Côte d'Ivoire, Abidjan, Presidential Palace.
Gunshots rang out at 4:20 a.m.
The "Black Mamba" stood on the steps of the Presidential Palace, looking at the corpse in a white military uniform under his feet.
Côte d'Ivoire President Bedie had been dead for less than ten minutes, the bullet entering through his forehead and blowing a bowl-sized hole in the back of his head.
Beside lay a dozen high-ranking government officials, including the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the Minister of Internal Affairs, the Secretary-General of the Presidential Palace, and several women in pajamas—the President's daughters and mistresses.
"Who's in charge of the port?"
The interpreter translated it into French. Among those kneeling, one person looked up, in his forties, bald, trembling all over.
"I... I am."
The "Black Mamba" walked over, crouched down, and looked into his eyes.
"Who's operating the port's container scanner?"
The bald man opened his mouth but couldn't speak.
