Soul Silver Freeze Patch Us

CODE ZERO ZERO Chapters 11-15

Chapter Eleven: On the moon.
- Buon appetito!
- Chin!
At the terrace of the Trattoria San Benedetto, Jean-Pierre and Alexis Mourlon Juliénas toast. The last rays of winter sun shine on reflections dancing in the flask of Valpolicella. A spicy smoke hovers above the bowl of minestrone. A fresh breeze blows from the port of spray that combines a strong smell of tar, hints of grilled sardines and a touch of lead paint. The two passengers waiting
10:30 p.m., fateful moment of embarkation on the Corsica Express II. Since their arrival at Central Station in Genoa at the end of morning, they had ample time to validate their tickets, to walk the Via Balbi, Via Garibaldi, Corso Andrea Doria and some adjacent streets and have visited several baroque churches, admiring the facades of five or six palaces, is tail twenty minutes before the Gelatteria Macaggi (the better of the two Rivieras!), and monitored the comings and goings of ships in the Basin Delle Grazzi.
For nearly a week, Mourlon multiplied the wrong tracks, the double to thwart surveillance and Champagnole Caillac. He has booked several tickets over the Internet in the direction of Ireland, the Czech Republic, Lebanon, Turkmenistan ... His accomplice computer genius Alexis Julien has sent thousands of spam and hackers headbands on all departmental sites open to the public. Eight times Mourlon went to the agency Decize-Travel - the great displeasure of the employee trainee - to inquire about departure dates and rates varied excursions: the Romantic Rhine, at the bottom of the Chasm Padirac in Sologne "in the footsteps of Maurice Genevoix" at the Maison de la Radio "in the shadow of Jacques Martin, the Salon of Painters who paint with the mouth, the International Competition Throwing Tongs St. Peire de Tatane (Charente Sea), the Wisdom of Geese-the-Well fed Gargling (Marne-et-Oise) ... Even riding the Agency Cookoo Thomas Nevers to collect information on a dream holiday to the Orkney Islands, the fitness Vaux-en-Velin, internships bottle in Quiberon, weekend spas Spa, weeks of trekking in the Alpilles and fortnights Chaise Lounge in Saint-Placide-l'Allongé
... Then, without fanfare so that as surreptitious furtive at dusk, the journalist has slipped through the back door of a van borrowed from the funeral; wearing a fireman's helmet, wearing a large gray raincoat and nose shod with dark glasses, he sat on an empty coffin. The vehicle was driven by his friend Julian, who sang on leaving Decize the "profound morpionibus! "Rigor. And the expedition was directed by roads discrete to Menton and the Italian border.
extra precaution Juliénas parked his car near the church of Pieve, a tiny hamlet in the lower border of the Roya valley, after which the two men chartered a taxi to the station of Ventimiglia and they are mounted in the first train Genoa. Thus, in this sunny November day they arrived in the Ligurian capital.
- You are very sure that we have not spun? You know, the new RG feature, now ... And the PAF has super-powerful radar ...
- What are you talking bam, Alexis?
- The Border Police.
- Y has no borders with Europe, the Schengen area and the free movement ...
- Hold on! Freedom of movement for some, not all! Request immigrants!
- Do not worry. Everything went well until now. If it s'trouve, Commissioner Champagnole I am looking towards Cork, or the Maldives. As the brave Caillac, he alerted the Auvergne and Gascony brigades. And I, for one ... c'temps
- And what do you seek in Corsica? This is your friend ...
Stool - Tamburini!
- sorry. It is true that they are likely there. So he'll stay?
- Do you! I bought a small pied-à-terre there. Oh, two or three rooms, rented to tourists during the summer. Feet in the water. Or almost. Because the sea food beach each winter. When I go, my tenants leave me a corner. Currently, is free, given the season.
- No yucky, this soup. But z'auraient have cut vegetables.
- A Minestrone alla Spinola. No sacrilege, please!
- I dunno, myself. This is the first time.
- It's true that your food comes down to sandwiches and kebabs stained MacDos of fat.
- not everyone has your ...
- Come! The incident is closed. I recapitulate. Whenever I'm on board, you resume the train to Ventimiglia, tracking down a hotel you're there, if it's not too late. Tomorrow morning, you'll get the van, and you come home in France you work to make it to Paco. You have not lost the address. Then you return to Decize as quickly as possible.
- I've lost a lot of time. I must complete my blog.
- Not a word about our trip.
- Obviously, I expected a story on the pastures of Normandy.
- Do not forget the pie!
- The bridge l'évêque and Livarot.
- If you want to contact me in Corsica, caution!
- Dam Safety. Okay. I will send coded messages to your boyfriend Stool.
- Tamburini, I tell you!
- Burini, if you prefer. You can count on me. I tested the code zero-seven. Besides, I use it regularly with correspondents in Paris. Not the slightest flaw. Coverage beyond reproach: it communicates military bulletins of the war of 14, if the anti-terrorist cops arrive to decrypt something, they will be for expenses. But it would be more efficient with the code zero-zero.
- Ah, yes! That is what I seek.
- And you think to find?
- We'll see. Must go faster ... especially
- That Champagnole, I got it.
Chapter Twelve: After the storm.
A plume of black smoke flew from the chimney. At the end of his journey, the Corsica Express II finally manages to cross the pass. It is true that a strong wind sweeps the Tyrrhenian Sea this morning. And the port of Bastia is poorly exposed. The pilot gave up five times to overflow the green buoy; gusts dangerous gap car-ferry to the pier. This time it's good. With a delay of three hours and twenty-five minutes, passengers from Genoa see the end of their torments.
- Phew! said Jean-Pierre Mourlon.
The night was terrible. Too short. Agitated. Tossed in his bunk, irritated by the grinding plate, smacking a door and fall of various objects badly stowed, Mourlon tried unsuccessfully to sleep. This trip reminded him of an already eventful journey in pursuit of Agnan Fumerol. Before their brief friendship ...
Alerted to six hours by the sound, the passenger ran from the bar to gulp down an espresso firmly packed. Alas, since the death of Pavarotti and the burning of Cinecitta, the Italian quality is poor, the bottom of a tiny plastic cup, an infamous black slop hardly dissolve a sugar cube that undoubtedly comes from a marble quarry ; The taste of the drink is bitter price is outrageous, the server is forced smile, the drinker can not curb faces and retching heart. Meanwhile
docking, Mourlon attempts to climb on the upper deck, but pitching is more violent and stairs become oblique, again, a sly wind plate heavy doors. Since access to the outside is too dangerous, the journalist merely to observe, through a rain-swept window, the flickering lights of the city Bastia.
And the cons-time alternate. On several occasions, the captain explains, for sound intermediary that "Ladies and gentlemen of the passengers are prrriés attendrrre in cabins because entrrrrée in porrrt Bastia rrrendue is difficult because of the wind" with trrraduzzione in italiano e in lingua inglese. Until the lull saving ...
On the Place Saint-Nicolas, two men run between the chairs and tables with rattan terraces, scattered by the storm. They are looking for a haven (no, they are not in Le Havre, inattentive readers!), Seeking shelter where they can taste, dry and warm up some. Philippe Tamburini, used the 365 real bars in town, hesitates between the Imperial, a large tavern with leatherette banquettes, the Emperor - not to be confused with nearby competitor - the Thalassa, visit backpackers, and Café de la Place, ancient temple of football. To avoid offending sensibilities, he decided to attend in turn each of these high places of leisure island, to lead to several varieties of Muscat, to comment on it with inevitable knowledge the latest political gossip sportsmen and to go and check if the air of the Old Port and the roses offered by boui-bouis docks are worth a visit. With in passing a small snack seed watered a vintage Patrimonio. Jean-Pierre Mourlon, suitcase in hand and knapsack on back, following his cicerone, drink with him, laughed at his jokes, a little behind the leg after the eighth stage and wondered exactly where, when and how will end tour host.
Then Tamburini confesses
- gonna have to call Toy!
- Who's that? Your secretary?
- No, my wife, Maria Anghjula. She was waiting for lunch. The roast will ...
- Being burnt. Not be alarmed now, we have an alibi: the delay of the boat.
And the expedition towards the sea breeze, famous den of thieves, Philippe Tamburini not hesitate to haunt from time to time. Between two wines, or rather between a cooked and two overflow drains, the two friends are quietly in the afternoon, much of the evening and the rest of the night. They attend, silent witnesses and embarrassed, a long transaction between buyers and suppliers of infra-red guns, rocket launchers, anti-tank guns used fraudulently or imported from Serbia. It must provide the hooded independence of various persuasions!
a quarter past six, long enough before the onset of a first ray of sun on the waves, Jean-Pierre Mourlon Tamburini and Philip finally reach the parking lot of the marina which is parked in double rows, the Simca 1000 of the former banker. It hastens to snatch the windshield a dozen commercials, three minutes for illegal parking and two nationalist tracts, he throws it carelessly into the pond nearby. And rolls the cart.
- At this hour, it is quieter. The blues are in bed, the traffic is flowing and I can make better ditches.
In second gear - due to a clutch failure - that the vehicle crossed the fifteen kilometers from the marina the home of the Tamburini.
The wife of former banker, drawn with difficulty from his sleep, without Renaude accepts the explanations he provides. She is no fool ... he just has to breathe the breath of both men.
By late morning, Jean-Pierre Mourlon settles in his pied-à-terre of the waterfront, deserted by tourists since September. A quick inspection of the two parts is sufficient to evaluate the restorations carried out before next season: paper torn, chipped crockery, cutlery ware, refrigerator ransacked and cracked mattresses. Fatigue, it collapses on a couch, wrapped in his sleeping bag and fell into a pit of sleep. *****

