He had been given all the details about the targets daily routine and took into account that he might change the deathly routine although he knew the target was ignorant. The gun he held in his hands was bought for him by the same group of people that were supposed to help him.
From the corner of his eye he saw movement in the distance it was only a cat. Suddenly he sprung to life as his target came out of the old decrepit house. He waited patiently until the target came out into the open street. The street was empty: only him and the target. Surely he won’t miss this vital shot. The target came out into the street and walked towards his brand new car in the same direction as our predator. The target came so close to him that it was impossible how he didn’t see him. He took the shot.
Hit!
The target was taken off his feet and flung ten feet back as the bullet tore through the levator scapulae. The target lay on the ground and waited for the danger to pass. But the target was never out of danger. He drove the rusty car next to the target. He got out the car and into the cold deathly air. He picked up the target with latex gloves that covered his hands and put him in the passenger seat of the car.
“Hello doctor!” he said angrily. “Nice of you to drop in!”
This shot had made him a hundred thousand pounds paid into a secret bank account somewhere in Switzerland.
It took him half an hour to go to the next rendezvous at the basement of a tall block of flats in the city centre. He parked the decrepit car in the car park and got out. He went to the rear of his car, opened the boot and took out a wheelchair. He took the chair to the passenger and stopped. He put on another pair of latex gloves. Then opened the passenger door and wrestled the target into the chair. He wheeled him to the modern block of flats. His home when he was younger. The flats had a lift at the very centre. The architect that designed it must have been paid a lot to design it because there was nothing negative about it.
He wheeled the target up to the first floor to a secret room that no one knew about. It was very large with lots of medieval torture devices in it.
There was also twenty seven people savagely tied up and whipped to near death.
He took the target and tied him up with strong deathly black rope. He tied him up at the far end of the room away from all the victims then went to a cupboard and opened the louse eaten, wooden door. Inside the cupboard was a very used whip, fifteen sticks of dynamite, a dynamite fuse, a wind up alarm clock and a pin. He took out the whip and went over to the latest victim.
“I’m simply doing what you did to my son and as you are a doctor you know all about death. You know as well as I do that my son could have got a bone marrow transplant,” his voice cold and reeked of venom.
He unravelled the whip and started to take his anger out on the victim by savagely whipping him until he screamed out like a whistle.
“I’m sorry sir! It wasn’t my fault!” the doctor pleaded until he stopped whipping him.
He thanked him but he didn’t want to hear it.
He went back over to the cupboard and took out the rest of the cupboard contents and put the whip back. He took everything with him down to the basement of the flats. He had already strapped all the sticks of dynamite together and, finally he attached the fuse to the dynamite. He opened the clock up and made a small hole between the seven and the eight. He attached the pin to the back of the hour hand and then he put the clock back together. He put the other side of the fuse into the hole he had made until it reached the point where when the hour hand would reach in between the seven and eight. When he finished making it he placed it delicately on the ground, left the building got into his car and drove off.
The bomb went off at exactly half seven the next morning.
The lone bomber had hit again.
Twenty eight doctors die because of a simple operation that could have taken place to save the assassins son and it didn’t because they thought it was too risky.
