Johannes Cabal the Detective by Jonathan L. Howard Read Free Book Online Page B

“I’m with intelligence, sir. We don’t tend to carry around papers that say we’re spies. I do, however, have this.” He showed Meissner a signet ring, worn face inwards. He turned it on his finger and showed Meissner the crest there.
    “The crest of Count Marechal!” gasped Meissner, who had seen it on enough execution warrants to recognise it instantly.
    “The same, sir. If you think you could keep your voice down?”
    “Yes … yes, of course, I’m very, very sorry.”
    “I understand that you’re a government official, sir? I overheard you at the departures desk.”
    “Yes, Gerhard Meissner—Docket Clerk First Class, Department of Administrative Coordination. I’m a loyal citizen!”
    “Precisely, sir. That’s why I need your help. A first-class docket clerk? Excellent. I need a man of your calibre. There is a certain … situation developing here at the aeroport that concerns me greatly. By the time my colleagues arrive, it may well be too late. In short, Herr Meissner, I need your assistance.”
    “Of course! Of course! I am at your disposal. How can I help?”
    “This way, sir.” The secret agent directed Meissner to an empty and unlocked bay. “Just in here.”
    Meissner blinked in the gloom. “Now what?”
    “If you’d be so kind as to give me your papers,” said the agent, extending his hand.
    “I … um … well, yes, I don’t see why not.” He handed over his passport, visa, and other documentation in a neat bundle.
    The man rifled quickly through them. “I shall need your ticket as well.”
    “My ticket? But why?”
    “So that I can escape the country, of course,” said Johannes Cabal.
    Meissner bridled. “What? But … you are from Count Marechal, aren’t you?”
    “I come directly from the count,” replied Cabal. “In fact, I borrowed this from him.” He drew the count’s handgun and levelled it at Meissner. “Now, time is pressing. Your ticket, Herr Meissner.”
    L ater, in the departure lounge—heaving with people running from tales of massacre and riot in the capital city of Krenz—Cabal studied Meissner’s documents. They were of a height, both blond, both lean. The photograph wasn’t very good, either. If Meissner had tried looking like a person instead of a civil servant, there might have been more of a problem. As it was, Cabal had only to purse his lips and give the impression that everybody he spoke to was dung on legs and he wouldn’t have any difficulties. He practised his impersonation on several small children and, when he’d got it to such a pitch that any child under five burst into tears at the sight of him, he relaxed, satisfied.
    He’d left the unfortunate Meissner tied up and gagged in the bay and hoped and trusted that he wouldn’t be found until the Princess Hortense was well on her way. In the last few months, he’d found himself prey to strange twinges that, after some research, he had discovered to be his conscience. This unwelcome quality took exception to many of the perfectly logical actions he had previously committed with the regularity of habit. In the present case, however, Cabal’s conscience had apparently taken account of Herr Meissner’s occupation as a civil servant and remained as quiet as a church mouse while Cabal stuffed a dirty rag in Meissner’s mouth and trussed him up with little concern for his comfort. Even a conscience knows its limits. There might have been a slight moral tremor when he injected Meissner with a variant of the same anti-deteriorant he had used on the emperor. It caused a deep comatose state for perhaps a week in four cases out of seven. The other three would be as dead as Sanskrit long before that week was out. It was a considered risk on Cabal’s part but, after all, he wasn’t the one who’d be dead if it didn’t work properly. These were odds he could live with.
    As for the gun, he had regretfully dumped it in a drum of waste oil in a supply shed. He doubted that the customs and