Chapter Thirteen: Nec mergitur. While his wife
Anghjula Maria sets the table, Philip Tamburini zap from one channel to another. As their guest tonight, Jean-Pierre Mourlon he smugly read the cultural page of an old number Corse-Matin, seated on the throne toilet
- Jean-Pierre O, come quick! Jean-Pierre!
- What? The burning bush? Beyond the sea?
- No, come quickly. On TV ...
- Well what? On TV? What do you see?
- Lenoir! It is in Ruquier!
- Lenoir-Fools ... you not my gu ... Lenoir, you know he's dead. Drowned in Lake ... Lake finally in Switzerland, the response journalist, buttoning his pants.
Yet we must get to the obvious. The little bearded grinning, it's Joel Lenoir. The show has just begun. Around a table in the shape of heart, Ruquier Lawrence and his band are, as every evening, authors, celebrities, starlets, the fun that "make the news." Perched on a stool between the art critic and Stevie Boulay télépsy Gerard Miller, Joel Lenoir answered questions put to him by the insidious petulant Christine Bravo. It is there to tell the extraordinary adventure that comes to live: unwittingly plunged into the chilly water of a lake in Switzerland, he was immediately propelled to the opposite shore by the explosion of an airbag that experience has inspired a new novel, NEC mergitur, which will certainly be the bestseller of the month.
However, airtime which is offered must not exceed three minutes twenty-six and the hosts are now looking to the concerns of the other two guests of the day: a white-haired scientist and inexhaustible expert at Dendrology stopwatch, and a penniless old baroness who has invented a pair of molds, a very effective tool to capture the valves oblong to taste these excellent bivalves without dirtying your fingers. Throughout the show, Joel Lenoir is a more contained, gnawing at the bit waiting to be questioned again. After two jokes
libidinous Pierre Benichou during the brief exhibition of a stripper Afghan burkha transparent, Joel Lenoir, is again under fire from the sunlight, under the eye of the camera and grouped under fire questions he mutters an "uh! " two "Hm! "Three" well, then! "Is pulling a nose hair, smooth bottom edge of his beard and scratching the occiput. The show closes
in laughter unanimous, with the imitator in Crimea Florence Foresty Madam de Fontenay.
- So I roast, how are you?
- Gentle, craquouillant, to the point, answered politely Mourlon, on which the hostess darts a look compelling.
- Ah, if you had tasted one yesterday ... the wife continues Tamburini. I have invited neighbors to finish. It is true that you, you were still at large. With the storm ... and stops my Filou you imposed, more ...
- Ttttais-tttoi, stammers Trickster designated above. Jean-Pierre had a stomach ache. Digestion upset. With the tub. He needed a little lift, before facing the corners.
- You mean your zig-zags of a drunkard! The road is all right ... far from Bastia
Anghjula Maria laid upon the table a strong odor of cheese, real cheese made from sheep, eight months old, yellowed and hardened in the basement, left behind by worms and gnats; it cut short any discussion. The cat in the house fled through the flap, the canary falls asleep in his cage, ceiling light flickers. Stop the flies buzzing. Teeth contrast with effort, quivering nostrils eaters and their jaws chew.
- Let's talk about code, Jean-Pierre.
- Ah, the code!
- Yes, the code! What is it you want the code?
- Well, you worry doubts ... If you come so far is that your track ...
- My track brings me home. Kyrnéa, it is in Corsica.
- was the Corsica, the time of the Greeks and Etruscans.
- About Greeks, he must remain vestiges ...
- I dunno, I ... Y Panagiotti well, the furniture dealer ... Ah! yes, and then Achilles Papadacci, you know, the half brother of my cousin Hector, son of Timothy and Agathe. They are called the Greeks, because they come from Cargese. Because at Cargese, once it was all Greek.
- Well, come to Cargese! *****

