ASSASIN by Ian Lord

Blake watched the figure move furtively through the crowd. He knew instantly that he was one to look out for. A face that would fit into anywhere and yet was easily forgettable. Totally nondescript.
Security was on red alert for the visit of the foriegn Prime Minister, in what was seen as a giant step forward in the peace talks between the West and the Middle-East.
The majority of the people were hoping that all went well in the talks between the two nations, yet there was a small minority of people, from both sides, that didn't want peace, for a number of reasons. There had also been a lot of outrage over the visit, due to the fact that the foriegn PM's country boasted one of the worst human rights records in the world. It was because of these threats that the security services had mounted such an extensive operation that espionage historians were stating that it was the biggest of its kind.
Nondescript was now stood a few metre away from Blake, trying to act as normal as possible. Blake stealthily slid his hand inside his jacket pocket, brushing his fingertips against his trusty Berretta. He felt reassured that his old buddy was strapped to him.
The sun beat down on this glorious summers day and Blake could feel the excited buzz amongst the throng of people. The police had made a few arrests, mainly drunks making a bit of a nuisance, but apart from that the crowd had been on its best behavour. Small mercies, thought Blake.
Suddenly the murmurs of the crowd began to raise a few levels and Blake knew that the procession was about to come into view. He pushed himself through the throng of people to the front of the crowd. The next moment, the fleet of cars came into view. There were three cars, the Prime Ministers were sat in the middle one., behind bullet proof glass. Police motorcycles flanked the cars on either side. They came to a halt outside the Mosque, which was to be the first stop of the visit, followed by the Church, in a bid to show that East and West can accept each other religously as well as politically.
The leader of the Mosque came out of the door and stood at the top of the flight of steps, ready to greet the guests of honour. The close protection bodyguards surrounded the car as one of them, burly with eyes like a hawk, opened the door.
First of all the foriegn PM stepped out of the car, followed by his British counterpart. They began to mount the steps to the Mosque.
Everything seemed to be running smoothly, and Blake took another quick glance to his right, just to check on Nondescript.
What was to happen in the next instant was to change the course of history forever. Blake thought he detected a sudden movement from Nondescript and instantly reached inside his jacket, quick as a flash pulling out his Berretta.
Screams filled the air as a shot was fired. The British PM slumped to the floor, leaving bits of brain scattered all over the Mosque wall.
The assasin then got of a second shot, hitting the foriegn PM, who also went down. Another shot was fired and this time Blake went down. His intestines began to fall out of his stomach where he had just taken a bullet, and he fell to the floor in agony, still clutching his gun.
The next moment Nondescript, better known as Special Agent Ferris, grabbed the gun out of Blake's hand and then knelt down beside him, screaming into his radio that he needed medical assistance urgently.
Blake could feel his life ebbing away from him, as the crowd gathered around his prone figure seemed to become more distant. He didn't know if the foriegn PM was dead or alive but he did know that the British PM was lying dead and that was all that mattered. As death came to take him away Blake felt at peace with the world. He had finally achieved something in his life. People would remember the name John Blake for years to come, and mention it in the same sentence as Lee Harvey Oswald, and that thought filled Blake with immense pleasure.
There would be inquiries into what political motivation there was and whether Blake was a hired hit-man. It would prove fruitless as John Blake was the only one who knew the real reasons, and he was about to take those reasons to the grave.