The sleek sport bike hummed beneath her, its engine a steady thrum of power as she maintained a safe distance outside Cheikh Abdoulaye's campaign office. Dressed in black attire that blended seamlessly into the night, she kept her keen eyes trained on the building ahead, watching what transpired inside through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that made up most of the walls, while simultaneously relaying real-time updates to the command center in the safehouse.
Inside the office, Cheikh Abdoulaye and his staff seemed to be packing up, their voices a distant murmur through the closed windows.
Cheikh Abdoulaye was a presidential candidate who cut a commanding figure as he strode through the halls of his campaign headquarters. His dignified stature helped him exude an aura of confidence and authority that demanded attention.
He possessed the lean yet powerful build of a seasoned athlete, making every of his movements purposeful and graceful. His face had sharp features, framed by a mane of salt-and-pepper hair. But his physical presence wasn't all that set Cheikh apart; his personality was a unique blend of traits that mirrored keen vision and foresight, that helped him soar above the fray of politics with a sense of clarity and purpose, and strive to lead by example and inspire those around him to reach greater heights.
Beneath his regal exterior, he was known for a steadfast and unwavering commitment to his ideals and principles, approaching every challenge with determination and resolve, refusing to be deterred by obstacles in his path.
His followers had championed him above his opponents because he was one of a handful of politicians known to navigate the corrupt waters of PRK politics with grace and ease.
"Subject is finishing up in the office," she murmured into her headset, her voice low but clear.
As Cheikh Abdoulaye emerged from the building, his posture confident and assured, she revved the engine of her bike, ready to tail him as he made his way through the city streets. "Heading towards the black sedan parked at the curb," she said.
Cheikh's security team ushered him into a black SUV while they got into two other SUVs. The three SUVs then came on, the sound of their engines lighting up the mood of the night. With each turn, she relayed vital information to command, following the presidential candidate's convoy.
—
Dressed as a garbage truck driver with the yellow bib and a face cap to match, the first operative waited patiently for his target to approach. As the unsuspecting target rounded the corner in his own garbage truck, the operative sprang into action. He walked into the road, prompting the truck to slow down, then walked to the driver's side. The driver was clearly startled. He lowered his window and the operative lifted his silenced SIG Sauer P226 to his face and squeezed the trigger.
The driver buckled in his seat, his body held in place by the seat belt, blood splashed into the seat beside him, the dashboard and the passenger side window. The operative pushed him into the passenger seat and climbed into the truck, shutting the door behind him. Inside the truck, he lifted the lifeless body into the back compartment and sat into the driver's seat. He then started the engine, and blended seamlessly into the flow of traffic as he continued along his route.
Meanwhile, beneath the bustling streets, a second operative navigated the dark and narrow sewage tunnels. He had his PDA open in front of him as he walked, with the blueprint of the sewage tunnels clearly in view and a blinking red dot giving him direction, the same hand holding a powerful pocket torch, the other hand carrying a suitcase.
When he got to the blinking point on the blueprint, he dropped the PDA and the bag, moved the torch to his mouth, with the light shining like it was coming out of his mouth, and reached into the bag to retrieve a C-4 contraption. In front of him was an iron ladder bolted to the walls of the tunnel, leading to the manhole that opened to the road.
He climbed the ladder with one hand, the torch still in his mouth, carrying the contraption with one hand. Once he got to the heavy lid over the manhole, he fastened the contraption to the lid. He then wiped his sweaty face with his gloved hand, lifted the manhole, and got out into the street.
At a nearby truck stop, a third operative approached a man in a full beard with a confident stride, his demeanor calm and collected. They had pre-negotiated the purchase of a car. Without words, he threw a rubber band-bound bundle of money at the bearded man. The man smiled, clicked his tongue and retrieved the keys from his pocket. "Hope you like it," he said with a wink.
The operative then took out a pocket pen knife from his pocket and with precision, swiftly swung it at the bearded man. Blood spurted from his neck as his eyes widened in shock. A line had appeared across his neck where the knife had sliced deep into the neck. The bearded man clutched to his neck as he crumbled to the floor, gasping for air with blood pooling out from the neck. With the keys in hand, he slipped behind the wheel of the car, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble as he merged into the flow of traffic.