Chapter Fourteen: In the orb of Saint Spiridon.
- So this is an iconostasis! J'me figured something smaller, like an altar. Philippe
Tamburini eyes widen. Barring the choir of the Greek church, a partition consisting of all the tables this golden saints venerated by the faithful. Jean-Pierre Mourlon a magnifying glass, a camera slung over his shoulder and a Greek dictionary in the pocket, carefully examining every inch of the iconostasis. Behind them, two tourists sturdy Germanic, kneeling on the prie-dieu, whispering and leafing through their guide Merian.
This morning, very early, Philippe Tamburini has released its 1000 Simca garage. After checking the oil level, tire pressure, spark plugs, belts and fuel, it started in a cloud of dust and went to honk the mini-villa Mourlon friend. The latter, while stuffiness and unkempt, was installed in the vehicle.
- I listened to the weather on Frequenza Mora. Apparently the neck Vizzavona is snowy. As for Vergio, no question of climbing since the beginning of the month. Do you think we will come to pass?
- For added security, I decided to follow the coastline. Route de Calvi is extra now. Then it turns, but we will have time to admire the scenery.
Thus the Simca 1000 was a slender tower of the Corsican coastline. Still in second gear, except downhill. With, of course, some essential stops for refueling ... First-calva cafes in the early morning, then Casanis late morning, a hearty meal at a restaurant in the Ile-Rousse, the various coffee-growing between Calvi and Porto, to celebrate the arrival, a bottle of white Pianiccia at Xavier, at the entrance to Cargese.
It was five o'clock in the afternoon when, in an oblique light in the euphoria, the two men crossed the lanes of the village towards the two churches.
- It's like Colombey here ...
- You said it. But there is no great Charles. Just the little Charlot, the shrimp fisherman. I you will present it. Charlot Stefanopoli I did my military service with him. Another Greek. We will certainly be useful.
- And the Greek church is that?
- Smallest. You'll see is the inside that is Greek, the exterior does not look.
The spectacle lens glued to the eyepiece, Jean-Pierre Mourlon shot every detail of the iconostasis. He fought against the complicated menus displayed on the screen of his new digital camera, in turn triggers the flash-red-eye, macro shooting, various tones, the quick-view button, the stabilizer and destabilizing it unintentionally erases previous films, he re-recorded, duplicates and moves a few blurry images, it leafing anxiously manual for his machine, blithely mixing The photometric system, los requisitos del sistema und der Selbstlösernahaufnahmenmodus.
on hearing the musical syllables of the latter compound word, both tourists Germanic - Austrian protest soon they - approach the apprentice photographer and show him the necessary adjustments.
- But what do you shoot, dear Môssieur?
- The orb of Saint Spiridon, ladies ...
- Ladies! I introduce myself, Hildegard Schatzl nurse whispers the most vigorous of the two Austrians. And here is my friend the Baroness Gudrun Elfriede von Habsburg, a descendant of our authentic late imperial family. One who employs me. I'm his lady companion. We will check our Reiseführerbuch what is your holy Spiridon among these revelers with bloated faces illuminated.
sooner said than done. Page 432 of Merian guide presents a sketch commented on the iconostasis. Saint Spiridon is a tall lanky, dressed in a sheepskin, because everyone knows that Saint Spiridon was a shepherd in Arcadia, he was sentenced by a pagan tyrant to eat all the sheep thought to the last bite of meat, he died of indigestion, and since his tragic death, it is invoked by all candidates and obese to dieting.
- And you want to see her ... how do you say, sir? ... Its Zobe?
- The orb, his aura, you understand me? The small circle of light surrounding his head ...
- Ach so! his Nimbus, no, Heiligenschein, its holy light, as we say. And it is not his ... bob, is not it? Philippe
Tamburini, red as a pepper Balagne, had enough. He whispers in the ear of Mourlon:
- Hey, it is pretty hilarious, the chick. It scares me a little when she spoke of his Führer, just now ... And its Zobe ... So there! ...
- not alarmed now, the Führer is his book. The hour is grave. I already found a clue. So come not distract me.
- Okay, okay! I leave you in gallant company. I'll take a little waiting for you. Rendezvous at the Bar of Crustacea. You see the other church. Well, it's just behind. At a time when
the last tourists returning to their buses at a time when the Greek church sexton ringing the Angelus last, arm in arm with the robust nurse, Jean-Pierre Mourlon arrives at Crustacean Bar, where her friend waits , spread gently in a hammock. The journalist is not proud. He managed to take five shots of the sacred halo, halo yellowish, dotted with small print unreadable.
The key to the code zero-zero-it would be one of those chicken scratch? Why the big Agnan Fumerol did he choose such a secret? Who is able to decipher this mysterious writing which, a priori, is no more Greek qu'hébraïque or arabic? Jean-Pierre Mourlon dismisses these questions to contemplate his new chubby profile conquest. *****

Chapter Fifteen: A Night at the Club.
- Sure, yad'la place. The last group left on Saturday and I expect not before Christmas. You gonna open a bungalow right on the sea
John Ianuccelli Vitus, the keeper of Club Mediterranee, laying his pipe on his desk, he carefully closes the volume V Theatre Complete Pirandello, the wrench wins rack, adjusts his cap and unfolded his long frame. It
Charlot Stefanopoli, the regiment buddy Phil Tamburini, who found the solution. As it was getting late in the terrace of the Bar of the Crustacea, as the venerable Simca 1000 would not start despite the best efforts of its highly skilled driver, as the last room of the Hotel de la Marine was not available, such as Baroness von Habsburg had returned to his yacht and suddenly dismissed his nurse, he had to find shelter. And, in Cargese, lodging best known is the Club Mediterranee.
- You hit it, the aminches! The manager is in Ajaccio. Party for a week with TF1 announcer. So I'm only master and journeyman. And then you make a service, as a favor to Charlie, and a favor to Charlie is to work in my own interest, is not it Charlie?
- C'flibustier of Vitus, there will still rob me of my pond crawfish, so when the opportunity ... You can not know as he is clever. Finally, we get along well anyway ...
- And they teamed up to competition bowls.
- We teamed up and you win!
- The not listen, guys! Charley is a braggart! While
GALEJ so, both Cargésiens lead visitors to the beautiful bungalow where they will spend the night: Jean-Pierre Mourlon and Austrian in the master bedroom, Tamburini and his box of Muscat in the living room. The former banker depletes small gulps bottle after bottle, cradled in bliss by the waves, punctuated by the squeaking of the bed where his two companions exerted to move towards European ... Finally, intoxicated by a gray wine, mingling with the dawn fingers with pink color of the bottle, he collapsed on a pseudo-Persian carpets and delve into the orb of Saint Spiridon.
The next morning, in the backroom of guardian Mourlon communicate via the Internet - and under the protection code zero-seven - Photos of Saint Spiridon the computer expert Juliénas. The latter, after some clever manipulation, illegal colors by Photo-shop, enlargements of pixels, large prints on the printer super-precise Internet-based Decize, concludes that the legs of flies listed on the halo of St. Spiridon are in no case of written characters. This is not the Cyrillic, or Armenian, or the Cambodian Tifinar even less (the ancient alphabet of the Tuareg), nor of the Phoenician and Akkadian original. This does not match no Indian decoration, any tattoo ritual Melanesian any African scarification. The expert offers his interpretation: the facetious Agnan Fumerol have experienced its désécriture the halo of the saint which should reasonably be a verse from the Bible. Which? Mystery.
- But, my dear Jean-Pierre, we will find the original entry in my Reiseführerbuch is an edition of 1978. Your friend could not wipe Fumerol not erase the Bible before that date.
- It has not erased the Bible, Hildegard my treasure. He has erased a sentence.
- Well, I found the reproduction of the ikonostasis. Oh, it's too small. We will not find, mein Gott!
- No rush. I will scan your book and friend ... Jul
Jean-Pierre Mourlon did not have time to name the computer. A solid grasp hit his shoulder, extended by a sleeve light blue, decorated a little above the crest of the regulatory National Gendarmerie (Corsican legion).
- Mr. Mourlon, please follow us. You are under a mandate ...
- What! What?
- Lieutenant Spaladini, brigade of Cargese. We ordre de vous convoyer à Ajaccio. Vous êtes recherché…
*****

INTERMEDE : hommage à Philippe Tamburini et à son modèle.

