As Matthew walked into the gun club, he saw Nibora waiting for him. He pulled his friend into a hug and asked, "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in ages, and look at that tan."
Nibora's skin had taken on a bronze hue, and his toned muscles radiated a healthy energy.
"I was in Texas," Nibora explained, stepping back from the hug. "I invested in a project and had to go out there to oversee things for a while. I just got back the day before yesterday and called you right away."
He turned. "Co on, let's head to the range."
Walking beside Nibora, Matthew asked curiously, "You ntioned there was an expert at the club? Who is he?"
Nibora just smiled. "He's not here yet. You'll see soon enough."
The pair entered the shooting range, where half a dozen other people were gathered. Like Matthew, they were regulars who ca to practice, and they all exchanged familiar greetings.
Matthew picked up his usual M9 pistol and a few magazines, then moved to a shooting lane. After a quick check of the firearm, he took his stance. Nibora grabbed a weapon of his own and took the lane next to him.
"How about a little competition?" Nibora suggested. "I've been getting so pointers from an expert, and my marksmanship has improved."
Matthew flicked off the safety. "Loser buys lunch."
"No problem."
Matthew grinned and gestured for him to go first.
Nibora slipped on a pair of ear protectors, raised his pistol, and took aim at the target fifteen ters away. He squeezed the trigger several tis in quick succession.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
After firing ten consecutive shots, Nibora lowered his weapon.
The mont the reports faded, Matthew settled into a standard standing stance. He put on his own ear protectors, raised his pistol, aid, and began to fire.
After his tenth shot, he lowered the pistol and glanced at the nearby monitor. "Ninety-two points."
Nibora sighed. "Still not as good as you." He held up his hand in a gesture of concession. "Seventy-seven for ."
"You've definitely improved, though," Matthew said honestly.
Before, Nibora's score for ten shots usually hovered around sixty points.
Just then, soone else entered the shooting gallery. As soon as Nibora saw him, he waved him over. "Chris, over here!"
The man nad Chris made his way toward them.
Matthew turned to look. The man was tall and powerfully built, with a distinct military bearing that vaguely reminded him of Brown Williams.
Brown Williams had been out of the army for many years, and the hard-edged temperant forged on the battlefield was no longer so pronounced. This man Chris, however, seed different; to soone like Matthew, who had undergone professional military training himself, he had the unmistakable look of a veteran who had just been discharged.
Seeing him, Matthew imdiately recalled what Nibora had said on the phone—that this was a forr Navy SEAL captain.
"Chris, want to give it a shot?" Nibora gestured toward the shooting lane.
The man nad Chris didn't waste any ti. He deftly swapped out the magazine and, without bothering with ear protection, raised the pistol toward the target and fired ten shots in rapid succession.
After the tenth shot, one of the onlookers moved closer to see the monitor and exclaid, "A perfect hundred!"
A murmur of admiration went through the small crowd. For a group of amateurs, a score like that was astounding.
Matthew was impressed as well. The man was clearly a professional, in a completely different league from an amateur like himself.
The small group gathered around and broke into applause, filling the range with noise.
"Nice shooting!" a few of them called out. Matthew applauded along with them; it was only natural for there to be a vast difference between an amateur and a pro.
Nibora announced, "Alright everyone, keep having fun! Lunch is on !"
The others dispersed, leaving only Matthew, Nibora, and the man nad Chris.
"Let
make so introductions," Nibora said, gesturing first to Matthew. "Chris, this is Matthew. He's a Hollywood star, and pretty handy with a firearm."
Matthew smiled and added, "Strictly an amateur."
"And Matthew, this is Chris Kyle, a new friend of mine from Texas."
"Hello," Matthew said, taking the initiative and extending his hand. "It's a pleasure to et you."
Chris Kyle shook his hand firmly. "You too. Pleasure to et you."
As he gripped Matthew's hand, he felt the calluses, rough like his own.
It wasn't the hand of a typical Hollywood star; it felt like the hand of a man who, like himself, had seen combat.
No wonder he managed to take down three ard terrorists by himself, Chris thought. It wasn't just luck. The man has had real training.
