A Hero's Tale?

I thought for sure I'd go to my grave unremarked, a nobody, a perfectly normal man, forgotten within a generation. Instead, I'll go down in history as the man who saved King George VII from an assassination attempt. I'm still not sure how I feel about it, truth be told. I'm Quebecois, through and through. I support a republic, but killing a man, especially when it does nothing to advance the cause, seems pointless to me.

Before I start to tell my story, allow me to introduce myself. I'm writing this more for myself than because I think anyone else will ever read this, but I suppose it's possible someday someone may find this and want to read it. For that reason, I will tell you a little bit about myself. My name is Pierre Boucher. I was born the tenth of May, 2009, and have been a detective for decades now.

Although I was born in the Quebec countryside, I've lived in Ottawa for the last twenty years, and that is where the story takes place. It was a hot, humid day, but then the area is always like that in the summer. I'm surprised people still live here, but then again good real estate isn't terribly easy to find these days. In any case, I was at a sushi bar on Rideau, and I overheard a conversation that concerned me.

I wrote down the details. They were speaking French, on the assumption no one would understand them. They were most likely almost correct: I doubt anyone else at the bar could make out what they were saying, beyond it being French.

The conversation being French would have concerned some: with the increased FLQ activity since the attack on Halifax Harbour in '49, and the meeting of the Big Four and especially the royal visit going on, people were concerned. An attack on the Big Four, maybe even the king himself, struck many as a real possibility. But it was the content of the conversation that had me worried.

"Yes, I've bribed Chief Anderson. She'll do nothing to stop us. In fact, she'll make sure the officers don't find the gun."

"And the RCMP?"

"Already taken care of. They have quite a few Quebecois still working for them. I made sure they will be the ones working there. Trust me, nothing will go wrong. We'll be able to get to King George."

"You know they'll lose their jobs, right?"

"Yes, and we will likely still get caught even with these precautions. Parliament still has security cameras, after all. But if it gets Quebec the freedom we so rightly deserve, it will be worth it, no?"

"I've heard they do, but I'm not sure, I think it's just a rumour. They're too expensive to maintain, right? The ones they do have will be pointed elsewhere, not the screened balconies. Ok, what's the full plan then?"

I'm glad I always have a pen with me. Had I not, I might not have remembered all the details. I'll spare the long back and forth conversation they had, but the plan was to smuggle an gun into the opening ceremony for parliament, and then shoot King George. The public is allowed to watch, as long as they're screened first. This was effective enough, and enough people involved, that getting a gun in was impossible.

The short form of the plan was to smuggle the gun in first, have it ready and waiting for them. It would be a planted that night, and when the screening was done overnight and in the morning they had bribed the people in charge. The gun would not be found, and the man going in would be able to pick it up and shoot the king.

The plan then was to run off in the ensuing chaos, and hope the rumours parliament still had working security cameras pointed at the balcony were just that: rumours. As a lowly detective I couldn't say for sure whether they had any or not. I knew they still had an internet connection in the parliamentary library. I'd used it several times, so I knew it existed and wasn't just some rumour, and if they had one of those still going, covering the place with cameras wouldn't be that expensive, so I figured it was quite a gamble.

Given the number of people they'd have to have bought off for this plan to have even the slightest chance of success, I figured it was unlikely at best I would be able to get any help. I ate my sushi silently, and listened in on them. I spent the evening, indeed the week, planning for what to do about this.

I had to take it seriously. I made a sketch of them, and then had to figure out what to do. Given the scale of this conspiracy, I wanted to make sure people would know what had happened. Although I hate royalty, a murder is a murder. I didn't want there to be even the slightest chance they'd get off.

I had to have a plan. I needed a good one. I thought I'd put together one, but my attempt to execute it revealed it wasn't as good as I'd thought it was. The plan was to walk into the balcony overnight, after the inside man planted the gun. Then, I'd take the gun and replace it with a fake, and then when they went to shoot it they'd be caught with a gun. Since I was a detective, I knew I'd be allowed there, and I'd have authority to arrest them, if no one beat me to it.

This plan, while not perfect, was the best I could come up with, especially on such short notice. Once I'd made the outline, then it came down to filling in the details, something I've always been quite good at. So, I had to look into parliament's security (which I could justify as a detective), figure out how to get there overnight, and then do the sweep myself. They'd already decided which chair to place it under, so I knew where to look.

I had my fake gun, so I went there, around one am. Without lights, it was hard to see much of anything. The building was built during the age of electric lights, in my lifetime actually. But this meant the windows were more for appearance than function, so the area was always dark, but especially so at night. I was fairly sure by now the inside man was gone, but I wasn't positive, so I decided against taking a flashlight. This would also save me a lot of money, given how expensive batteries are these days, but in any case, I had no light other than the very small amount of light that came in from the windows.

This was where my plan first fell apart. The inside man hadn't even arrived by this point. I'd assumed that by the time I'd arrived and gotten in he'd have left, especially since it had taken a little longer than planned. I claimed I was one of the people doing the sweep, figuring the guard would see I had a valid badge and not ask questions, but she had asked quite a few. I answered them to her satisfaction, and then went into the balcony.

Once there, I found the inside man hadn't even shown up yet. I wasn't sure when the actual sweep was supposed to occur, if it wasn't just an all night thing to make sure nothing was found, but in any case, I'd shown up too early.