"Mr. Tambourine Man"

Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.
Though I know that evenin's empire has returned into sand
Vanished from my hand
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping
My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.

Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way
I promise to go under it.

Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Though you might hear laughin', spinnin' swingin' madly across the sun
It's not aimed at anyone, it's just escapin' on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facin'
And if you hear vague traces of skippin' reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time, it's just a ragged clown behind
I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow you're
Seein' that he's chasing.

Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me In the jingle jangle
morning I'll come followin 'you.


You can listen to that song by Bob Dylan on Deezer.

January Birthday Invitations

CODE ZERO-ZERO chapters 16-20

Chapter Sixteen: In the Hall of SDECE

The regular sound of footsteps echoes guards in the concrete vault. Occasionally, a snapping metal, the grinding of a lock, the click of a security system just to break the monotony. Jean-Pierre
Mourlon still does not understand where he is, what reproaches him, and he feared above all to be separated permanently from her new friend, the Austrian nurse. From Ajaccio to Cargese
, the police have not been very talkative. The routine questioning in an office based Aspretto, did not too worried. He knew, of course, it was imprudent fleeing Decize where, theoretically, he was under house arrest. By Caillac. And CHAMPAGNOLE. So quite informally. But you do not play with the joint supervision of Pandora and super-cops. He hoped that a ride in the Nièvre that allow the beautiful Hildegard to accompany him and we leave in peace Philip Tamburini.
Justice could do nothing against him. He had committed no crime. However, after the interrogation, a grumpy officer had warned he would have to undergo a short period of observation in a secret location, so that the results of his research - the results certainly interesting - from being sent to foreign services and even terrorist movements. To reassure him, he was put under the eyes two fax a copy of the contract signed by Champagnole and the list of indices that himself had established.
On the plane, traveled Mourlon stuck between two plainclothes officers, two Malabar who constantly snack on almonds and peanuts; Hildegard, three rows away, was also surrounded by watchdogs in gray suits. As for Philippe Tamburini, he had been discreetly removed from the lobby of the airport, the boyfriend of her former boyfriend Stefanopoli regiment, called the Ianuccelli had been convened in Ajaccio, probably to receive a reprimand from his employer, the manager of Club Med. But what role did he play? Sitting on his small
cot Mourlon questions. Who was this Ianuccelli? A double agent? A traitor? A bastard? Naive? Mourlon has kept a strange feeling. Especially as the last words of the superintendent, when the police occurred, were "To each his own truth! At least he did not pronounce it, Mourlon now has doubts: Ianuccelli read a book on Pirandello, yes, the title of the book. And Stefanopoli? Should they be wary of him, his proposals?
The plane landed at Orly South. At night, it was 22 hours, approximately. Then it's been embarking on another device, smaller, parked in the end. Transfer to a van service. Unable to communicate with Hildegard. Nor even one of Cerberus. Mourlon felt very soft, such as anesthesia. Undoubtedly, the glass of Schweppes that he had served just before the finish in Paris. A capsule of poppy or something similar ...
How long second trip there last? The journalist has no idea. He found himself lying on the uncomfortable cot. In what looks like a cell.
A meal tray is placed on the table, two towels folded on the rim of the basin, a toothbrush brand new, still in its packaging, and a bag of disposable razors are arranged under the mirror. Strange detail: the slop bucket is decorated with a shield military, perhaps that of a regiment.
Mourlon has languished since he was awake. No window. Would it be in a cellar in a cave? Switch does not control the lighting strip that is attached to the ceiling. A very high ceiling. Five, six, seven feet, almost as much as the length of the cell. Can we talk about cell? It is a corridor that has been partitioned. The walls have been repainted recently beige. In places the original color reappears, green pissing. As in the barracks of old. Certainly Mourlon not done his military service, but he had sufficient opportunity to visit with friends, with cousins as a child in Pont-à-Mousson, a truffled corn plants and barracks.
A little fried on the journalist daydreaming. In his childhood. On his travels. A Fumerol. A team from France's rugby. In Hildegard, to Hildegard, to Hildegard, Hildegard to!
Immersed in his thoughts, he did not distinguish the click-clack of the locks. In the crack, a grunt Truss told him in a surly tone:
- Mr. Mourlon is waiting for you at the office. Follow me! *****

Chapter Seventeen: Two rivals of Tabarly.
- Brothers Biquet, under the gonnaissez, no doubt?
- Biquet?
- No, Miquet I forked tongue. Gonnaissez the crazy, yes or no?
- Yes. Why?
- The sea has bolize interzeptés off Toulon. They tried to ... you rechoindre in Gorse
- On board a yacht?
- No. Aboard a bédalo.
- You think they were going to Corsica? Because it is far ...
- They have confessed Zeuxis we own. Down to me, but that has gollègue zarraisonnés. Then, two zikotos zes, you gonnaissez?
- Sure. Two retired a little wacky. Not bad. They certainly were on vacation. What I have to do with ...
- Z 'me crazy that so requests.
The officer who heads the new interrogation was not at all the top jobs. Not even the uniform de rigueur in a barrack. He wears a leather jacket, like rocker of the sixties, and faded jeans. For the feet, slippers ... A face rather addendum. A small strip of hair down to his right eyebrow. Chubby wrists escape from a flowered shirt. Funny chubby little fellow. Funny German accent, not Alsatian. Funny Commander Stark. For a small label on the pocket of his jacket shows its identity and grade.
- Fous zavez, Mr. Bourlon batients here we are. We n'afons rewire anything crazy. Just rocked a few mysteries. Because crazy with friends Gorses fos and both Biquet, under the mysteries multiply, gum z'était if a game is any gum za Zans gonzevez that crazy looking for the dildo ...
- From dildo? You clip without laughing, you.
- Let's stay serious, Mr. Bourlon. While these Biquet?
Faced with Jean-Pierre Mourlon incredulous Captain Stark manages to recover, bit by bit, the odyssey of Miquet. He admits in passing that it is thanks to the indiscretions of Raymond Miquet that the trace of the journalist was found that both Ostrogoths were referred to the port of Toulon by a Secret Service agent, that "ze te Gonnard Momo" (pseudo the expert in brainwashing) pushed up the evil advisor to the poor buggers to rent a pedal boat and they narrowly escaped being rammed by the aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle off Mourillon fort, just before be recovered by a marine police boat.
Then, the conversation is refocusing on the search for Gode Zorro Zorro, as stated so well the commander, with his inimitable accent. Mourlon first refuses to give any clue. Suddenly realizing that good nature and the calmness of the caller may be right for his patience, driven by an urge to doze, and the hope of finding his lover, he tells all: the departure incognito in a hearse, trickery to detect espionage, the reunion with Tamburini, the excursion in Cargese, the Greek church, the halo of Saint Spiridon, the home to Club Med, especially Thanksgiving, charms, charms, delicacies and refinements of gnädiges Fraülein Hildegard Schatzl
... So many revelations, too spontaneous, can only make him climb a further degree in the scale of sympathy and Captain Stark, recognizing , and pity moved, remove the mini-tape recorder which was used to record the confessions of Mourlon. It sounds an underling, who ran nimbly, he says the unit with a mission to transcribe everything, "the firgule Bres, m'ententez mad ..." and command a ponne sauerkraut, crazy me pull your Noufel, home Ringenbach, the best of jarcutier Wizemb ... Ach, ch'allais ouplier. The Zecret. What am impézile che. "
Thus Jean-Pierre Mourlon suddenly understands that his cell is located in the basement of a fire Wissembourg, Bas-Rhin, unless this is one of the last forts of the Maginot Line. *****

