The Bull of Mentju by Robert J. Muller EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Author: Robert J. Muller
- Language: English
- Genre: Military Thrillers
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MACINTYRE FALLS OFF A CLIFF
Cheryl MacIntyre moved from happy to pissed off to a state of
incandescent rage, all in the space of an hour of her working
afternoon.
MacIntyre had hunted and pecked her way through the case report on a
nasty pair of murders. “Dispute” was the accepted police-report term for the
wholesale butchery when the Aztec and Russian gangs threw bullets at each
other. Both Aztecs and Russians excelled at disputation. She felt she had
done a fine piece of work there, and she even took pleasure in writing the
report about it for once. Many bad people were going away for a long time.
A hard-working hutyt-er-semetyu could take strong satisfaction in a case
like this.
“MacIntyre! In the office, now!” Her boss, Idnu Djehutymes, must want to
congratulate her.
Her smile was genuine as she put the computer into secure mode, got up,
and headed for the idnu’s office. She walked past vacant cubicles; the other
semetyu were out doing actual work. She stepped into Mes’s office. Mes sat
at his desk, and another man sat in one of the office chairs, an American
from the look of him.
“Shut the door.”
This was not a good sign. In MacIntyre’s experience with him, Mes liked
the noise of his admonitions to be audible to the team, management theory
be damned. Usually he waited to deliver his speech until everyone was back
in the office, writing up their day of toil. That way, they could all get the
full benefit of the lecture he delivered to the chosen sacrifice of the day. She
was it today. But he must have something more on his mind than the usual
lecture, since there was no one around to hear it. She thought back over the
case and found nothing that was likely to have gotten his ire up. Well, there
was that incident with the Russian slug and the Taser. That could be it. She
had gone a bit outside the rules on that one.
“MacIntyre, this is the United States Consul General, John Smith.” Mes’s
voice was flat and noncommittal.
She smiled and said in English, “Seriously? John Smith?”
John Smith frowned, but said, “Sergeant.”
“It’s hutyt, Mr. Brown, hutyt-er-semetyu. Sorry, Smith.” She smiled.
MacIntyre hated the guy on sight. She felt disgust just looking at his sour
American face behind his little, round glasses. She could tell from the lines
on his face he spent much of his time frowning.
Mes frowned too, but then that was his natural expression.
“MacIntyre. You’re fired,” he said.
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Sit down.”
“Why, if I’m fired? I’m going to dinner, I’m hungry.” The queasiness in her
stomach wasn’t hunger, though.
“Sit down, now!”
His eyes weren’t meeting hers. This was another bad sign. Mes always
confronted things. He looked you in the eye while berating your stupidity or
lack of discipline.
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