The plans to rid him simply had not failed. The pilot had accepted his huge money to burn him on the air as the plan worked. Sadly, on a single predetermined day, Mr. Zack and his men were annihilated. The scheme of the planner had worked.
          Mrs. Zack attaining a royal dignity as the nation’s first lady has failed. That game had backfired. She was really a resourceful woman, nearly thirty-seven. She was no longer a girl forced by the seductive power of premarital life into a premature adult for marriage. She had grown naturally to an adult young woman full of strength and character. She could not fall back to sleep easily precisely that critical night. Each time she made her round; she was prepared for the chilling sight that awaited her - the lifeless existence of the man that crossed her very heart after many others. The tears flowed long and hard every day. Zach had died. That was one of the many realities she had failed to accept. She truly loved Zack. There was certain restless grace and agility about him, which at times reminded her of those memory lines. The crash had shattered their peaceful marriage life. They were made for each other. The two lovebirds that perched and sang for the short time they knew each other. They met, fall in love, had misunderstandings and make up, pledge a marriage after many corrections had been made and never regretted further. And so such life guided them safely till they gradually discovered more of themselves than they knew which was an identical interest – love, politics, leadership and service to humanity.
          Such display of grief would not have continued after many months that had dragged to two years if not that she buried her heart deeply for this man. With the heavy sorrow still oppressing her heart she had to cry it all out, the sighs, the tears and sorrows long endured.  Many others who died on that crash had taken it up to bear their losses with ease and had forgotten it all. As these memories survived her existence, she got up slowly from her bed stared at the figure, softly torching it and dropping it at once.
          Now her moment of contemplation was brief. The longer she gazed at that enlarged image of Zack, the blanker became the picture of the man who sat on it. He was no more. With all the sincerity of her nature she wanted to be faithful in her mind as well as her body, even at death, to the man she had once married.  At least in keeping with her loyalty to him. Uncertain about the future and unable to fail to the pressure of going through the necessary legal procedure of going into another marriage, she remained calm. During these eventful times that ran up in her memories, she was literary caged; confused on what to do.
          All these could not have happened .The scars of the recent war was slowly healing and it was a good thing to believe that the consciences of both sides were at work and death by crash as a result of political sabotage was truly criminal and inhuman. When it was assumed that the regions that were deeply affected by the war got the highest victims in the crash, it was possible that the healing scars would reopen. Someday.
          The next day and the next, and the next, were passed in similar though, awful thought.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
*
On June 8 barely two weeks after the night gathering of Mr. Zack and Ribadau came a mortal blow. Mr. Zack has died. The death of Mr. Zack was given the widest publicity. He was a man of the republic, an outstanding one at that. The National broadcast had brought news which was surer and speedier and exaggerated the affair widely, to discredit the government which had threatened to silence him from the corridors of power. Some had some doubts, some asked question for clarification, while some others were caged in what next to say. It was better that way. Anything said at that mournful hour was put to record for interview. Many sentiments were attached to the reports and many things go unreported, facts and thoughts, details and issues. Newspapers and men of the press fought desperately, paid heavily to notable visual and photographic celebrities to catch the best of the incidents, but they failed. Some merely to show their professional prowess, others to be relevant. It was only said to be a political sabotage. Any death connected to politicians were said to be sabotage. Here no one wants to be irrelevant in politics as long as he had tasted the seat. Not even on a gun point. Politics here is a business.