Soundtrack
9:36
Twenty-five shots later, the smoke that swirled through the conference room like a restless cyclone began to evacuate through the remains of an expensive bay window. The men in business suits lowered their handguns, eyes narrowed, searching through the haze for a corpse.
"Mr. Fuller, do you see anything?" The speaker's empty revolver gleamed in the early evening streetlights far below.
"Sir, I....he's..."
Like many revolutions, it began at the coast and spread inland at incredible speed, overtaking towns and cities under the cover of night.
However, unlike other revolutions, where the combatants fought over a particular patch of land and the rights associated with it, this one was fought over, and for, the people already living there.
9:29
"You misunderstand me."
The hooded figure turned to face his inquisitors.
"There is no industrial profit from this operation. Believe me if you will, but although I was a mercenary once, and may well be one again, there is nothing mercenary about my intent, plan, and proposed execution."
There was some muttering amongst the group, doubt and suspicion among the staple themes.
"Are you gentlemen familiar with Sierra Leone? Small country on Africa's west coast, integral to much of the 18th and 19th century's slave trade, and more recently, the diamond market."
The men's eyes lit up at the mention of the precious gemstones.
"Have I got your attention?"
The men in suits nodded, trying not to look to eager.
"Good."
The hooded man turned away once more.
"If I succeed, I will halt the diamond trade, topple their puppeteer shadow government, and give the people the opportunity to establish leadership they deserve."
The suits frowned. Three reached casually for their pockets, and another fiddled with his watch buttons.
"Gentlemen, I am fully aware of your identities, as well as the companies you represent."
He gathered breath for a moment, and let it out in a sigh.
"Companies that will irreparably damaged, if not destroyed, if my errand-list of activities comes to completion."
Two of the suits reached into their jackets.
9:37
The cloaked figure stumbled as the hazy shroud fell to the floor and the gunmen glanced at each others guns in confusion, mentally computing the number of rounds contained in four six-shot revolvers, and comparing it to the twenty-five explosions ringing in their ears.
As they looked in increasing horror to the hooded man, the modest but tasteful chandelier broke loose of its moorings and fell like a ton of bricks onto the suits. The hooded man straightened up, threw the pinned businessmen a sarcastic salute, and dove like an Olympian through the mostly vacant windowframe.
"Mr. Fuller, call our contacts."
"Sierra Leone, Sir?"
The boss stretched his hand out and grabbed a padded jacket with twenty-four bullet holes left by the window.
"No, all of them."
