The pristine white Gulfstream G800 deployed its thrust reversers on the runway and slowly taxied into the VIP parking area. A tug latched onto the plane's nose wheel and pushed the priceless private jet into its designated spot.
Under the floodlights on the tarmac, security personnel swiftly took their positions like pieces on a chessboard. Six Mercedes-Benz SUVs fanned out and stopped behind a yellow line twenty meters from the plane. All the window shades were drawn, completely obscuring the cabin.
Only after all the security personnel had confirmed their positions did the plane slowly extend its built-in stairs.
The first to descend were several bodyguards in dark suits. Their leader hurried toward the welcoming party on the tarmac. A familiar figure appeared in Beta's scope: Michael. He seemed to be in charge of ground security, and was speaking with the other team's security chief.
A moment later, the chief turned and went back into the cabin.
Beta's breathing gradually grew long and steady. The red aiming box in his scope contracted rhythmically with each breath, shrinking from the size of a thumb. He slowly raised the barrel, centering the box on the middle of the stairs, about 1.8 meters above the ground.
When the box had shrunk to the size of a soybean, the target appeared at the top of the stairs, shielded by a moving canopy of six black umbrellas. After pausing briefly, he began to walk slowly down the steps.
The aiming box continued to contract, steadily improving his accuracy. With each step the target took, he drew closer to the point at the middle of the stairs.
Michael maintained a professional smile, his hands clasped elegantly in front of him as he bowed slightly to the Indian tycoon descending the stairs. "Mr. Tividi, welcome to