Blanche took her eye from the scope and pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d been on this rooftop too long, waiting for a shot. Duran was staying away from his windows, playing it safe. Three more minutes, she’d give him three more minutes and then she had to go. She’d been here too long already and if she didn’t get a clear shot soon she would have to find another opportunity.
She knew he was in there, she’d spotted him in his slate grey uniform with the canary yellow epaulets. He stayed in the back of the room, concealed in the shadows pawing the women he kept close. Every day was a party for General Duran – he puffed on his cigars and swilled rum like he hadn’t a care in the world. Ironically, she thought that as long as he didn’t know she was here waiting; he hadn’t.