Sequence 16f 

(The Fugitives) 

Moïse Berri 

and the resurrection of the Haitian Space Program   

by Jude Jarda 

Sequence 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 into a timeworn wooden stove. While performing this rather important but boring task, the duo was whistling and shouting the chorus of a popular Rick James remake song by MC Hammer. 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 for Bangui, the capital of the Central African Republic, rest on a green art-deco 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 on the eve of the hurricane. Réal Couture lives in a country where it rains ice, so he cannot be that dumb if he survived there that long?” 
“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. Réal Couture can't even spot a single difference when he looks at Picot and Albin. He thinks they're siblings or even twins. He doesn't notice the extra ten 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, sitting on 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 in Europe and D.C. 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 Réal Couture. In less than forty-eight hours, Mizerikod will be set ablaze just like Rome under Marcus Aurelius Commodus. Inevitable deaths will occur by the dozen. We only have two coroners: one who believes rum and wheat are the same for breakfast, the other is so lazy, he could compete with a ground sloth in a sleep contest. And the loser takes care of a legion of children, some of them not his. Let's leave the dumb 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 come out of this unfolding uprising alive. 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 departmental penitentiary 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 auditor 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. I have this recorded on my phone. As for us, we must flee the country while we can. Moïse Berri is aware that we collected his fingerprints from that limousine, Louis. He knows about that blood sample we have in our possession. We have the man's actual DNA in our possession. Let that sink in. On a darker side, it seems that one of our numerous foes told the Great Architect of the Reconstruction that we switched sides and joined the Dominicans. That is not good at all. Getting the hell out of the Western Hemisphere is not a choice anymore, Louis, but an urgent necessity. Moïse Berri and the Devil are one. This is technically proven by the simple fact we've never met the two simultaneously. That entity wants us dead and buried, my dear friend. So shut it and hurry up packing.” 

©Jajjazz ©Jude Antoine Jarda