Jessie called one morning in late April. I had just gotten to know her, for about two weeks prior to that call. She was my new controller. Shortly after that, I was on a flight to Manila to meet her the day after she called. The Philippines general election was around the corner, and a certain politician wanted to win real bad. She didn't trust her own Filipino hit men, these guys couldn't shoot straight, she said.

It was only a congressional seat, but in the Philippines, public jobs were highly sought after. A lifetime of wealth and connections awaited those that held such offices. Twenty thousand American dollars was only a drop in a bucket for them. Me, I just felt like going to Philippines and checking out Padre Burgos Street. The job was only a periphery activity.

Manila was Manila - dusty, hot, cosmopolitan and hot. Jessie was already there at the airport, waiting for me. She smiled and we shook hands. I noticed her dimples then. Some women, their dimples, they left me cold but Jessie's were... sexy. I thought, if Burgos Street was going to be a disappointment, I was going to check out Jessie instead.

Aiming for the kill

In the car, Jessie briefed me on what I had to do. The congressional candidate wanted someone who would shoot through a crowd right onto her left or right shoulder. She was specific, only 5.56, nothing bigger because she didn't to get seriously injured. She was going to wear a lightweight body armour, strong enough to protect her from a fatal shoot-out, but weak enough to knock her unconscious. She was leaning on sympathy votes to win her the election. You learn something everyday.

Then came the catch. She did not want me to use a silencer. She wanted the crowd to hear the gunshot. It'd be more effective, she said. Why in the name of everything holy did Jessie not mention this over the phone? Had I known this would be one of the conditions, I would have canceled the whole damn thing.

Not using a silencer would make ME the next target. I am confident of myself, but I didn't know what to expect of the Filipinos. Slouching over the car seat, I gathered my thoughts. It won't be so bad, I thought to myself. All those daily jogs should help. And if need be, I could swim. Okay, I think I can do it. Run, swim, run, swim.

Ha ha, Jessie laughed. You won't be alone, she said. There will be several people firing shots to divert the attention. Do you think we want a dead Malaysian here in the Philippines?

I hate team efforts. Working in a team means I have to rely on others. That's why I have gone solo for so many years. Unless your partner is as reliable as you are, or you could anticipate his or her move, teamwork is bad. Really bad. But at that time, I had no other choice. We were already halfway to Batangas. And I had pumped myself up already. This soon-to-be-a congresswoman was going to get a nice lead deposited onto her left shoulder. And just to show my displeasure, I was going to shoot her bodyguards too.

Batangas country club

Batangas is to the south of Manila. Industrial, dusty, populous, but to a certain extent, somewhat rural. The candidate was going to give a speech that night to a village on the outskirts of Batangas City. The crowd was going to be big.

I was to be stationed at a pavilion overlooking the courtyard where she would be giving her speech. The pavilion opened up to an open plain spread two miles apart littered with tall coconut trees. From the house, I had to run and lug my tools across the plain, into a secondary forest, which was, if Jessie was to be believed, 'only a mile long or so'. On the other side of this forest, my runaway car, hopefully with a good driver, would be waiting. Three miles, I shrugged to myself. That ain't so bad, I thought. I had done worse with Kristy running through New York brownstones with blueshirts shooting our asses.

The equipment I was given to work with was acceptable, but kind of old. It was a Remington 700 nonetheless, chambered with 5.56 mm rounds. It was kept by good hands. The barrel was clean and a thin coat of oil protected the mechanism inside. I cocked it and released the trigger several times. It worked flawlessly.

Jessie put me up at Batangas Country Club. No one will see you here, she said. I looked like one of the locals, I said, no one would notice me. But you speak English with an American accent and you don't know a damn word in Tagalog, she shot back. She's wrong. I say Salamat Po all the time to any Filipina I meet.

It was already half an hour past nine, and our target had not arrived. Was she scared? Was she calling it off? I was too agitated by the swarming mosquitoes to care. At ten o'clock she finally arrived, stepping up to the grandstand and after a short introduction by her host, which happened to be the Batangas City mayor, she took the mike. Gibberish gibberish gibberish. With the bright shining light and a powerful scope, I could make out the outlines of her body armour. She was pretty, but middle-aged. Slightly stout, though.

Run boy run

I aimed at her left shoulder. Inhaled deeply and held my breath. Pulled the trigger. She winced when the bullet struck her. Before she could touch her left shoulder, I cocked the rifle and shot her right shoulder. Her guards rushed to her side. I had two rounds to spare. Used the rounds on her two guards, both on their left thighs. I love leaving a personal signature.

A few other shots rang across and around the courtyard. The crowd started screaming and trampling on each other. Her guards shot back wildly, but four rounds managed to come through my window. I slung the rifle, crept out of the house and ran across the coconut field.

Weird, but when I ran across that field, I became a small boy again. That little boy from Bintulu that was chased by the village bully, and threw stones at the prettiest girl in school then. I started laughing, because despite being shot at, and chased by ferocious dogs - I could smell their breath - I felt so free.

"Schingg!" Something, what, a bullet? flew past my head. This ain't no time to think about schooldays, I thought. I ran for my life.

My ride was waiting for me. In the truck I disassembled the rifle and threw away each part at every river bridge we crossed. We drove all the way back to Manila that night.

Arriving at Dusit Hotel in Makati, I saw Jessie smilingly widely. Huh. What, I said. "You did a good job," she said. Shooting the guards was a fine touch. She showed me the text messages in her cell. Jessie gave me the keycard to my hotel room. Room 913, she said. I'll join you shortly, she added, smiling ever so sweetly.

Damn, those dimples.

THE ASSASSIN considers himself friendly and religious. He is a devoted family man and his hobby is swimming. Contact him at armycapitaine@yahoo.com.