chapter 16f 

(The Fugitives) 

Moïse Berri 

and the Reconstruction of the Haitian 

Space Agency 

by Jude Jarda 

16f 

The Fugitives 

The head of the military police detachment posted around Senator Fleurant's villa received no instruction or intimation regarding their power of intervention, in the event of a fire suddenly breaking out inside the vast residence on top of the Morne de la Gloire. While the staff sergeant and the officer cadet in charge of the surveillance operation were examining that very important issue, Senator Louis Edmond Fleurant and Judge Zilerion Campbell were gleefully throwing tons of highly compromising records and archives in a timeworn wooden stove. Many of the destroyed documents were bearing the Great Seal of the United States of America; others were stamped with the Great Seal of France or the one belonging to the Haitian Republic. 

Two airline tickets to Bangui, the capital of the Central African Republic, rest on a cherry coffee table; suitcases form a massive pile in the middle of the living room; historical artifacts, souvenirs and art objects, mainly naive paintings, are wrapped and put aside in steel cases. The uncontrolled muscle movements of the judge indicate Parkinson's disease; the tremors of the senator, an immoderate feeling of discontent. 

“The Canadian must disappear, Zilerion, I am not reconsidering that decision.” 
“That man is innocent, Louis. His limited intelligence prevents him from understanding what really happened here.” 
“But he saw my face! Furthermore, he met his stupid look alike. Réal Couture lives in a country where it rains ice, he cannot be that dumb?” 
“All Black men look the same for most White Folks. The Quebecker is a farmer, a honey manufacturer or something like that, not a scientist. Couture can't even spot a difference when he looks at Picot and Albin. He thinks they're siblings. He doesn't notice the extra kilos or the height disparity between the two. Couture will never be able to identify you in a court of justice. Besides, who is going to hunt you all the way down the heart of Africa, Louis, all the way up the M'Poko River?” 
“May I remind you that they got their hands on Charles Taylor, Zilerion? The man slept on tree branches along with monkeys, and according to his enemies, seating at the Special Court for Sierra Leone, Taylor was a dreadful wizard who knew the secret formula of the invisibility balm. I just don't want to leave any trace behind me.” 
“You're always comparing yourself to greater than you, Louis. The Amsterdam gemologists, weapons dealers all over the world and a coalition of war amputees wanted a piece of Charles Taylor. The United Nations wanted the man silenced before he started naming the people who were backing him up. Back to little you, the International Police doesn't even know you exist. We don't need to get our hands dirtier. Let destiny take care of Couture. In less than forty-eight hours, Mizerikod will be set ablaze just like Rome under Nero. Inevitable deaths will occur by the dozen. We only have two coroners; one who believes rum and wheat are the same, the other is so lazy, he can compete with a ground sloth in a sleep contest. Let's leave the honey maker under Oscar's supervision, a lethal accident is bound to happen sooner or later. It is called statistics; the laws of probability. Our man will not survive the uprising. I'm willing to bet on this.” 
“Can you guarantee it, Zilerion?” 
“Listen; complaints for physical abuse and disappearance have been filed against Oscar Perceval by inmates and families plunged into mourning, from the day that maniac started working for the mayor. These statements fill up a complete floor of the municipal court. Oscar's mutilated victims will inevitably escape from the penitentiaries when the insurrection becomes unmanageable. The Department is not that big, and they all know the address of their former torturer. Will those vindictive men leave behind an inconvenient witness like Réal Couture? You know the answer to that question, Louis.” 
“Let's say you convinced me. But how can we be sure that the assassination contract on the Canadian controller will be executed, if the jailer gets sliced and rolled into a set of burning tires before he can perform his task?” 
“Moïse Berri said that Rogatien Gingras would not walk out of the airport alive. As for us, we must flee the country while we can. Mr. Berri is aware that we collected his fingerprints from that limousine, Louis. He knows about that blood sample we have in our possession. It also seems that one of our foes told the Great Architect of the Reconstruction that we switched sides and joined the Dominicans. Getting the hell out of the Western Hemisphere is not a choice anymore, Louis, but an urgent necessity. Moïse Berri wants us dead and buried.”