Chris had previously served as a captain in the Navy SEALs, earning two Silver Stars and five Bronze Stars. During his ten years of service in Iraq, unofficial counts credited him with 255 enemy kills. The official confird number from the Departnt of Defense was 160. His longest successful sniper shot was from 1,920 ters—the longest recorded in the history of the U.S. military.
Hearing those numbers, Matthew was genuinely stunned. That wasn't the record of an ordinary soldier.
"That's all in the past," Chris Kyle said, his expression calm. "I'm out of the service now."
Matthew certainly hadn't expected to et a sniper of that caliber at Nibora's gun club.
The three of them followed Nibora out of the shooting gallery and into the adjacent lounge. Chris Kyle wasn't like many veterans who returned from the front, withdrawn and unwilling to engage due to psychological trauma. On the contrary, he was quite talkative.
When Matthew asked a few curious questions, Chris Kyle briefly recounted so of his experiences on the battlefield.
A chief petty officer who had served nearly a decade in Iraq, a sniper with over two hundred confird kills—his story was nothing short of legendary.
As for whether any of those he killed were innocent, Matthew wasn't particularly concerned. The people of Iraq ant nothing to him.
On the contrary, he found this Chris Kyle fascinating.
His interest was piqued, in part, by what Nibora had told him.
"Chris is planning to start a company," Nibora explained. "He was originally thinking of setting up in Houston or Dallas, but after we t, I convinced him to co to Los Angeles and check out the scene here."
Matthew turned to Chris. "What kind of company are you looking to start?"
"Military contracting," Chris answered, clearly having a plan already in mind. "Specializing in sniper training for military and law enforcent personnel."
He added with a small smile, "I've already got the connections."
"So?" Nibora asked directly. "Are you interested, Matthew?"
Matthew trusted Nibora's judgnt. After a mont of thought, he said, "Chris, I don't know much about that industry. Could you give
a brief overview?"
Chris paused for a mont before replying, "I have a detailed business plan prepared, but I didn't bring it with
today. I'll get it to Nibora later, and he can pass it on to you."
Matthew nodded, realizing now that Nibora had brought him here specifically for an investnt pitch.
Seeing that Chris wasn't just making empty promises, Matthew felt it was a much more solid approach than just talk.
Nibora added, "Matthew, I just made a big investnt back in Texas, so my own funds are a little tight. That's why I wanted to bring this to you."
"Where would the company be based?" Matthew asked directly. "And how much capital are we talking about?"
"I was originally planning on Texas," Chris replied, "but after eting Nibora... well, a lot of my old comrades are stationed at the bases in Southern California now. So I'm thinking of finding a suitable location here in Los Angeles."
"The initial investnt isn't huge," Nibora jumped in. "I was thinking you and I could each put in two million dollars for a thirty percent stake. Chris will put in one million, plus his network and expertise, for the remaining forty percent."
Matthew remained silent.
Nibora continued, "That's the rough outline. We can hamr out the specifics once you decide if you're in."
Matthew looked from Chris to Nibora. "I'll need to see the business plan first."
He trusted Nibora, but he had his reservations about Chris Kyle. Besides, he wasn't foolish enough to commit to an investnt after a single eting, even if two million dollars was a trivial amount to him.
"I'll have the proposal evaluated," he stated. "I can't make any promises until I've done my due diligence."
Chris nodded. "No problem."
When Nibora had ntioned he could get Matthew Horner on board, Chris had co to Los Angeles imdiately. He'd seen the video of the shootout, and now he'd t the man in person.
Having a star of that magnitude involved, even just as a partner for military contracts, could bring in a lot more business if leveraged properly.
Matthew didn't say anything more, not even about the equity split Nibora had proposed. If he did decide to invest, the percentages would have to be renegotiated. But without a proper evaluation, there was no point in getting ahead of themselves.
With the investnt talk concluded for now, the conversation shifted to other topics. Matthew was particularly interested in Chris Kyle and his near-legendary experiences.
There were probably only a handful of snipers like him in the entire world.
Whether one considered him a killer or a hero, Chris's experiences were unique.
"Chris," Matthew said, seizing an opening in the conversation. "Your experiences over the last decade are extraordinary. Have you ever thought about docunting them in so way?"
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