I thought It was a good thing I'd been gifted some coffee for my birthday, because if it weren't for the caffeine I'd have needed to deal with exhaustion as well as everything else. In any case, I had to decide if it made more sense to sit here and wait and try to intercept the gun drop off, or come back later.

I decided to leave and go back later, since staying included the risk of getting caught by someone else doing the sweep. Parliament's opening was planned for ten, so people were supposed to start arriving at around eight, screening meaning it would take quite a while to get in. People were so excited to see King George they were willing to put up with this inconvenience to see him, even from a great distance. Ew.

I decided to arrive around seven, enter, and replace the gun with the fake then. This seemed like the best course of action, at the time. However, I'd forgot to take into account that I'd flooded my system with caffeine to stay awake so late, and when it left, I'd crash, be tired, and generally function poorly. This would likely occur in the morning.

It did, and it was reflected in me not waking up until eight thirty. I will not write down the first words out of my mouth upon waking up and seeing the time on my watch.

My apartment was about a thirty minute walk from parliament. By the time I got there, it would already be nine o'clock. It was far too late for me to get in early and replace the gun with a fake, so I would have to figure out something else to do.

I took my time, no rush because no matter when I got there, it would be too late to stop this the old way, but early enough the assassination wouldn't have occurred. King George wouldn't be out there until ten, so I had time.

I used the time to think. Since I wasn't registered for security at the event, I had no authority to take even a fake weapon there. So that was out. I still wasn't sure who was in on the plot, only knowing some of the security was. I still wasn't sure I could trust anyone. But I had to do something.

I went there, stood in line, went through security, and then entered the balcony. It took me a few minutes, but I found one of the men from the sushi bar, and attempted to approach him. I got as close as I thought I could without him realizing someone was stalking him.

And then he started speaking with someone else. Since it was French, once again few people would understand. At a crowded event like this, I'm sure he was being careful. But he turned to politics, and soon I knew what to do: I would join him, and talk with him. Once he reached under his seat, the same one the gun was under, I would tackle him and arrest him.

"Well, yes, but I'd be surprised if Darzi and Mark get along. And we both know that India has far more influence in the Commonwealth than England does."

At this point, I jumped in, adding "Well, the king is English. This surely gives them some say. Sorry, do you mind if I join you?"

"No, not at all. It's nice to find a fellow francophone, especially open. Many of us are hesitant to speak the language openly these days," his friend said.

"I understand what you mean, but you can't blame us. The anglophones reacted poorly to the events in Halifax. It's been almost twenty years, but even so, they still fear us."

I was trying to make him say something I could use later. I was sure someone else here knew French, maybe not well enough to speak it, but other people here surely understood the language. If he said something incriminating, it would help me make sure he got locked away.

"Well, this is quite true," the assassin said. "If this keeps up though, Quebec may turn into another Scotland fairly soon. We deserve the same rights as everyone else in this country."

So far, nothing. Time to push it a little bit: "Well, maybe that just can't happen. Not anytime soon anyway."

"We've waited almost three hundred years. I'd say that's long enough. And if the English won't take the hint, maybe we should make them."

Perfect. Now it was just a matter of making sure I was still close enough to him to stop him when he reached for the gun. I continued the conversation, letting it slip back to the discussion on Darzi, and his displeasure with Mark's government. He thought Mark would eventually have to relent, given India's greater importance in the Commonwealth. I agreed, but I argued with him for the sake of keeping conversation going. I kept going past when he convinced his friend of the matter, but I enjoy playing devil's advocate.

It wasn't long, eventually the state opening of parliament began. The king walked in, with four RCMP officers beside him. He took his seat in the throne, and began to speak.

"First of all, I would like to express my joy and privilege at being here, to address the second oldest kingdom I have, Canada. I am honoured to have been invited to open parliament. Today, I speak on behalf of my Canadian ministry, led by Alexander Jonson," the king began.

As he spoke, I kept a close eye on my newfound friend. I was determined that the moment he reached under his seat I would react before he had a chance to do anything. My reactions would have to be quick, as I knew he was expecting something like this. I would need to be better than him.

"Damn shoelace," I heard him say. He bent down. I prepared to jump on him. I was n fact right to do so, as he quickly reached under the seat, and pulled out a gun. His speed was excellent, and before I had fully reacted he had already taken aim and fired. However, I hit him into the ground, throwing his aim off.

It was a good thing too, because I'm pretty sure he'd have hit. I can't say for sure, but I think his aim was that good. In any case, the bullet hit the wall instead. King George was pulled off the throne and out of the room by his guards, a look of confusion on his face. It was possible it hadn't occurred to the privileged idiot that people might want to hurt him.

There was a lot of screaming, and panic, but I held the would be assassin down, and then he asked a question that still haunts me, "Why? Why betray Quebec and protect the king?"

I told him it was because a murder is still a murder.  I believed it, at least at the time. Later, I found myself questioning it. I guess that's why I'm writing this, I want to figure out what happened, if I did the right thing.

I didn't say, even if it's a man who, even if he didn't make the decision, signed off on actions like the mass execution of suspected rebels in Montreal, even if it's a man who symbolized all of our oppression, the last three hundred years of English domination over us, we still don't deserve to decide when and how he dies.

I'm still not happy with that. After all, the authorities execute people. The death penalty is a growing punishment. If they do it, why shouldn't we? Especially because all the executions are done in his name.

I wish I had a good answer.