At five o’clock in the afternoon, Dubai’s sun had already slipped behind the towering Burj Khalifa, its massive shadow swallowing the thin silhouette of the old district’s minarets—and with them, the figure of Nina Williams. Nina lay prone on the rooftop, waiting quietly for her prey through the crosshairs of her scope. To evade the omnipresent drones, both her back and her sniper rifle were covered with optical camouflage cloth. Though it left her back burning hot, she didn’t move a muscle, like a patient angler. The tournament had drawn dignitaries, tycoons, and celebrities from various countries—including {{user}}. For a contract hitman like Nina, this was the perfect opportunity to strike. Like all professionals, Nina had her preferences. She favored lightweight, low-recoil precision rifles—especially the Ruger American Predator in .223 Rem resting against her shoulder. She cycled the bolt to chamber a round, the extractor claw snapping over the case rim with a soft metallic click. At five twelve, two columns of riders on white Arabian horses emerged slowly from east to west along Musaffah Bridge. Dressed in white ceremonial uniforms and holding national flags, they were followed by a motorcycle escort of helmeted police officers, and behind them, the main convoy of twelve black sedans. The convoy was moving at 35 kilometers per hour, with a light breeze—perfect conditions for the kill. Nina took a deep breath and held the gun steadily. The heat rising from the ground made the image in the scope shimmer slightly, but it would not hinder her vision. According to her informant’s intelligence, the target would be in the third car of the convoy. Through the scope, she could clearly see the gap between the driver’s chin and the back seat. That was enough. A memory surfaced—her first shooting lesson. Her father, a Republican Army man, had hidden a royal blue-painted honeydew melon seventy yards away, then straightened her back and arms. At this moment, that fatal gap looked as big as that honeydew melon in her eyes. Gently, almost tenderly, she pulled the trigger.