RICH PRANAJA HEIR TO TIRTANALA
EPS 83 ALLEGED TERRORIST

EPS 83 SUSPECTED TERRORISTS

“WUUIII…! WUUII…! WUU…!

The sirens of the police cars rang out breaking the silence of the night. Some vehicles that are passing by, immediately marginalize the vehicle. In the city centre, thick smoke and blazing flames were seen from the largest hotel in Astana, where Pranaja was staying. The atmosphere of the night in the quiet and deserted city was slightly warmed.

“There was a great explosion and fire at the L’home hotel in downtown Astana an hour ago. The culprit was a young man who booked a room and stayed there five hours earlier. Until now, police are still looking for the suspected perpetrator of the explosion and have not been found. To all people who know the whereabouts of this young man , to report it to the police,” said the news that was broadcast repeatedly by all radio and television stations.

Pranaja was walking fast against the current with people who were walking towards the hotel, Apparently they wanted to see firsthand the horrendous event at the scene. With all-black clothes and a mask covering part of his face, he was able to escape the police observation that stood guard in every corner of the city.

“Damn! Stupid media! They have really turned the facts upside down, accusing me of being the perpetrator of the bomb attack on her inner L’home.” hotel. “The capitalists must have infiltrated every medium to create a black opinion about me and cover up the real culprit.”

After walking for almost two hours, Pranaja stopped his steps at a Kafe on the outskirts of the city. No other visitors, maybe he's the first. The owner is still busy arranging and cleaning tables, chairs and the entire room.

“Assalamu’alaikum!” Pranaja said his regards.

Over seventy percent of Kazakhs are Muslims. The rest are of different religions. But they can coexist peacefully. It is rarely heard that there are religious conflicts taking place in this country.

“Wa’alaikum salam,” sahut the owner of the Cafe.

Staring at Pranaja with a friendly face. He handed her the menu book. Pranaja watched carefully. There are ten kinds of typical Kazakh culinary that became the mainstay dish in this cafe. Most of them use horse meat as their main ingredient.

“I order Beshbarmak,” he said briefly.

In contrast to other countries that prefer lamb or goat meat as the main ingredient. Kazakhs use horse meat that has been boiled for a long time so that the meat is tender. Served with a few grains of potatoes and a thin paste that has been boiled. Then in a clear broth of horse meat is called sorpa which has been seasoned so that it tastes rich in spices.

Bashbermak is served in a special dish called seje. This food is also often referred to as five-finger food, because it must be eaten with the fingers of the hand. Cannot use a spoon or fork.

“Drink?”

“Black Coffee and Kumiss,” says again.

Kumiss is a typical Kazakh drink made from fermented camel milk. The fermentation process removes lactose from the milk, making it a healthy drink alternative for consumption.

“Please enjoy sir,” said the cafe owner while serving food and drinks ordered by his foreign guests.

Pranaja took off the mask that covered his mouth and began to enjoy his dishes. Hm, it turns out delicious also this horse meat dish. His flesh felt soft and his caldron taste was so melted in his throat. Finished finishing his Kumiss food and drink, the young man started sipping his black coffee. A group of girls riding bicycles waved their hands to greet Pranaja.

“Hai, handsome!” greet them.

Pranaja immediately spread his charm. Wiggling their eyes while giving kissbye to them.

“Hai, cantiiik!” saith. “Mmmuahh..!”

“Wow!”

“What!”

“Who.a!”

“Shelf! Brak! Brug!”

They were so excited that they forgot to turn and hit the pavement in front of him. Pranaja turned his body. Approaching the owner of the cafe who was seen being engrossed in following the news on television.

“How much should I pay for all that food and drink, sir?”

“How much is everything pack?” ask Pranaja again.

The owner shook his head. His face looked so tense.

“Tid,.no need bay.yar. Free!.yes right, today is free!” ! said stammering.

His face is clear. Wants the guest to leave the cafe immediately.

“Free? Whatchu mean? “ ask Pranaja.

His forehead looked wrinkled, wonder why the cafe owner's face was like afraid to see it? But after glancing at the news on television for a moment, he realized why the cafe owner had suddenly changed his mind.

Pranaja stood up and raised both his hands.

“Quiet sir. The news is a lie, I'm not the culprit. You believe me, right?”

The cafe owner nodded his head.

“Now keep your hands off your phone and do not contact anyone. Okay?”

The owner nodded his head back.

“Good..good.I won't tell anyone,” he said with quivering lips.

“Thanks. It's money to pay for my food,” he said as he placed a few pieces of money in front of the old man.

Pranaja ordered a taxi. Then he turned around and left the cafe. As soon as he got to the side of the road, a taxi of his order came to him. Then darted at high speed away carrying Pranaja's body towards the city limits. As soon as the taxi disappeared from view, the cafe owner called the police. Tells the existence of a young man who looks like a suspected bomber at the L’home hotel.

In an instant the cafe courtyard was filled with police cars from anti-terror units. They set up police lines and conduct checks. Some bomb squad officers combed every corner of the cafe with special detonators, looking for possible explosives.

***

The morning was very bright. The sun so brightly shines on the earth, giving warmth to every heart that wakes up with a new spirit to open the day. Because the call of the horse's neighing voice and the whining of the sheep that needs a human touch upon waking from its slumber, is a duty that its owners must fulfill.

The taxi that Pranaja was riding glided quietly on the one-way street. With a population of just one million people, Astana is the most deserted capital in the world. There are only a few cars that pass, that's most of the freight cars.

“Where are we sir?” ask the taxi driver.

“Take me to the city border,” said Pranaja.

The taxi driver did not say anything more. He only increased his speed to get to where his passengers were headed. Then a few seconds later slow down the speed of the vehicle.

“Why are you slowing down your vehicle speed sir?” ask Pranaja,

“There are two box cars blocking our way,” said the driver.

Two box cars go hand in hand on the right and left roads are bounded by rock cliffs. They can't overtake him. But once entering the unclogged road, the two big cars opened, one to the right and one to the left.

And Pranaja gasped in surprise. Within a hundred meters, an American Apache helicopter was sighted. The helicopter floated quietly in mid-air, then fired two Patriot missiles equipped with cameras from its target. The two missiles shot quickly and immediately destroyed the taxi car containing Pranaja and the taxi driver to smash into pieces.

BLAR!