"He’s got a thermal," Beckett muttered. "He's waiting for us to sweat." "Then don't," Miller replied.
Beckett adjusted the dial on his scope. The click was a tiny, mechanical heartbeat. Through the lens, the world became a narrow circle of heat haze and stone. He saw the glint—the sun bouncing off glass. The Devil was looking for him, too. Sniper: Ultimate Kill
Beside Beckett, Richard Miller—his father’s old protégé and a man who treated war like a chess match—watched through a spotter scope. "He’s got a thermal," Beckett muttered