The delivery van had one unusual aspect – that of a small-scale satellite dish. I watched as it tracked my movements. I’d take three steps forward and it would rotate and adjust its telemetry accordingly. I moved backwards, it followed. I crept towards a tree and hid myself behind its meagre foliage. The dish followed. I furtively slid beneath a vacant park bench – I watched in awe as the dish locked in my position by lowering its y-axis. I was apprehended not three minutes later. The border police had been onto me for sometime – they’d picked up Franco, my border compadre on a trumped-up weapons smuggling charge – and I didn’t stand a chance with the grenades and light-arms bag I was carrying.
