Martin sprinted along the tree-lined path until he saw a horse tethered under a tree at the predetermined spot. Rushing over, he untied the reins, leapt onto the horse, and spurred it into a furious gallop northward. anwhile, the police officers maintaining order had yet to react.
Riding fast, Martin swiftly exited the campus. Among them, a couple of oblivious police officers blew their whistles at him, signaling that such reckless riding was against the rules and that he should stop to pay a fine. Naturally, Martin ignored them and continued on. Those officers, lacking horses themselves, could only curse from behind, vowing to deal with him if they ever caught him.
Soon, they would learn of the incident at Harvard University, realizing the fleeing figure was the perpetrator. By then, Martin felt he would be far beyond the reach of the Massachusetts police.
After escaping the police's pursuit, Martin continued forward. Knowing his mad dash was conspicuous, anyone familiar with the Harvard assassination could identify him as the suspect. His only chance of escape was to outrun Boston's police response.
The horse Pidur prepared for Martin was excellent, running like the wind. However, after a while, even a fine horse's speed began to wane—not being a nuclear-powered Mongolian warhorse, it was bound to tire from such relentless running.
However, the prearranged forest was now very close. From a distance, Martin could already see the forest and a lumberjack's cabin on its edge.
The lumberjack had previously perished in a bear attack—after all, not every lumberjack could withstand a bear's paw and still joke about it with the bear brothers. Due to this incident, the lumber company abandoned their logging plans in the forest, reasoning that with North Arica's abundance of trees, it wasn't worth battling bears over a few. Thus, the cabin was left abandoned, though it beca a common stop for hunters.
However, even the hunters had not encountered the bear brothers, so their numbers dwindled. Yet, the cabin remained un-abandoned, often serving as a venue for illicit transactions.
Martin looked back; no dust clouds followed. The dry weather and dirt roads would have revealed any pursuers from afar. Confident no police were in pursuit, which was expected given Massachusetts police efficiency, he slowed down, allowing the horse a gentle trot toward the cabin—a necessary cooldown after intense activity.
As Martin approached the cabin, just twenty ters away, he noticed three horses tied next to it. Mr. Pidur stood smiling beside one of them, alongside two others ready to escort Martin eastward to a ship.
"Mr. Pidur!" Martin dismounted and approached, arms wide for an embrace.
As Pidur stepped aside, the person beside him revealed a hidden revolver and simultaneously, another individual on the opposite side drew and fired at Martin.
Caught off-guard and within five ters, Martin was quickly felled by six bullets. His eyes wide open in disbelief until his death.
After emptying their revolvers, the gunn drew another and approached to confirm Martin's death. Pidur inspected the body and declared him dead. "It's done. The rest is up to you."
The lead gunman nodded and kicked Martin's corpse to confirm his death—surviving twelve bullets would have been miraculous. They then entered the lumberjack's cabin, erging shortly after dressed as tax police.
Thus, a plausible narrative was established: the cabin was a known spot for smugglers, making it routine for tax enforcent to inspect. The officers didn't know Martin was a fugitive; they treated him as a potential smuggler who drew a weapon in panic. The ensuing shootout left him dead.
With Martin dead, any direct links were severed. Painting Southerners as barbaric and cowardly—capable only of underhanded tactics—was straightforward, potentially even inciting further disdain toward them.
anwhile, the tax police who killed Martin, undoubtedly agents of the Ministry of Truth, secured rapid promotions within Arica's paramount enforcent body—a significant boon for both the ministry and France.
Pidur promptly departed, leaving an older tax officer to secure the scene while a younger one rode back to Boston to report.
Halfway to Boston, the young tax officer encountered Boston mounted police, who stopped him.
"Brother, did you see a young man riding north on a horse?"
"No, I ca from that direction and saw nothing," the tax officer replied, then inquired, "What happened?"
"Soone murdered at Harvard and was seen fleeing this way. Did you encounter him?"
"No." The young officer kept his composure. "But there's a westward fork ahead. If he ca this way, he would have taken it."
"Thanks for the tip," the mounted officer said, grateful for the misleading information.
The parties separated—the mounted police pursued the now unreachable criminal, and the young tax officer hurried back to the tax bureau to secure his credit for the incident. ????Ν????Ε??
Upon
returning, the young officer reported to Director Dulles. "Director, a significant matter to report."
"Ah, Pope, what is it?" Director Dulles inquired.
Pope relayed the events as planned, then added, "On my way back, I encountered a group of mounted police chasing a murderer from Harvard—I believe the man we killed was him. I directed them onto another route—I didnt want them taking credit for our work. You know they would."
Director Dulles nodded in agreent. "Pope, you did well. We'll go to the scene now and secure our credit before the police can claim it."
Thus, Director Dulles mobilized all available personnel and headed to the site to protect their jurisdiction.
In the interest of securing and maximizing their credit, Director Dulles imposed a gag order on all involved. The incident at such a prestigious institution as Harvard University, particularly in front of international guests, had severely embarrassed Massachusetts and, by extension, Boston.
Mayor Landon was furious upon learning of the incident, to the point of smashing his glasses. "A man was murdered in one of the busiest districts in front of hundreds, and he managed to escape! I've repeatedly emphasized security, to prevent such chaos. And what did you do? You ignored my warnings, treating them like re bluster. Last month, last week, I warned you about the Southerners. And now... it's infuriating! What can you say now?"
"Mayor, we will catch the murderer," Police Chief Hughes responded uncomfortably.
"Catch him? How long will that take? It's already been two days, and I promised the public a resolution within three. It's almost dawn, do you have any leads?"
"We need more ti..." Chief Hughes replied.
Mayor Landon, barely restraining his anger, was about to throw his teacup at Hughes when his secretary interrupted: "Mayor, Director Dulles has arrived with the latest on the case."
"Let him in quickly!" Mayor Landon said, hastily picking up his glasses.
"Mayor, I have news," Director Dulles began as he entered. "Two days ago, our officers encountered a suspicious individual, possibly a smuggler, who suddenly drew a gun and fired at them. They returned fire and killed him. Initially reported as an ard smuggling incident, upon further investigation today, we discovered the deceased might be the Harvard murderer."
"What?" Mayor Landon was shocked, his glasses falling off again.
"Yes, Mayor. We have strong reasons to suspect he was the murderer. His body matches the descriptions on our wanted posters. Eyewitnesses near the victim, Professor Faneuil, had seen the murderer with a cello case at Harvard. Our sketches were based on these descriptions. These witnesses have now confird that the man we killed is the sa individual."
"Is this true?" Mayor Landon was still skeptical.
"Mayor, I've brought the officers involved in the shooting and several eyewitnesses. You can question them yourself," Director Dulles confidently suggested.
Convinced by Dulles's assurance, Mayor Landon interviewed the "good young n" and the witnesses thoroughly.
"Now we can confirm, the bastard our young n killed was indeed the damned murderer!" Mayor Landon declared, "Excellent work, boys. It wasn't just luck that you stopped him—it was your dedication and professionalism. Unlike so, who were close to the murderer without recognizing him. Chief Hughes, you and your n should reflect on this and learn from the tax departnt!"
With that, Mayor Landon patted the young officers on the shoulders, pleased with their performance. "Well done, boys! You've got spirit! You're worth training! Ha ha ha..."
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