Saved By A Beat

         A sense of insecurity accompanies night-time travel in the Colombo City. The sense of insecurity is heightened when you’re driving a bomb across the city. Actually Vasu was being driven, the trishaw driver, the one driving.
         Vasu could see the man’s reflection in the side mirror. He was middle aged, the trishaw driver. Vasu tried to fathom what the man was thinking. Perhaps he had a family. Perhaps he was thinking about having dinner with his family, at least with his wife. It was past ten o’ clock. The trishaw driver drove on, unaware that he might not be going home that evening. Not alive anyway.
         ‘Is something wrong, sir?’ asked the trishaw driver, in Sinhala.
         ‘No! No problem at all.’ Said Vasu. His Sinhala was fluent, but had he been too quick.
         The trishaw driver turned his attention back to the road. As the wind whipped through the trishaw, Vasu felt his clothes inflating more than they already were. The glass phial that hung around his neck moved slightly with the wind. There would be no use for it tonight. He was almost there, almost at the end.
         In his mind, Vasu went over the plan once again. The whole operation had been possible due to Agent Siva’s brains and stealth. The information he had provided had made Vasu’s job much easier. It was child’s play really.
         Almost one year ago, Agent Siva had managed to get a job as a housekeeper, a housekeeper at the President’s House. In the last two months, Agent Siva had observed that for the past two months, on Tuesdays and Sundays, the President left the President’s House at 8.00pm and returned back by 11.00pm. What was intriguing about these outings were that, the President never used the full Presidential Motorcade and, more importantly, they were ‘supposed’ to be secret. So much so that only one Limousine, a jeep and a motorcycle outrider were used. According to the President’s Official Schedule, he was supposed to be at home between the hours of 8.00pm and 11.00pm on Tuesdays and Sundays.
         Once Agent Siva had informed the High Command about these strange Presidential Excursions, Vasu had been put in charge of the case. For more than three weeks Vasu had been discreetly trailing the Presidents Movements. From the President’s House, the motorcade would drive on Galle Road until it reached the intersection between Galle Road and Buller’s Road. Here it would turn onto Buller’s Road and head right down toward the Air Force office and the Restricted Area of Buller’s Road. Here Vasu would have to stop trailing, as civilian traffic is not allowed inside the Restricted Area. About two and a half hours later, the motorcade would return to President’s House via the same route.
         It was still a mystery as to what the President did and who the president saw during these excursions. Such things did not bother or concern the High Command. They were not gossipmongers. The bottom line, the President was playing into their hands. An opportunity had become available and that opportunity was about to be taken.
         A stuttering sound brought Vasu back to his senses. The trishaw was slowing down. Vasu’s heart was speeding up. The driver was pulling the vehicle to the side of the road. They were in front of the Damro showroom. At the Galle Road – Buller’s Road intersection.
         ‘What’s wrong?’ Vasu asked in Sinhala.
         ‘Petrol. It’s finished.’
         Vasu cursed under his breath, yet felt that the gods must be with him. There was a Filling Station hardly twenty metres away. Quickly, he pulled out some money from his pocket and gave it to the driver.
         Grabbing the money, the driver began pushing the trishaw toward the Filling Station.
         ‘No! There’s not time to be pushing this thing. Go with a can. I am very late.’ Said Vasu.
         Confused the driver picked up a can from under his seat and walked toward the filling station. Vasu wanted, needed to remain where he was, in case the motorcade came by. The timing had to be perfect or the mission would fail. He checked his watch. 10.40pm. He looked out through the back window. The damn driver was still walking toward the Filling Station. Did the Sinhalese have absolutely no concept of a hurry?
         In the distance something caught Vasu’s eye. It was the blue and red flashing lights of a motorcycle outrider. Of all days, the President was early.
         Reality dawned. He would have to abort the mission. The High Command would not be pleased. As the blue lights drew closer, the sounds of a siren became apparent. Vasu pulled out his mobile phone and pressed 2 on his speed dial and waited for the number to connect. A beggar was crossing the road. Vasu had an idea.

*

         For the four Presidential Guard seated in the white Defender jeep, the ride was a quiet one. Their second in command picked up the radio.
         ‘White Dove is heading to base. Have the First Lady ready. Over.’

*

         As quickly as possible, Vasu picked up the bag that lay on the floor of the trishaw. It was heavy. He positioned on the strap so that his finger rested precisely and nervously on the small bump. Jumping out of the trishaw, he calmly crossed the road. He stood under the traffic light on the middle island.
         The flashing lights were close now. Vasu closed his eyes for a second, and then positioned himself. The motorcade was about a hundred metres away. It was closing in fast. Vasu started running into the road. Through the corner of his eye, Vasu thought he could see the trishaw driver running toward him. In that second, he thought about how lucky the trishaw driver was. He might be going home to his family that night. Vasu had no family, at least no living family.
         A tear escaped Vasu’s eye as he jumped. Everything was in slow motion. He saw the car approaching and then come into position underneath him, but Vasu was dead before he hit the back of the President’s car and exploded into a ball of flames. A bullet fired from a T-56 rifle, fired by one of the Presidential Guard, had gone right through his head. Both gunman and gunned were dead.
         Neither saw the trishaw driver staring at the scene in awe, or the beggar who had thrown a few feet, or the ambulance that turned onto R A De Mel Mawatha at the R A De Mel – Buller’s Road intersection, and the white Defender Jeep that followed.

*

Saved by a Beat

Colombo, Sri Lanka (AFP): The President was in the middle of a meeting with a Senior Government Official late last night, when he started experiencing chest pains. He was immediately rushed to the Durdans Hospital in the Presidential Ambulance.
         A suicide bomber flung himself onto the President’s car as it was returning to President’s House. The car and the Defender Jeep that followed it, had only seconds earlier, separated from the Presidential Ambulance Convoy.
         Doctors at the Durdans hospital have confirmed that the President suffered a mild heart attack, which saved his life.
         All the members of the Presidential Guard who were riding in the Defender Jeep, died on the spot. The President’s car is substantially damaged. The President’s driver and a member of the Presidential Guard who was travelling in the limousine have sustained minor injuries and are being treated at the Colombo National Hospital.
         After examining the President’s car, experts have concluded that had the President been travelling in the limousine, he would have sustained serious, if not fatal injuries.
         The suicide bomber, whose identity is still unknown, is said to have flung himself onto the President’s car with almost 10kg of explosives strapped to his body and a further 15kg of explosives in a piece of hand luggage.
         According to eyewitnesses, the bomber had arrived at the Galle Road – Buller’s Road intersection in a three-wheeler. The driver is currently under Police custody.
         The Prime Minister is due to address the nation on live TV tonight. Various religious observances have been organised around the Island to invoke blessings on the President, his family and the Government.