Shoot Him If He Runs

40

Sir Winston Sutherland sat at his desk, reviewing a stack of files. His phone buzzed.

“Yes?”

“Prime Minister,” his secretary said, “Major duBois is here, as per your request.”

Sutherland closed the file he had been studying.

A uniformed police officer of tall stature entered, came to attention and saluted. “Prime Minister, Major Marcel duBois reporting as ordered.”

“Ah, Major,” Sutherland said, looking him up and down. His uniform had obviously been cut to the man’s body, and he was the picture of military efficiency. “I expect you know why I have asked you here.”

“I would imagine it might have something to do with the death of Colonel Croft,” duBois replied.

“Quite,” Sutherland said. “I have been reading your file-especially your efficiency reports, as logged by Colonel Croft, and I am very impressed.”

“Thank you, Prime Minister.”

“I am promoting you as his replacement, with the rank of lieutenant colonel,” Sutherland said.

“Thank you, sir,” duBois replied, but a flicker of disappointment showed on his face.

“Ah,” Sutherland said, “I detect ambition.”

“Of course, Prime Minister.”

“You believe you should be given Croft’s rank, as well as his responsibilities.”

“I believe that responsibility and rank should go hand in hand.”

Sutherland beamed. “All right, full colonel.”

DuBois permitted himself a small smile. “Thank you, Prime Minister.” He was pleased; after all, he had a pair of Colonel Croft’s eagles in his tunic pocket.

The prime minister stood up and extended an open hand. “Allow me the pleasure of pinning on the emblems of your rank.”

DuBois felt a little abashed, but he produced the eagles and stood at attention while the PM pinned them on. He watched as Sutherland turned to his desk and returned with a framed certificate. “Your commission,” he said.

“Thank you, Prime Minister.” He noted that the commission was for colonel; the PM had been playing with him. “I shall be constantly devoted to following your every command.”

“You’d better be,” the PM said, smiling. “My first command is, find the man who shot Colonel Croft.”

“Yes, sir,” duBois said.”

“And how do you intend to go about it?” the PM asked.

“I have already taken the liberty of canceling all leaves and ordering each man to duty for the duration of the investigation, seven days a week.”

“It had better not take seven days,” the PM said. “What will be your first steps?”

“I shall order the immediate interrogation of every visitor to the island at their respective hotels, so as not to alarm the innocent; when that has been accomplished, I will start on the alien residents.”

“Detach a complement of your men and interview the residents simultaneously with the visitors. Here on my desk is a file on every alien resident, and I wish you to immediately arrest the first six of them and interrogate them at police headquarters. Do not release any of them until you are entirely convinced of their innocence.”

“It shall be done, Prime Minister.”

Sutherland handed duBois the six files. “Are you acquainted with any of these men?”

DuBois quickly leafed through the files. “I know four of them; Colonel Croft dealt personally with Pemberton and Weatherby, the two Englishmen, so I have not met them.”

“Meet them now, and report back to me,” Sutherland said. “Henceforth, you will report only to me, as Colonel Croft did.”

DuBois saluted and left the office.

“Congratulations, Colonel,” Sutherland’s secretary said. She was a tall white woman with beautiful legs and breasts, and he knew that Croft had been fucking her. “Thank you, Hazel,” he said, giving her a little salute. “And I hope that when circumstances permit, you and I might find time to dine together.”

“It would be my pleasure,” she said, exhibiting no grief for the departed Colonel Croft.

DuBois gave her a big smile and exited the PM’s offices. Before leaving Government House he walked down a floor to the offices of the Home Secretary, and in the waiting room he spoke to the male secretary at the desk. “Please tell the home secretary that I wish to meet with him at once.”

The man’s small eyes flicked over duBois’s uniform, noting the eagles on his shoulders. He picked up a phone. “Sir: Colonel Marcel duBois requests an immediate conference. Yes, sir, he is here.” He hung up the phone. “Please go in, Colonel duBois.”

DuBois walked into the home secretary’s office, strode to his desk. “Good afternoon,” he said, placing the files in his hand on the desk. “I require search warrants and arrest warrants for these six men,” he said, “without delay. Please make a note of the names, as I shall be keeping the files.”

“What grounds do you have for these warrants?” the home secretary asked.

“The prime minister’s request,” duBois replied.

“I shall have them delivered to your office in an hour,” the home secretary replied. “Ah…where is your office?”

“Where Colonel Croft’s office once was,” duBois replied. He waited while the home secretary wrote down the names, then took the files and left the office and Government House.

As he reached the bottom of the steps duBois noted with pleasure that his driver was standing next to a new, white Mercedes S500 sedan. His old BMW 3 was not in sight.

“Congratulations, Colonel,” his driver said, opening the rear door for him.

“Thank you, Nigel,” duBois replied. “Take me to my new office.”

“Yes, sir,” Nigel replied. He put the car in gear and sped away.

DuBois ran his fingers over the leather interior and fiddled with the rear-seat controls for the air conditioning and radio. “Nigel?” he said.

“Yes, Colonel?”

“See to the installation of satellite radio as soon as possible.”

“Of course, Colonel. The phone and communications radio have already been installed; the handsets are in the rear armrest.”

DuBois opened the armrest and examined the equipment with satisfaction. “Faster,” he said, then felt the seat press into his back with the acceleration.