Murray McDonald - Assassin

The President understood perfectly what he meant by ‘retiring’.

“That’s a big decision to have taken on your own. Do you not perhaps think you should have checked with me?” said the President, furious, his voice was just below a shout.

Beaumont was taken aback. General Powers was on the assassination list and his demise had already been approved.

“I’ve only moved the timescale,” retorted Beaumont.

The back of the President’s hand caught him just below the eye.

“Do not forget who you are dealing with, you insolent little…! I am the President of the United States of America. How dare you talk to me like that and how dare you decide to only move the timescale without checking with me first!”

“But…”

The President hit the other side of Beaumont’s face.

“Don’t interrupt me!!” he screamed, his face red with rage. He paused to regain his composure.

“Let me make something very clear. You work for ME! I know you have your sights on The Chairman but let me give you some very sound advice. He uses people until he doesn’t need them anymore. He’s the most ruthless son of a bitch alive and he doesn’t let anybody get close. Whatever he’s promised you, he’ll retract. Mark my words.”

Beaumont looked at the President but as he spoke, rather than listen to what was being said, he could only think that the President had become a liability himself. However, he knew better than anyone how to play the game so he assumed the most pathetic and pitiful demeanour and apologised unreservedly to the President for his impertinence.

“Now tell me why you think General Powers has to go and if I agree with you, I’ll sanction your actions.”

The President began to calm down. He was increasingly concerned about how arrogant Beaumont had become and was glad to have taken him down a peg or two.

Beaumont gave his explanation and received the President’s approval, not that he really needed it, thought Beaumont. If he had needed to go over the President’s head to The Chairman, he would have. As the President left, Beaumont touched the area under his eye. He had never been hit before. The man would pay for that and pay dearly. Not long now, thought Beaumont, not long now.

Zach’s father was delighted when Zach called to tell him that he was on his way to pick him up. He was less delighted to hear that Tom was piloting the plane. Tom, he had argued, was only fourteen, had the world gone mad? His son was too young to drive a car but his friend of the same age could pick him up in a jet? What next?!

Just as they were due to leave, Zach phoned his father again to tell him that the arrangements had changed slightly. Durban International Airport was too busy to land at, so they were going to land at a small private airfield next to the beach in Durban. Zach had reassuringly added that although Tom thought the runway might be just a bit tight, it should be OK. With trepidation, General Powers, his aide and his secretary jumped in a taxi and headed off to the small airfield.

As they arrived, General Powers looked worried. The runway was short, very short. His aide was an Air Force general.

“What do you think?” General Powers asked him.

“Short,” was the blunt response as he looked down the runway.

“What type of jet are they in?” he asked.

“No idea, hold on,” said General Powers as he dialled the number Zach had given him.

“Hi Dad,” answered Zach, “we’ll be there in 5 minutes,” he added quickly.

“Zach what type of plane are you in?”

“A Gulfstream G…5…5…0,” he replied receiving hand signals from Tom.

“Hold on,” said General Powers turning to his aide, “it’s a Gulfstream G550?”

“Tell them to turn around, there’s no way we can take off from here,” he shouted.

“Zach?… Zach?…Zach? Are you there?” the phone had gone dead.

“Too late,” said the aide, pointing to the runway. The executive jet was touching down right at the start of the runway and used all but 200 feet of the runway before it stopped and began to taxi towards them. Two minutes later, a very excited Zach jumped out and ran to hug his father.

“Dad it’s soooo cool!” he said looking at the jet.

Tom joined them shortly afterwards.

“Hi General Powers,” said Tom, shaking his hand.

“Hi Tom. Listen, I really appreciate what you’re doing but my Air Force colleague tells me that you may have made an error landing here. The runway’s a bit short for take off.”

“For normal G550’s I’d agree,” he replied politely. “But this one has been modified.”

As Tom went on to explain the technicality of the modification, the aide listened with interest. He, like Tom, knew everything about planes and he soon realised that Tom knew exactly what he was doing, even down to limiting the number of passengers on board. He had only allowed Zach to accompany them on the outward journey and had quizzed Zach on the number, size and build of the passengers they were due to pick up. He had known that Durban may be too busy and that the alternative would require him to travel light.

“Sir, this young man certainly knows his stuff. I’m happy to fly with him anywhere,” said the aide.

“Tom, that’s praise indeed,” said the General.

Two minutes later, they sped down the taxiway and turned as fast as the plane would allow onto the runway before Tom pushed the engines to full power. The modification, he explained to the laymen on board, was a 16,000 lb/ft engine rather than the normal 15,000 lb/ft engine. The extra thrust would accelerate the plane to take-off speed before they reached the end of the runway. The performance figures required a runway of 6,000 ft and they had just done it in less than 3,000 ft.

Donald was marched out of his cell and made to sit in what he would have described as a classic interrogation room. Three blank walls, one mirrored wall, a steel-framed Formica table and 3 chairs, two on one side and one on the other. He had been sitting there for over an hour. These guys had obviously watched all the detective movies, although they had forgotten to take his watch. They were supposed to take his watch to disorientate him. They really were amateurs.

The door opened and a very well dressed man entered, wearing a Saville row suit, Italian shoes and a solid gold Swiss watch. Being a cop obviously paid very well in Guinea.

The man placed a document in front of Donald.

“What’s this?” asked Donald.

“This, Mr Kennedy, is the evidence we have against you.”

Donald immediately began to leaf through the so called evidence. There were over 50 pages of it but he only needed to read the first three to see that he was in very big trouble. Whoever wanted to destroy him had done an incredibly good job.

The first page detailed Alba International’s purchase of a very troubled explosives manufacturer in a former Soviet bloc country. Donald had procured the company 6 months earlier. It had been one of the largest land mine manufacturers in the world. Of course, the real reason for the purchase was overlooked. Donald had procured the company with the intention of saving lives. The factory had manufactured more land-mines than any other in the world. The moment Alba had bought the company, land-mine production stopped. The factory was refurbished and production changed to the manufacture of commercial demolition explosives. There were some specialist military products but these were only for NATO countries. Workers were given new contracts and their working environment changed from one of the most dangerous factories in Europe to one of the safest. Donald was very proud of what he had achieved. But that was all glossed over in the file in front of him.