Monday, September 3rd, 2012.

It's a beautiful day in Medagine, Colombia, 70 degrees, warm and sunny, a light breeze.

The streets are busy, loud with the rumble of cars and motorbikes.

We're in the city center, a nondescript neighborhood

with a mix of residential and retail with street vendors

setting up on the sidewalks. At the corner is a butcher shop. And in that butcher shop is a woman.

Short, heavy set, late 60s.

She makes small talk with the butcher while he wraps her cuts,

the usual order, the usual price. She pays and takes her purchases

towards the door. Outside, her pregnant daughter-in-law waits for her in the car.

They'll make the short drive back to El Poplado, also known as Las

Monsas de Oro, or the Golden Apples. A Ritzy enclave generations of wealthy Columbians have called

home. The old woman steps out into the sunshine.

As she does, a man hops off a motor bike and walks calmly towards her.

He has a message for her, but whether or not he says anything, we don't know.

The message is what he's fiddling with in his right hand.

He raises a pistol and fires two shots into the woman's head. She collapses into the

street and he walks back to his bike and disappears into traffic.

The woman's daughter-in-law rushes to her side, but there's nothing to do.

She was dead when she hit the pavement.

The young woman reaches into the old woman's coat and pulls out a worn leather Bible. She lays it on her chest and

folds her hands across it. She doesn't open it to Matthew 2652, but it would be

...