the armored car, or push him back into the plane. Then I won't be able to see the target."

John said again, "Have the greeters present flowers. The flower-presenting ceremony will have a stationary period of at least five to six seconds."

Beta nodded. "That's a good method. Dassault's people wouldn't begrudge a bouquet of flowers."

He took out a magnetic pin and fixed it to the blueprint near the VIP terminal next to runway 3. Beta measured and tied a red string to the magnet, with the other end wrapped around a red marker pen. Using the terminal as the center, he drew a five-kilometer radius circle on the map, strictly according to scale.

Beta needed to first filter out all buildings within the red circle that might obstruct the view of the VIP terminal, as well as any blind spots from which the terminal could not be directly observed. Subsequently, he would create a miniature diorama based on this data to finally determine feasible sniper positions.

Beta opened his computer, connected it to the 3D printer, and, using the building heights and dimensions indicated on the plans within the red circle, along with images from street view maps, began to recreate the specific shapes of various tall buildings.

Once confirmed, he pressed the start button. The 3D printer emitted a low hum, the filament spool slowly rotated, and the nozzle began to sizzle as it printed these simple building models.

Beta then operated the plotter to output another A2-sized blueprint. He spread this blueprint, which was as large as his tabletop, onto the drafting table in the center of the basement, carefully securing the four corners with metal clips.

"John," Beta said without looking up, "if you don't mind, help me continue printing building models according to the scale of this blueprint."

John sat down in front of the computer, operating the modeling software somewhat clumsily. This kind of assassination planning that required precise calculations was clearly not his forte. He was more accustomed to putting on a bulletproof suit, storming into a target's building with a gun, two shots to the chest, one to the head – clean and efficient – rather than deducing data in front of a computer.

Beta took the printed building models from the 3D printer, cut them out along the outlines with scissors, and then glued them one by one onto the corresponding coordinates on the blueprint. He occasionally referred to satellite street view maps to ensure that the orientation of each miniature building was precise.

The basement echoed with the continuous hum of the 3D printer, the filament spool constantly rotating, and the plastic wire sizzling and melting under the high-temperature nozzle.

John awkwardly placed one miniature gray-white building model after another onto the blueprint, within the red circle with a five-kilometer radius.

When the last building model was placed, the originally flat blueprint had transformed into a miniature, three-dimensional city.

Every building within the five-kilometer radius, from the towering terminal to the low-lying auxiliary facilities, found its corresponding geographical coordinate on the blueprint, forming a precise three-dimensional model.

Beta placed a miniature Airbus A380 model on the tarmac of the VIP terminal.

He took out a brass thumbtack, firmly pushing it into the model airplane. Then, he pulled out more than a dozen bright red marker lines. The red nylon lines radiated from the thumbtack, tautly connecting to every surrounding building model that could provide a sniping position.