MASH 10 MASH goes to Miami by Richard Hooker+William Butterworth

Author:Richard Hooker+William Butterworth [Butterworth, Richard Hooker+William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The commandant of the Paris Region, Gendarmerie Nationale, was surprised to see His Excellency the Foreign Minister of the French Republic come marching into his headquarters. A bureaucrat of such exalted status as the foreign minister rarely made personal visits to the Gendarmerie Nationale. Usually, the commandant was summoned to the Foreign Ministry and told to come in an unmarked car and enter by the rear door. Or some minor underling would appear at the Gendarmerie Nationale. But rarely a high-ranking official, and absolutely never the foreign minister himself.

But when His Excellency introduced His Excellency Sheikh Abdullah Yacim ben Mussid, chief of mission of the Royal Hussidic Embassy, and his chef du protocole, he of course understood. After all, the Sheikhdom of Hussid supplied thirty-eight percent of the petroleum needs of la belle France, and Air Hussid, of all the world’s airlines, was the only one that had purchased Le Discorde aircraft—or could afford to fly them. That explained a good deal. La belle France was willing, even eager, to do practically anything to sell Le Discorde aircraft; the commandant himself had learned of an offer by the interior minister to have the Eiffel Tower turned into an outdoor billboard spelling out ALL THE WAY WITH T.W.A. if that airline would purchase, on a money-back guarantee basis, just one of the droopnosed flying machines.

“And how,” the commandant said, rising to his feet and oozing Gallic charm from every sweaty pore, “may the Gendarmerie Nationale be of service to your distinguished self, M’sieu le Foreign Minister, and your handsome and charming friends?”

“Sheikh Abdullah seeks,” the foreign minister said —“which is to say, of course, that the source of thirty-eight percent of our petroleum seeks—an American prelate of the Church who is missing in Paris.”

“Sheikh Abdullah,” the commandant said, “put your mind to rest. If your distinguished prelate friend is in Paris, the Gendarmerie Nationale will find him! Would you by any chance have a description, or any other sort of a clue, on which we can build our search?”

“His name is O’Grogarty, Patrick Michael,” Sheikh Abdullah replied.

“Isn’t that interesting,” the commandant said. “We have a chap in our custody with a name very much like that: Patrick Michael O’Grogarty.”

“Perhaps it is the same man. The names are similar.”

“Oh, this couldn’t be your prelate. This one, we feel, is a high-ranking officer of the Irish Republican Army.”

“How can you be so sure that he’s not our man?” Sheikh Mustapha asked.

“I wouldn’t repeat the language he’s been using,” the commandant said. “Prelates don’t talk like that.”

“We of the Royal Hussidic Security Service never leave a stone unturned,” Sheikh Mustapha said. “I would like to see this chap.” He paused, twirled his mustache, and added: “Alone.”

“I will go with you, Mustapha,” Sheikh Abdullah said.

“Your wish is my command,” Sheikh Mustapha said. Three minutes later, a heavy steel door in subbasement three of the detention facility of the Paris Region, Gendarmerie Nationale (known popularly as the “New Bastille”), was pushed creakingly open. One middle-aged Irishman and two middle-aged Hussidians stared at each other with undisguised interest.

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