Chapter Eighteen: Get Involved!
- Ah yes, my dear Mourlon. You work for us now. Willingly or forcibly. Then more dirty trick. The commander Stark, one of our best debriefers, assured me of your loyalty. In this case, you'll see the sun again. Oh, not as hot as Cargese but winter looks mild.
Commissioner Champagnole rayon. After eight days of racing with shallots, false leads that led to Crete (in Greek, "the message said) and Saint-Malo, he put his hand on the runaway. Who signed a second commitment. With the promise of a fair and fruitful collaboration. With the key provided a holiday in a quiet corner of the barracks Vauban Wissembourg Mourlon be fed, housed, bleached and monitored by the ace-cons espionage. And in exchange for permission to return ... until Fraülein Hildegard Alexis Julien, also hired by the secret services.
The weeks pass. Snow falls. The gel takes the Lauter, a small tributary of the Rhine along the barracks. Mourlon and his companion gorge on flammküche of frankfurters and beer with cranberries. The cryptographers service blacken reams of paper they échafaudent some strange forms, they add ingredients composite, viscous liquids, powders colored, crooked roots, they cut condiments, they season it with plants that provides them with a Pakistani grocer installed at the corner of Market and Herbs. Promoted
decoder with the rank of second lieutenant, Alexis Julien taps on his keyboard, traffics words, images, icons, pixels, fonts, bits and bytes. In vain. In vain (but not wine, alas!) Nothing helps. The désécriture is not operative. The Vauban barracks
experiencing a resurgence of activity in February: a horde of gypsies without papers are housed in prefabricated huts, pending expulsion ordered by Brice Hortefeux. Their stay, that should not exceed a few nights, lasts for a resourceful lawyer can prove that they are Romanians and Hungarians, although no official papers, as European citizens, they are inexpulsables ... to the chagrin of Statistics Grand Expeller. Consequently, the camp is moved out of the military area, causing the ire of Wissembourgeois and pruritus of racist agitation in the township.
Other weeks pass. The trees shake their hands covered with snow. Lauter rolls ice. The roofs dripping. Another few weeks and storks arrive first ... The deli opens Ringenbach six tons of sauerkraut special because the ace-cons have planned a small spy celebration "bourgeois of the retreating tépart braf gommandant Stark. The canteen of the Vauban barracks had delivered 250 bottles of Riesling and eighteen tons of beer Adelshoffen for that occasion. Jean-Pierre
Mourlon and Hildegard Schatzl announce their engagement will be proclaimed in the same solemn day. But
désécriture still operates.
And on the eve of the festival, has a flash Mourlon:
- The orb of Saint Spiridon is not in Cargese. It is ... Decize
*****
Chapter Nineteen: A desultory. The wadding
a thick fog covers the whole north-eastern France. So all their lights on and eyes wide open for a driver's official driver SDECE his three passengers from Wissembourg to Decize. From the backseat of the big sedan, Jean-Pierre Mourlon and Commissioner Champagnole chatting to pass the time. The landscape is uniformly gray, they have nothing better to do.
- You know your désécriture, it becomes an emergency.
- This is not my désécriture. Let's give this ... Fumerol
- belongs to Him, I know. But you are our last key. So this code, though it remained in Decize, it served what your getaway?
- had to check. And if I had not gone in Cargese, I would no attention to the table ...
- Because this table has a double Fumerol ...
- A copy of a facsimile. I think he attached importance to St. Spiridon.
- Why such a cult? Fumerol Agnan name was not Spiridon!
- We'll see when we arrived. You're going to lose patience now!
- It's enough. I receive daily messages from up there!
- from up there? No God anyway!
- No, God is dead. Lastly, Mitterrand. And Chirac is not much better. This is the current occupant of the Castle which is getting impatient. Everything goes wrong for him right now. Unemployment is rising again, Cecilia made his pranks, his kids do not obey the UMP who rebels, and the taxes he had to increase the hole Safely is widening day by day the popularity is collapsing, the urban violence that spread. Look, that night, a gang of hooded youths burned the mayor of a tiny village in the Vosges and the yacht in Antibes is Bolloré who was burned to the tune of Molotov cocktails. So the désécriture becomes the last resort, the weapons necessary to save the country ...
- And if you do not find ...
- The catamaran! Any parallel diplomacy goes up, the tabloids will go wild, the state will be ridiculed, discredited, foreign capital will flee, companies go bankrupt ... and me, poor me, I will find myself in traffic in the middle of a suburban crossroads ...
- Come, courage! Since the time that your experts are working, and I saw some work at the barracks, they have developed a good substitute.
- A substitute is the word. But not the real désécriture. A chemist from us has prepared a "mixture erasing "Is the title of the patent that it will drop. A compound of nettle fiber and saltpeter soaked in Coca-Cola extended a finger of sulfuric acid. This is roughly efficient. The ink disappears. The trouble is that the paper is very thirsty, or rather devoured by the product.
- To delete a document, this should suffice.
- You do not think! If one of our overseas agents destroyed an official document in this way, the tamper evident. Our goal is to sabotage smooth, clear writing without damaging the substrate. It is well Does your friend Fumerol provided, is not it?
- One thing bothers me. Why use coca-cola?
- You do not overlook the power of the detergent product. My mother used it to scrub the bottom of the pots.
- Be careful not to upset the Yanks. If I understand this is baba omniprésident admiration for Uncle Sam and his way of living ...
- sorry! I hear my horn. An urgent phone call
Jean-Pierre Mourlon casts an eye on the side of the window: on the campaign, the white coat seems to float, fray. A fence is the muzzle of a cow there supports a tractor out of a quagmire and agrees on the main road. The official driver, always attentive, gives a violent swerve left to avoid the obstacle. The tires squeal. The right front passenger's seat slides toward the shifter and wakes with a start. For the first time since the start Mourlon crosses in the exterior mirror the smile of Inspector Nemo, which adjusts its mise-en-folds.
During that time, the telephone conversation continues, punctuated with "Yes, Mr. Minister ... at your command, Mr. Minister ... of course, Mr. Minister ... not at all, Mr. Minister ... agreement, Mr. Minister ... it will be done, Mr. Minister ... "
- was Kouchner. It is in the shit. Must say that accumulates gaffes. According to the report on Burma and the benefits of Total, now he has published another article in the Financial Times laudatory, to the glory of the last African tyrants, Bongo, Eyadema's son, Kabila Gaddafi. And the civilized world falls on him, NGOs, the Red Cross, churches, alter-globalists, democrats, social democrats, anarchists, commies last, the Trotskyites, rappers, and the Flaming Occitan what do I know?. So it requires that the article be desecration in the day. On all copies of the Financial Times, not counting the times, quotes and comments. You think that's possible?
- I'd be surprised ... Well, I think it will happen soon. I see the water tower.
Indeed, the mist rises and, in a hole, the castle tower water Decize points to the sky his crown of antennas and lightning rods. A large banner flutters around it; Mourlon could decrypt: "NO AL'EOLIENNE! "*****

