Recount of an Escape

March 24 1988

To dear Mr Jones of the Press,

I apologize for the night of March 24 when I took you off guard off the streets. Do not question how I know your name or how I came to know where you were, I had a few reliable connections left.

I finally could find the time and effort to make a quick retelling of the secret I kept for so long. Before I go into hiding from those rogues whom overthrew the late President Edgar, I shall tell you what truly happened during the last moments of our previous government in a manner in which I deemed best to make you believe all that you are going to read now:

The bullets were hailing down on me and my fellow comrades, Alex Smith and Frankie Johnson as we tried to outrace the pursuing rebels. We were lucky as none of us had succumbed to rebel fire. We turned sharply at a corner and hid from our enemies' sight. I removed my automatic pistol from its leather holster and removed the safety catch, holding it at a 45 degree angle to the ground, ready to open fire at a corner.

The name's Seth Cadfay, one of the three working as President Walter Edgar's appointed bodyguards. Formal suits as black as the night, tinted sunglasses and an automatic strapped to on side, we were truly unmistakable. You are probably thinking now, 'Why aren't you with the President if you are under fire?' Well, dear Jones, it so happened that it was our time off that those men in ski masks bursts through the windows opening fire on any civil servant, shouting the name of their leader.

The rebels had ceased fire and the corridor was filled with acrid smoke and gunpowder that made my eyes water slightly. But I did not wait for the smoke to clear or I would miss the opportunity of returning fire without being seen through the thick, grey smoke that encompassed the rebels. Our guns went off in a flash, not wasting any precious time, loud bangs resonated throughout the smoke-filled corridors, followed by the ear-piercing screams and anguishing cries of pain. The smell of burnt flesh was faint in the air. Pulling the trigger at will, we aimed randomly into the smoke screen until the magazines were empty, smoking bullet shells rolled everywhere on the marble floor.

As bodyguards, we were supposed to be prepared for situations like this, but my head was spinning with immense fear and anxiety. I constantly reminded myself of my current predicament and to remain calm as to reach the President's office in one piece and escort him to safety. Frankie, the most experienced and leader of us three, lead us down the shortest route to the President's office, on the way we collected some strong ropes from the cleaner's storeroom, sure that we would need it. With our pistol at the level of our eyes, ready to shoot in defence, we belted off, our appearance scruffy-looking from all the drama that ensued. But who cares about appearance now? Our priority lies with bringing our President to the helipad five stories below and scrambled out of here.

We reached a pair of ornately carved doors made out of oak with a plaque with 'The President's Office' deeply engraved in it. We pushed it open and slammed it behind us, our chests rose up and down rapidly to catch our breaths. We had to get out of this no man's land quick! President Edgar's large black office chair was not facing us; he probably did not hear us shuffling into his office. Alex, the first to recover from our flight to the office, holstered his gun and walked in front of President Edgar.

"Mr Presid..." he did not finish his statement but recoiled in horror at the sight that he set upon. "My God!" He gave a startled cry and stepped a few backed back.

Fear was written in Alex's eyes and I knew that our efforts had been futile. Frankie and I ran towards Alex and we looked at the death stare. President Edgar slumped on his seat, dead and stark, his eyes wide open, frightfully gazed into the distance which he could no longer see. He must have looked into the eyes of his murderer with great fear and saw no more. I shall not continue to make a big issue of President Edgar's passing. In the middle of his forehead between his eyes was a cruel red bullet hole.

Our heads were turned down in respect for our fallen leader, a moment of silence filled the room-it was dead quiet. Beyond these doors, fighting continued between the common guards and those rogues, do these guards know that we were at a losing end? Perhaps, but still, they fight for their own survival. But the dead silence of the room was cut short by a sick sneer, one that vividly contrasted the adversity at hand.

An infidel, the rogue, that rebel which probably murdered the President stepped out of the shadows between the two pillars and stood a distance, but facing us, his face brimming with sheer exultation. He disgusted me to the darkest recesses of my conscience.

"His retribution…if he had pardon my brother and spared him the death row, he would have lived to see past today," the rebel, we then realized was the leader of this vile disposition.

"What your brother did was unpardonable, but to assassinate President Edgar…what you did just now would be reciprocated in double!" Frankie threatened. He was in good correspondence with the President and he knew that President Edgar died untimely and unjustly. Frankie ran forward and assumed a fighting stance and engaged in a fist fight with the rebel leader.

Unfortunately, I had to admit that the guy was a good fighter too. He could dodge Frankie's oppression and no sooner I knew that Frankie seriously needed some help. I signalled for Alex to get the ropes ready as I rush to Frankie's aid. Being trained in rigorous melee (hand-to-hand) combat, I gave all I got and lashed out a brutal beating. Alex meanwhile, got our escape underway, rushing to tie the ropes securely and breaking the large windows to throw the dangling ropes out. I was battered and my body ached from head to toes but I used my last ounce of strength and every effort that I could give and send my opponent careening to the other side of the room and landing with a loud thud. Every fibre of my being screamed for me to stop, if not, I would knock myself unconscious with fatigue.

But the battle has not been won. "Heh! So you think you can get away, eh? Get away from this!" that rogue shouted through his blood filled mouth. He took out a hand grenade, pulled the pin and launched it at us.

My eyes widened and all of us instinctively bolted for our only way of escape-the ropes. We jumped and held on fiercely to the ropes, sliding down as quickly as we could to the helipad below. A loud boom came from above and we were pelted with broken glass and falling debris, fortunately, we were out of range of the blast. Shrapnel rained down my back as I slid down the course rope. As we were moving fast, the friction between my hands and the rope cause pain to shoot up my hands. Grimacing in pain, I fought back the urge to let go and it seemed like a lifetime before we landed on the hot cement floor of the helipad.

Frankie had gotten the ignition key of one of the helicopters, in case of an emergency, and we were going to use it as such. We ran to the specific helicopter and yanked the door open. Pushing ourselves into the nearest seats, Frankie assumed the role of the pilot and we took of without looking back once. 'Nothing left back there', I thought as I recalled the events that had passed. This was not your usual bad day at work. I sighed, as the three of us flew out of the area, helpless and utterly defeated.

Currently we have gotten over these events as written above, denouncing any ties we had to the late President Edgar. None of the rebels have found us out and until then we remained anonymous. So Mr Jones, now you know the hardcore truth of what really happened and not the ill-bred lies that the new corrupted government had been passing around. Whether you would publish all that I say or hide the bare truth is entirely up to your own decision. Even if the government might get hold of this vital information, they would not be able to track this letter is any way.

Do not attempt to find us as we had assumed another identity, the identities I stated in this letter are not in any systems in any way. Should you attempt to do so, well…I cannot guarantee your safety, sir.

Until then I shall remain unreachable by you,

Seth Cadfay

The End

No copying is allowed

It is rather obvious, isn't it?