4 Rebellion by James McGee

Author:James McGee
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Harper Collins, Inc.
Published: 2011-02-02T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

“Come!”

Hearing the summons, Inspector-General Lucien Paques took a deep breath. He always took a deep breath when he was about to report to a higher authority. He liked to think it helped steady his nerves.

It didn’t matter that he was a tall man who, had he been of a more belligerent disposition, might well have used his height to intimidate those smaller than himself; when it came to meeting with Chief of Security Desmarest, above whom he towered by at least seven or eight inches, he still managed to feel as though he should be apologizing every few minutes for the size of his feet.

Entering the chamber, Paques, not for the first time, asked himself why it was that small men invariably seemed to commandeer the largest offices. One would have thought they’d choose a more modest space in which to conduct business, if for no other reason than it’d be a lot easier to find them, especially in Desmarest’s case, given his lack of stature and the meagre amount of daylight filtering into the room. Desmarest was well known as a man who didn’t believe in squandering candle wax if he could help it.

Paques looked towards the only source of illumination and was relieved to see his superior seated behind his desk by the window. A pale, plump hand beckoned impatiently. Paques approached with caution.

Desmarest was demolishing a chicken leg. It wasn’t the most edifying sight. A half-empty carafe of red wine stood on the desk before him next to an almost full glass and a platter containing a thick slice of crusty bread and a pat of what might have been either melted butter or runny cheese. A napkin was tucked into his collar.

Pointing to the chair on the opposite side of the desk, Desmarest took a bite of chicken and sucked the juice from his fingers with relish. Grease dribbled down his chin. He dabbed at it ineffectually with a corner of the napkin and reached for the glass. “So,” he said, as Paques sat down. “What do you have for me?”

Besides contempt? Paques thought, as he watched a blob of gravy drip on to Desmarest’s well-upholstered paunch. Extracting a small notebook from an inside pocket, he took another deep breath. “I paid a visit to the nursing home, as you directed.”

“And?”

Watching Desmarest pare the flesh from the bone with his incisors was like watching an overweight vulture devour its young. Paques looked away and picked a point three inches above Desmarest’s head upon which to concentrate.

“And I spoke with the clinic’s director with regards to the political detainee Claude-François Malet.”

“And what did you discover?”

“According to Doctor Dubuisson, there have been no issues with the staff or any of the other residents. He receives a visit from his wife most days of the week. She likes to take him oranges and cheese and he likes to take her for walks around the garden. It’s all very civilized.”

“It sounds like it. Anything else? What about other visitors?”

“Nobody of any consequence.

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