Flashes of a dream
Through the opaque glass window, through the smart armor, I see colored lights passing by, giant signs flooding the wide avenue, the rain doesn’t stop tonight, rivers of water run over windshield of the SUV, my head moves to the left and there he is, the most powerful person in the emerald market whom I must protect, his lips don’t move, his gaze is lost along the street and only the slow-moving chest alerts me that he is still alive; ahead is the driver, a Lebanese, charismatic and cheerful.
The traffic lights turn red and the truck stops, now my senses grow sharper than usual, I see and hear how the raindrops constantly hit the hood, I blink to wet my pupils, I turn to my right and through the window I see a man who appears every night on our route, he wears a blue raincoat that covers his whole body, his helmet is black, which makes him look like from another world, the motorcycle he rides is multi-cylinder, I know by its deafening sound that reminds me of the first motorcycle I had; the man stares at us, and inside my head are images that are confused with each other as if to say something, the danger is imminent, he quickly inspects the car and is deep gaze stops in front of mine; I know that something is not right, my eyes quickly run over his body and I analyze every movement he makes, when I reach his waist the raincoat opens so slowly that I can see how the raindrops that were lodged in it fly through the air, his hands hold an automatic submachine gun that fires firmly at us, my heart increases its palpitation, I give the order to start quickly and get my protege out, but the Lebanese is already lying over the steering wheel, blood gushes from his head mixed with drops of water, – he got hit!-. The windows of the vehicle turn opaque the mission is in danger, Dr. Varela. Varela can die, then, I take him by the neck and take his body to the floor of the truck, he no longer has the lost look on the horizon, now the only thing in front of him is the plastic mat in the back seat, and my body on top of his protects him, I am his only salvation, he pronounces some words that I do not understand, he cries desperately, his tears wet my hands, in a fraction of a second I get past the steering wheel, the corpse of the driver becomes my shield, I accelerate the car, but soon it stops when crashing against another one that is ahead, it is too late… . We are surrounded. My voice withers, it trembles and the only thing I can emit with force is – stop the fire, we surrender, we surrender, damn it – The silence becomes deep, the rain no longer hits our battleship, the wait is long.
Suddenly the horn of a taxi wakes me from my sleep, I return to reality, the traffic light has changed its color, I look again to my left, Dr. Varela is still alive, and I will wait for the moment to put into practice the tactics learned in the training camps of the Middle East.