John Robb - I Shall Avenge!

“That’s enough, major. You are under arrest for insubordination!”

Baya’s breathing became audible. He spoke with difficulty—in contrast to his previous vituperation.

“You—you are going much too far, colonel. I have work to do. Perhaps we will talk again when you are in a more reasonable mood…”

He attempted to push past Jeux. But Jeux’s pistol, pushed into direct contact with Baya’s chest, brought him to a halt.

Baya glared at the barrel. He was almost sobbing with fury. It was his fury that killed him,

He whipped up his left hand m an attempt to brush the gun away.

It was a badly judged attempt. Instead of hitting the side of the gun, Baya struck directly beneath the breech. It jerked up. The effect was to force the trigger against Jeux’s forefinger.

There was a hollow, echoing explosion. And an immediate odour of burned cordite.

Major Baya lay stretched on the floor. The grey remnants of his cerebral organs were oozing out of his skull and over his face.

It was Monclaire who took over. Never before had Monclaire thought and acted with such speed.

He said: “ Permittez - moi ,” and took away Jeux’s still smoking pistol. He placed that pistol in Baya’s hand, folding the dead fingers around the butt. Then he dropped Baya’s own pistol into the colonel’s holster.

There was just time to remove the cipher message from Baya’s pocket before the orderly officer and two N.C.O.s came rushing into the mess.

“Suicide,” Monclaire told them as they stood aghast. “Another second and we might have been able to stop it. He fired as we were coming in…”

The medical officer was a newly commissioned young man. He blended tedious enthusiasm for his work with awe-struck respect for all senior officers. He almost saluted Baya’s blanket-covered corpse as it was carried out.

Then he blinked anxiously at Monclaire through horn spectacles.

“I say—why do you think he did it?” he asked.

Monclaire was in no mood for a hypothetical discussion with a sous lieutenant .

“Possibly because he was tired of life.”

The medical officer nodded seriously.

“Ah, oui . But… but I am surprised that he should come into the mess to kill himself. I mean… his own room would be a more natural place.”

Monclaire felt a strong desire to order the youthful doctor out of the room. But he restrained himself. He said curtly: “I agree, it is unusual. But one could always rely on Major Baya to do something out of the ordinary.”

“And he was not a very good shot, was he?”

“Why?”

“Well capitaine , he blew the top of his head away, and the bullet was obviously moving in an upward direction. As it happened, he was killed instantly, but he could easily have lingered for many hours. Why didn’t he place the gun level against his forehead? That would be a much easier thing to do.”

Monclaire pulled out his cigarette case. He offered it to the medical officer, who accepted with respectful alacrity.

When they were smoking, Monclaire said: “I think it must have been a sudden decision. Probably he decided to get it over when he heard the colonel and me approaching. In his haste he would not have time to aim properly.”

The medical officer nodded vigorously.

“ Mais oui ! Now you mention it, it is all so obvious… merci , capitaine . Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will make out my formal report.”

And a fully satisfied sous lieutenant departed for the medical inspection room.

Monclaire finished his cigarette. Then he walked towards Jeux’s office. He had managed to ease Jeux out of the mess within a few minutes of Baya’s death. For the colonel had stood dumb and palsied during that hectic period and Monclaire had feared for him. Feared that he might blurt out the truth.

He was only dimly aware of distant sounds of shouting as he crossed the parade ground. In a disconnected way he realised that the noise came from the town centre, and probably the Arabs were already causing trouble. But the conclusion made no impact on his mind. At the moment he was concerned only with Jeux…

And the moment he entered the office he knew that his fears were confirmed.

Jeux was half sitting in his chair, half sprawled across his desk. An empty brandy bottle lay upturned at his elbow and a tumbler was beside it. He looked up slowly, as though the action of raising his head was an effort.

And he whispered: “ Dieu … I’ve murdered him…”

Monclaire put his arms under Jeux’s shoulders. He lifted him back into the chair.

“You did nothing of the sort. Baya killed himself as surely as if he had pressed the trigger. So far as you are concerned, it was a something for which you were not responsible.”

“Then I must tell the truth.”

“The truth would serve no purpose—other than to do Baya’s work even after his death. Don’t you see? Everything would emerge at the inquiry. Yes, perhaps in the end we would be formally vindicated. But only formally. What sort of career would we have after such a scandal? We would be finished, mon colonel , finished…”

Jeux raiscd a shaking hand and pressed it to his temple.

“But I can’t go on… non , I can’t…”

He began to sob. Silently. Inwardly. But none the less obviously.

That brief flashback had vanished for ever. The real Colonel Jeux, the brave and determined soldier of France, had re-emerged for only those few brief minutes in the mess. Now he had reverted again.

But Monclaire felt a deep gratitude. Gratitude for the fact that he had been able to glimpse, temporarily, those qualities that had once, long ago, been there permanently. And he also felt a hard, unyielding desire to protect this old soldier. To defend him from himself.

He spoke firmly and with a confidence he was far from feeling.

“Listen, mon colonel , we are friends are we not? Then I want you to trust me. You are tired. You must rest. Now that Baya’s dead, I am the second in command here. I want you to leave it all, leave everything to me. I have faced crises before and 1 can face this one. I will settle the trouble in Sadazi within a day. I will find that damned woman, Annice Tovak, and have her sent back to Oran where she can do no more harm. Then I will go out to Tutana to patrol the oil line, and none will know that there has been any delay. Will you trust me?”

At first Jeux did not answer. He stared blankly at Monclaire. Then he murmured: “You can do no worse than I, mon ami . 1 will do as you say. 1 will rest for a day. And 1 will confirm any orders you give…”

He rose and swayed.

He took a reeling and circuitous route to the filing cabinet. With fumbling fingers he opened the ‘Miscellaneous’ drawer. There he found a fresh bottle of brandy. Clutching it, he shuffled out of the office.

Monclaire sat in the vacated chair. He drew a note pad towards him and wrote down the problems that confronted him. In that way, they became clear. But they also became even more overwhelming.

It was now nearly five o’clock in the afternoon. In almost exactly twelve hours a company was due to leave to protect the Tutana oil line. But the company could not leave because serious trouble might flare up m the town, and the garrison would have to be at full strength to deal with it.

But it would be worse than useless to explain this to the High Command. Their concern was the oil line. And they would expect their orders for its protection to be followed to the most minute detail.

Obviously, the Touaregs had their agitators working in Sadazi. And it was those agitators who were organising the mass hysteria, perhaps using the Czech woman as a pawn.