Chapter Twenty: Scabs and spots.
- Absolutely, EVEN Caution! A salmorejo Morvandiau and a salad of butter lettuce. With bacon, yes. The mash is my weakness. And my guests will enjoy the gastronomy of the country ... When? At thirteen hours, approximately. You to stay ...
Jean-Pierre Mourlon, escorted by Champagnole and Inspector Carol Nemo opens the remaining phases. The remains of deceased Fumerol will be searched again thoroughly.
- Tables should be stacked at the end of the attic. If my memory serves me ... By the way, what you've done some books?
- Transfers in Paris, under seal. They are studied by another team.
- What obstinacy! And the complete issue, I hope that the friend will continue ...
Leray - Do not worry, it works for us, too. Pending authorization, he edits for National Defense, the Memoirs of General Bigeard ...
- Because Jean-Marie Bigard is general! Tell me, promotions are fast now ...
- Bigeard not Bigard! Leray will also publish notices of employment for Milan missiles, the brochure of the Rafale, the complete lists of officers of the regiments of cavalry on foot from their creation, the history of the Zouaves and the last speech of the Minister ... And then, he remains the thrillers of Joel Lenoir. Imagine that the novelist had fallen into a lake in Switzerland, he reappeared on TV ...
- Yes, I saw the show at Tamburini. A bit bizarre, his adventure!
- Not so strange as that. Because Lenoir, between ourselves, it is manipulated by the services of a great country ... ally. You know what I mean? So, disappearance, reappearance, is routine in our business. Well, if we went to the attic? Behind a sofa
moth-eaten, under a pile old coil, bicycle wheels, shoes odd, ramshackle chandeliers, shelves and chair legs, an oblong package, wrapped in an old cloth, lying in the dust.
- Here. It is the small museum Fumerol secret. He showed me once. I had to keep the mission secret. But now ... You did not search far? What neglect!
- Right, it's going to be trouble for the registration number of the guys who were responsible.
Champagnole unpacks. Below the water, eight tables are rolled, paintings without frames. Mourlon recognizes two navies signed Olga Olby (stolen by Fumerol with its complicity in an eventful night expedition), three fake Utrillo (acquired in any flea market), a clumsy copy of The Death of Marat, David, and two replicas of icons Greek ...
- This one is St. Spiridon. I admit it. Look, here's the picture I took in Cargese. But, but, there is nothing on the halo.
- So, the famous' orb of St. Spiridon "was still a joke.
- Not even those scrawls that are distinguished on the original. It was really worth ...
- One of your whims, I said. Well, I'll pick the scabs. Early the inspector will scrutinize. And then they resell.
- Benefiting Fumerol Foundation, which I have the honor of being the ...
- For the benefit of works by the police, headed by my great-uncle. While Lady Prudence
Trottemenu clears the table, assisted by Jean-Pierre Mourlon, Inspector Nemo tries to plug the coffee maker.
- there is no electrical outlet in the kitchen. It is not practical.
- But if miss. Now consider it from the refrigerator and drain.
- Question Security is not up here!
- What are you, miss! It is an old house. In
himself up, the inspector faces the paintings she had deposited on the edge of the buffet. The masterpieces of the best examples of "secret museum" of Agnan Fumerol fly.
- No way! Champagnole cries, which received two stars on his knees. There's some funny spots behind the table. Ah! But it is holy, how do you say, Mirmidon? Spiridon ... And not just behind the halo. Carole, quickly bring your tools! I think I found ...
In fact, the spots which decorate the back of the canvas reveals a palimpsest: it was superimposed on a preliminary text. Armed with a knife, Inspector guitar, gently trim. His illuminating magnifier reveals snippets of letters. The entire afternoon is devoted to patient work.
- Eureka! exclaim in unison, the three researchers.
Finally, the recipe code zero zero! Finally, the secret of désécriture! *****

Where To Buy Sausage Stufer In Maine

CODE ZERO-ZERO chapters 1-5

Chapter One: Emergency.

