Assange has been trapped in the Ecaudorian embassy in London for five years now, long enough for them to make a movie about the situation. Here is a quick rundown of what happened: Assange (and some other folks whose name everyone but the NSA has forgotten) shit out a bunch of classified documents they'd hacked. People in high places got embarrassed. Someone needed to be blamed. Assange drew the short straw. An few iffy sexual assault charges cropped up in Sweden where, if Assange was to show up and face them, could lead to his extradition to the US, where he could face the death penalty for his actions.
After spending 12 million pounds on guard duty, in 2015 London police claimed that they've stopped posting officers on the building... which is exactly what I would say if I wanted to draw him out. C'mon Julian - just step outside for a ciggie, Nothing to see here.
Whether you agree or disagree with what Julian did, it's time for this farce to end. Spending half a decade in a building seems punishment enough. It's time to let it slide. But since no one seems able to let this go, there needs to be a daring escape attempt.
Fortunately, Julian has me on his side, and fortunately for him, I've developed a plan to outsmart the local constabularies. It is a simple plan, bold but elegant. More of a caper, actually.
Here's the rub: We get a hundred pasty white men willing to dye their hair silver white or wear a wig. Each of them trickles into the Ecuadorian embassy over the course of several hours, each wearing a trenchcoat and a bowler hat. Assange meets them in the lobby. One of the doppelgangers strips off a jacket, revealing another identical topcoat beneath. He gives the extra coat to Assange. Another hands him a bowler hat. Clothed in British street garb, Assange preens, indistinguishable from the school of lookalikes packed around him.
Then it begins. Like a sea of fish, the assembled ranks swarm out the door, Assange tucked within the school of humanity.
As the packs move away from the embassy, each would splinter into different directions. The little ring of surveillance that is no doubt still in place would be instantly overwhelmed trying to follow each member. The Assange group would melt away as other members peel off to draw whatever police resources could be hastily summoned. Finally, the real Assange would be escorted to a private airfield where a plane would take somewhere safe*.
Total cost, like two grand from a costume rental store (I doubt Assange would return his coat; we'd have to pay for that one) and some jet fuel. Putin would probably bankroll the whole thing, just to spite us.
More astute readers will undoubtedly notice that my plan is more-or-less a straight rip off of The Thomas Crown Affair (the remake). But that doesn't mean it wouldn't work.
*An even ballsier plan would be for Assange to stop in at a chip shop, ride the whole thing out with a pint and then take the chunnel. Classy, eh?
Noah's Inner Monologue
Scribblings of a man who can barely operate an idiotproof website.