Island of Fear

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The chambermaid burst through the door, almost sending retired Air Commodore Sir Alistair Higgins tumbling down the stairs. Thankfully, his bulky six-foot frame prevented him from a fall which would have most certainly made him miss the parade. At that moment, he was grateful for his life-long hearty appetite.

He looked angrily at her, staring into her eyes for an apology, watery eyes that seemed to gaze straight through him as if he were just a sheet of glass. Her lips began to quiver as if to say something, but only a low-pitched hiss was forthcoming; instead, she sidestepped, continuing with her hurried descent to the ground floor.

Hearing the door slam shut, Higgins shrugged at the sheer rudeness of the wretched girl. He rubbed at the forming bruise in his left side. It was just below another wound on his rib cage, a five-year-old wound from the bullet of a deadly assassin, resulting in him now having no spleen.

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