- And Mr. Mayor, it will be ...
- A small black! You know we're in mourning, and doubling.
- Then a double! Operate!
Andrew Tavel is grumpy. Since the assassination of Agnan Fumerol, Mayor Decize no longer had the moral. The mysterious disappearance of Joel Lenoir in the depths of a Swiss lake aedile has plunged into a new abyss. Farewell to the political dreams, goodbye municipal management, farewell bonhomie. Andrew Tavel can not recover from the curse that seems to attach to local writers. The small town for eight years under his administration had brilliantly proved to France, Europe or the five continents, as a nursery of writers. After the polygraph Fumerol, the emergence of a young writer of detective novels, Joel Lenoir, attracted the attention of the press Decize.
- And that's not a murderer-ty unknown plant a poisoned dart in the jugular Fumerol.
- You could say he had no luck, timidly dares the constable.
- The jugular vein is not, but an artery, "replies the mayor, glared at his subordinate. This good Fumerol who had so kindly praised in one of his books ... And no one has discovered the murderer, despite the investigation in stereo ...
- In stereo? You mean dolby-surround. Constables, the Commissioner Champagnole, the DGSE, the espionage-cons, besides the reporter, my faith very nice and quite funny. What name does he?
- Mourlon. Jean-Pierre Mourlon. It is the executor of the deceased scholar.
- He must return to Decize in a week, Monsieur the Mayor. Her boyfriend is the editor who told me the other day at the market.
- I think I shall not recover. And what that animal went Lenoir fricoter in Switzerland? He brought glory to the pen, with some forty titles in preparation, almost all in our good relationship with city. You see the success he had had! And tourism benefits, cultural ... I notice that his eyes were bigger than his stomach.
- or the wallet. Because his fortune starting up on a flying.
The two men were seated at the terrace cafe of the Hotel de Ville, bitterly recount the tragic events of recent months. Any reader of NO FIRE WITHOUT Fumerol and NEVER WITHOUT TWO THREE readily understand the dismay of the mayor and constable. Their conversation is interrupted by the town clerk screaming from the window of his office:
- the mister mayor! The mister mayor! Emergency E-Mail!
- Bring it!
- I can not! It is on the computer.
- Pass this on my phone!
- I can not, the key is blocked. This is a top-secret message from the Ministry of Inte ...
- Not so loud! We hear you and municipal opposition lies in wait. I come on.
The mayor stormed into the lobby of city hall, he shakes two citizens from asking for a special grant to organize an exhibition of jumping beans; its momentum, it knocks over a jar of rubber klébercolombiana he caught the flap of his jacket picképickécolégram a cactus. Stumbling on a pack of leaflets of the UMP deposited on the mat in his office by a member of the municipal opposition, he finally manages to regain stability in the comfortable chair faux Louis XVI who was offered during his re-election.
On the computer screen, Andrew Tavel discovered the following message:
Gouv.fr.Minist.Intérieur-Bureau26 Codagedécodage-Top-secret.
Following talks held with your late Agnan Fumerol administered, have taken up research on DESECRITURE CODE 0-0. Team specialists will Decize coming days. Please support their work, access Fumerol papers or the like. Code paramount importance for new diplomacy. Distinguished sentiments. Commissioner Champagnolle CLDS
Message to retain or memorize. It will disappear in half an hour of your computer's memory.
- Ah, that's one more tile. Still bullshit in perspective. Me, I really wanted to resign.
- Oh no! The mister mayor implore the secretary, his eyes filled with tears.
- Good! Pass me Caillac. If it is a police matter, he, at least he'll know the way forward.
Alas, Chief Warrant Officer is not available. Where is he? Brigadier Cocagne, who is temporarily acting, tangled in a maze of muddy explanations, clarifications idle and contradictory details, which shows that the Chief's is occupied by tracking down dangerous terrorists Morvan, either in bed with high fever, or fishing in the pond of his brother, is on a secret mission to Wood Bourgeot, or to the zinc Cafe Saint-Private ...
Andrew Tavel applies, therefore, the English saying "wait and see."
second Chapter: An affair of state that can not wait.
In a squeal of tires, the big gray sedan stopped in front of City Hall Decize. Two men emerge: dark clothing, sunglasses, ear phones, middles of mirrored cabinets, cautious steps, the right hand slid into the inside pocket of his jacket, they direct their eyes all around. The few housewives who are outside the Petit Casino or pharmacy hasten the pace, after a frightened look. The couple of beggars who sits permanently on the steps of the Post assures his pack of dogs is not the time to bark or move any hair. The jeweler that comes to the moment of Decetia bar where he had returned to moisten the glottis, thinks that his usual dose of alcohol could cause him more trouble: it slides along the window of clothing store , pretending to be interested in these strings, babydolls and bras on sale.
Under the protection of his two henchmen, the Commissioner Champagnole painfully oozes out of the BMW. Under his arm, he shook a large workbook. Behind him, a young policewoman dressed in leather, drag two bags, a laptop and a briefcase.
From a window in the Hotel de Ville, Andrew Tavel monitors the carousel cursing:
- They're replaying James Bond! Not possible, the case must be important! I'll alert the local police.
Andrew Tavel has just enough time to store in single file in the lobby of City Hall the constable, police officer, deputy superintendent and the chief of technical services. The reception Champagnole the Commissioner and his team will be dignified and restrained martial. It only remains to pick up the flag and brandish it before the illustrious visitor. It is - of course - a little late to meet the Harmonie Municipale ...
Said commissioner does not care about all these formalities. After vigorously shaking hands with the mayor, he rushed into the first office he sees, is moving swiftly employed as the secretary of the school meal ticket, sit in a chair, cracked open his workbook and debits, of a monotone, the following explanation:
- You are aware, Mr. Mayor regretted that your fellow Agnan Fumerol had invented, among other finds more or less smokers, an average of désécrire. Let me explain: it was able to clear by a mysterious process, texts printed, mimeographed, handwritten or photocopied. We were negotiating with him, and he was ready to send us the process, ingredients, short code 0-0 as he called himself. And, unfortunately, Fumerol was killed. The investigation of these assholes gendarmes conducted at the will-as-you-shoot-I has obviously resulted in a deadlock. I had however been told : It was certainly a murder by remote subversion International, I see below the claw of Al Qaida, Iran, Fidel Castro or Zorglub ... what do I know?
- But the findings of Chief Warrant Officer Caillac exclude any participation ...
- Your Caillac is Brel. If he had not had a close relative of MMA, the investigation would not have been entrusted to the police. Now MMA is at home. So, you know. But I'm not there to find the murderer of Fumerol, a secondary task that is assigned to the sidekick. Tissot is the commissioner who will take care of a colleague who possesses the Nevers all the qualifications for the job. Myself and Inspector Nemo present here we have a mission more urgent. You've probably heard that our new President of the Republic ... Look, I do not see his portrait in the office! You will be fined ... Ah, well, the office of academic affairs, that is why your employees have displayed a portrait of Charlemagne ... Good. I repeat. Our President Sarkozy has a policy failure. In all areas. Even diplomacy. Efficiency, confidentiality, surprise effects. The release of Bulgarian nurses, Cecilia Gaddafi's tent, Kouchner in Iraq, the picnic in Bush, that's how he acts. And the public is mesmerized by his audacity. Especially after reports of "official truth" than any national press must pass. Nobody dares, at least in France, oppose this diplomacy of permanent surprise.
- Standing On bluff, you mean ...
- Me, I have no opinion, or rather, if I have one, I keep to myself. The press is muzzled on TV, so no risk. Apart Chained Duck perhaps. The problem is abroad. European diplomats, especially Germans and the English do not appreciate, because France is increasingly alone. Me, I'm not political, I just like to explain the situation. That's because nothing should remain of written documents that have been used to this new diplomacy. With us, it is relatively easy: the special services destroy any compromise text, erase hard disks and tapes, couriers and burn liquid ... neutralize much. The Clearstream affair has been a lesson, not about being captured by a computer or a cunning general collector of small notebooks! That should be our partners to act. And then the code Fumerol 0-0 of your interest.
- Erase foreign newspapers may be ...
- Correct! Not only newspapers but all the papers lying around, faxes, letters. You can imagine the result if Gaddafi issued in the international press the contract to supply weapons or plan for its future nuclear power plant, if Bush brandishes before CNN or Fox News a commitment of the French army in Iraq signed Sarko, if Cécilia transferred to Tripoli, in Baden-Baden to Bora Bora or commented on in a tabloid English ... The 0-0 code must deal with any eventuality.
- I conclude that you must find the key.
- And we find it. Inspector Nemo had already made some progress in forging a contact, I'd rather familiar and intimate with Fumerol. She is at the beginning of the puzzle. You are going to open the archives and the home of your Fumerol.
- But I think I have not the law. It is a journalist who was appointed during the lifetime of Fumerol to settle his estate and publishing his works.
- Do not would it be called Mourlon, Jean-Pierre Mourlon, formerly of the Literary Magazine?
- That's him. It is absent from Decize, these days, but it keeps coming back.
- No danger of that stands the slightest obstacle. Colleagues of General Information We have provided extensive documentation. Look: a hundred pages in this workbook. We want or we have ample means to enforce obedience. With his past beatnick of protest and its activities at the margin ...
- Another disciple Fumerol, if I may say so, is also Decize. The publisher Leray.
- Ah, Leray! I planned everything. It will help us or it will collapse of its box. And still no news of your other disappear?
- Lenoir, you mean? Well no, he fell into a lake in Switzerland. But I believe he is innocent.
- Innocent! You're kidding ... They account for some murders, perhaps Fumerol death. Attempts to blackmail. Threats to several local writers. And some clumsy plagiarism. Anyway, if you find ... dead or alive ... I let Caillac. The police can not remain unoccupied for longer. *****