A fourth operative entered a parking structure, a huge suitcase hunched over his shoulder as he ascended the ramp. With each step, he climbed higher and higher, his senses sharp as he searched for the perfect vantage point. At the topmost floor, he found what he was looking for – a hidden alcove overlooking the road below. He then dropped his suitcase and took out the pieces of his H-S Precision Pro 2000 HTR to assemble. Then, he positioned the rifle, settling into position, his trained eye scanning the road for the anticipated signs of movement.
—
The female operative kept following Cheikh Abdoulaye's convoy, monitoring its progress through the city streets. "Command, this is Eagle Eye. Convoy approaching Lalupon Avenue, ETA two minutes," the female operative's voice crackled over the headset.
"Copy that, Eagle Eye. Prepare for phase two," came the response from Command.
Meanwhile, in a side street nearby, as the convoy turned onto Lalupon Avenue, the garbage truck operative, codenamed Bravo, stationed on Birch Street a few feet from the intersection of Lalupon Avenue and Laitan Street, revved the engine of his truck. He moved the truck into the road, from Laitan Street, blocking one lane. "Command, this is Bravo. Garbage truck in position on Lalupon Avenue, blocking southbound lane," he relayed over the comms.
"Copy, Bravo. Standby for further instructions," Command replied, his voice calm but authoritative.
Meanwhile, still on Lalupon Avenue, the operative codenamed Charlie, who had bought the car, pulled up into the lane the garbage truck had blocked and stopped a few feet from the truck. Jumping out of the car, his face contorted with feigned rage, he stormed over to Bravo, his voice filled with feigned rage. "What the hell are you doing? You're blocking the entire road!" he shouted.
Bravo, maintaining his cover, responded in kind, "Sorry, man. Just a minor issue with the truck. I'll move it in a sec."
In a few minutes, the argument had caused a traffic jam that stretched a few hundred meters. The traffic made the convoy approach the intersection of Lalupon Avenue and Laitan Street in a crawl.
"Command, this is Eagle Eye. Convoy is approaching the target location," Eagle Eye announced, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
"Copy, Eagle Eye. Beta, standby for detonation," command replied, their instructions clear and concise.
The operative that planted the C-4 contraption, codenamed Beta, stood up from the park bench, retrieving a small phone from his pocket. He dialed a pre-installed number on the phone, got up, and walked away briskly.
In that instant, the faked argument between the two operatives ceased. Bravo leaped from the cabin, diving out of the truck through the passenger side door, while Charlie ran across the truck.
With a deafening roar, the manhole below the SUV exploded, sending shockwaves rippling through the street. The ground shook as debris flew through the air, and the targeted SUV lurched violently, the entire area thrown into disarray.
In his vantage point overlooking the street below, the operative known as Delta peered through the scope of his H-S Precision Pro 2000 HTR, watching the explosion and the commotion ensuing. He awaited further instructions from command, his finger poised on the trigger, ready to act at a moment's notice.
Through the crackle of the radio, Command's voice came through. "This is Command. Keep a visual on the target, over."
"Affirmative, Command," Delta replied, his voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Target's vehicle has been disabled, over. Watching for any signs of movement."
"Copy that," Command responded promptly. "Maintain visual and standby for any signs of life. Take the shot if the target shows any signs of movement, over."
Delta nodded silently to himself, his gaze remaining on the target below. Four other security personnel from the other vehicles were huddled around the SUV's debris. Then, a flicker of movement caught his eye. The security personnel reached in and pulled out one of Cheikh's security personnel from the debris of the SUV. Delta's finger tightened on the trigger as he waited, watching.
Next, they pulled out Cheikh Abdoulaye. "Target located, over," he said into his earpiece.
"Eliminate, over." Through his scope, he could see Cheikh's chest heaving slowly. Delta squeezed the trigger, the crack of gunfire echoing through the air as the bullet hit Cheikh in the chest. The movement stopped immediately. Then, he began packing up his equipment.