Killer No.13

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‘One Shot, One Kill.’ Sniper motto. That’s what they taught us anyway. That was once upon a time. A life long gone. Another lifetime.

It was at the Kenya Army School of Infantry. The training was vigorous, and dangerous.

First, I trained as a Recon Ranger, then Special Forces sniper. I was Killer No.13. Lucky thirteen, enhe!
Turned to a razor-sharp weapon, killing machine.

Then was enrolled for a secret hit squad that never existed, and it doesn’t exist. Our missions were TOP SECRET. We eliminated the highest value targets that could be threat to national and regional, make that international, security.

The only problem was that the pay was paltry. You know how the government, especially the forces, is mean.

Solution? I went freelance. In the mansions of powers that be I am respected, and honoured, and a solution to all problems – both political and religious.

Terrorists’ Virgin

I have big, wide and beautiful/lovely/lustrous eyes, like pearls, as the Quran says in Surat Al-Wāqi`ah 56:22 – 23. My breasts are round and firm.  And I am a houri (virgin). I am what martyrs for Allah will get in paradise.

Imara Angani

The crew room at Laikipia Air Base was a flurry of activity and a cacophony of telephones ringing off the hook. Fighter pilot Major Ahmednasir Ramah sweated copiously inside his flight suit as he waited anxiously beside the telephone, glancing every few seconds at the crew-room clock.

Deep in his bones, he felt that either this mission would pass as a blip in his military career or it would be his last. Ramah held the telephone handset tight, raised it to his ear, and listened.

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