Heavy drops of perspiration accumulated in the open pores of the base of his neck, coiling down his spine like a seething serpent.  Vicious, monstrous looking insects bit into his perspiring flesh.  A bulbous leech had attached itself to his leg, feasting on his blood, but he didn’t flinch.  His training wouldn’t permit him to violate his mission by movement.  The highly skilled sniper lay in death-like stillness, becoming part of the surrounding jungle.  The micro-thin crosshairs in his scope intersected the torso of an NVA colonel, nearly seven hundred yards distant, as he interrogated his prisoner. 

If it were up to the Silent Warrior, he would let the enemy colonel have the captured American.  As much as he hated the colonel’s prisoner, the sniper had his mission - rescue CIA Section-Leader John Cockney and eliminate any witnesses in the process… or die in the attempt.  The sniper had never failed in a mission objective, and he would not, could not start now.

John Cockney was the personification of evil, plain and simple - selling drugs, advanced weaponry and secrets to the enemy for personal gain, raking in large profits at the cost of the lives of American servicemen.  Simply put, he was a traitor.  After this mission was completed, the shooter would engage in another mission, a patriotic mission of right - to expose John Cockney’s crimes and bring him to justice.  Presently the sniper didn't have the evidence to prove his claim, but it was only a matter of time.  As good as Cockney was at covering his trail, the day would come when Cockney let down his guard.  When that day came, the Silent Warrior would be there to put the first nail into Cockney’s coffin.

His breathing rhythm set, a touch on the tuned trigger would discharge the cartridge, sending the 30.06 round supersonic.  The hand-molded bullet would claim its victim before the shot was ever heard.  The second man would hear the shot, but wouldn’t have enough time to react before his life rushed from him from a second missile.  Mission accomplished, the sniper would become a phantom and vanish into the dense jungle.  Just another moment and it would be over.  A little more squeeze, a touch more pressure, and…

'CRACK!' reverberated throughout the antiquated courtroom as the judge's gavel slammed onto the worn hardwood pad.  Christian Brice almost jumped out of his chair as he was catapulted back to reality.  Looking around the courtroom, he realized that he had been daydreaming.  His nightmare was continuing, but not for much longer.  Today it would be over.   With his neutral plea bargain to a trumped charge, he could pay a fine and get on with his life.

The weathered gray granite walls of the courtroom heralded testimony to high and low profile cases throughout the years.  An army of defendants had been paraded before the district federal judges.  Most of them were guilty as charged, but some were not - as in the case today.  The majority of the federal magistrates and judges were comfortable in the security of their positions - all that is except the one presiding in the courtroom today.  She had been on the bench too long and desired something more, much, much more.

Trim, with graceful age lines in her face, she is Her Honor Judge Elizabeth Vadar.  Her classic looks and professional appearance did little to hide the hardness within.  Being naive in her younger years, Elizabeth Vadar vowed never again to be vulnerable to the pains and cruel turns of life.  Behind her back, Vadar's peers called her Darth; a term she held in affection.  Judge Vadar smiled every time she heard it. 

At an earlier time in her life, Elizabeth Vadar was a gentle and affectionate woman, wife and mother, with dreams of a happy future with her family and career.  Then her life was turned upside down as her veil of security and purpose was ripped from her in two stages.  Now, she was hardened and feared.  Today, she would vent her pain.  The man standing before her bench today would feel her wrath.