A Perfect Spot for the Kill.


Ka was standing on his balcony, looking down on Freedom Boulevard, stretching 5 miles straight to where the sun sets, behind the mountains (‘where the terrorists hide’). Without snowcaps now during the summer months, looking almost within a hand’s reach. The city’s western half unfolded peacefully before him; its centers of power and corruption and the obscene mega-cross on mount Valu hidden from Ka’s view. A romantic near-full day-time moon was hanging in the sky, a bit to his left, just above the intersection below.

‘A perfect day for an assassination’, Ka thought when a policeman switched off the traffic lights and took manual control, bringing the afternoon rush hour to a standstill. Cars hunked impatiently, busses blew out suffocating clouds: It’s time for the President and his motorcade to make their twice-daily ride between his mansion and the government buildings on the near bank of the river.

Usually – if he’s not traveling abroad or entertaining guests downtown – it is around the same hours. You just bring up some weapon and target the long, lead-grey Mercedes with the curtains. It doesn’t go very fast and it is not really armoured because the government had no money for that. So a miss from this distance would be unlikely. It’s a perfect spot for the kill.

Of course this is just a silly thought, but it came to his mind when the authorities suddenly cordoned off the ancient fort, across the river from the government buildings.This in case the terrorists want to do what Ka is fantasizing about: blowing away the State. They would need mortars or grenade launchers to do what Ka could bring about with the used Kalashnikov he could have purchased two weeks ago for 50 dollar – including a full band of ammo.

A steady flow of techno-beats from the park started drifting Ka’s way. He looked down, and noticed that the traffick lights were on again. He had again missed the President.

May, 2002

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