Chapter Three: Rififi in the melee.
- So Mourlon sir, you're back!
- As you see, EVEN Prudence. It's not too early. I still work in perspective with the publishing Fu ...
- Ah, poor Mr. Fumerol! We liked the neighborhood. It's really terrible what happened to him. Bandits! Thugs! I trust it will one day and that the guillotine, they are chopped up into mincemeat ... That's all they deserve. I hope the President will make a law against murderers of this good man Fumerol. Already he tackles podéphiles and bitpulls ...
- We'll see. On this good day, EVEN Caution!
- For tonight, I'll bring the meatballs and zucchini soufflé. It suits you?
- Perfect, EVEN Prudence. See you tonight! Jean-Pierre
Mourlon is both pleased to find his neighbor so helpful and annoyed to have to stand insipid chatter. It airs parts of the house fire Agnan Fumerol, where he came again spend a few days to oversee the preparation of volumes 17 and 18 of the complete works of the polygraph, and put some order into the insurance files left by the scholar. This return to
Decize in the month of October will allow him a break after this summer under the rotten past showers and sand Paris-Plage and the story he has just completed for the magazine in Midi Olympique backstage at the XV of France. A grueling story from which he brought a mixture of sweat rattle, accent and boasts rocky Gascon. Now, rugby and its sidelines no longer any secrets for him, fitness rooms with noisy third half-time drunken, tact masseurs applied to the debriefing, the sponge-miracle healers to - do not repeat above - medicinal mixtures contained in bottles of Volvic. Jean-Pierre Mourlon suffered twice the wrath of the irascible Laporte, to be entered without knocking in a locker room and coughing during the meeting of film analysis of an up-and-unders. He had to drink three liters of sangria Régalade to show Fabien Pelous and Damien Traille "that journalists are not fags," and he shared a room for the night in a hotel Raphael Ibanez and Marignane supported snoring apocalyptic hooker, from Paris to Lyon, he rubbed the huge double Chabal on a narrow seat Airbus from Lyon to Paris, he swallowed eighty-six cm rosette to demonstrate "that the Journalists are not all ... etc. ... And the most painful memory remains the fray when he was pushed against his will, trampled, flattened, compressed, crushed, rolled, stretched, stretched, rubbed, shredded, grabbed, hit, rocked, dismantled: it was apparently, his entrance examination, a nice tradition in the profession, a hazing. To compensate, the twelve pages he wrote for the newspaper and some unusual photos earned him a nice little check.
Before any other work, the journalist moves to ease in the salon Fumerol deceased. He opens a bottle of calvados old, took off his shoes and delicately placed on the mini-stereo CD Jazz Drums Unlimited the watch he bought in a shop in the rue Saint-Merry. Rocked by the drum rolls of Max Roach, sniffing the precious liquid that stains her glass, Mourlon plunges into a bliss like no other.
A beatitude is unfortunately interrupted by the rattle the bell.
- Who can I well der ... ?
- Police!
- But is this good Champagnole Commissioner, exclaims the journalist ogled through the peephole. What good wind? Come in, dear friend. Exactly, I led a calva you tell me the ...
- Later, later, when we entered!
Commissioner sits in the rocking chair. He looks stern.
- You know what brings me?
- Yes, I think, to taste alcohol Agnan reserves, or play one of his masterpieces ...
- Quit your jokes. You've probably heard of désécriture, code 0-0.
- slipped me Fumerol few words. I thought it was a hoax.
- Well, it's the code I'm looking for 0-0. And it's not a joke, it's quite serious. Moreover Agnan Fumerol was ready to give when we ...
- Unfortunately, it's gone.
- Fumerol died, but the code exists somewhere. You'll tell me what you know.
- Almost nothing.
- Yet you Fumerol explained his research. He had the key to désécriture.
- He may be, but I did not understand. So ...
- So ... You'll open up all her drawers, spread all documents, drafts, letters he has left.
- No way! First, in what capacity have you come? As an admirer of Fumerol as curious occult treated as a collector of rare books?
- As a police officer, a secret mission. State matter.
- Show me a search warrant or official permission!
- My office is in the street. You want me to call?
Leaning, Mourlon see the two giants that are pacing outside the home of fire Agnan Fumerol.
Two hours later, the Commissioner explained Champagnole far and wide interest that senior levels of the police and the highest summits French diplomatic accord to désécriture. Jean-Pierre Mourlon hesitates.
Suddenly he has an inspiration:
- When you were in business with Fumerol, you certainly offered a contract.
- Absolutely.
- Well, I repeat the same clauses. Of course, it was give and take, a buzzword, I think.
- Give and take, win-win. We would have had the exclusive désécriture Fumerol and a tidy sum. I see that you will accept. What do you want? Money, money ...
- I do not represent the interests of heirs Fumerol. See no gain.
- I do not doubt it. So you prepare the house for me tomorrow afternoon. My team will give us a hand.
- Above all, bring me the contract to Fumerol. You need to have one copy. Unless ...
- The désécriture, damn! I promise to write again. *****

Chapter Four: The squabble fonts resumed.
The next morning, at around half past five, Jean-Pierre Mourlon is awakened by the shrill ringing of the phone:
- Hello!
- It's you, Albert?
- Scheise, shit, there stronzo mierdra, mutters the journalist (who has a fairly large pool of profanity Europe), still this old skin! You do not have time, you, to break the ears ... good people!
- It's you, Albert?
- And then she did it again!
Mourlon unplug the phone and returned to bed. He can not, alas! close to the eye as a violent thunderstorm raged over Decize and its surroundings. Thunder, wind, torrential rain succeed until sunrise.
The early morning is not easy. The unfortunate succeed the intruders, the pests seem to have as head Mourlon Turk.
On the computer, innumerable messages are displayed: Philippe Tamburini remembers the good memories of his friend Mourlon and send him a postcard showing the Old Port of Marseille blocked by bluefin tuna fishermen angry announcement that Thierry Leray it has encountered difficulties in printing the Volume 16 of the complete works of Fumerol, the editor of Midi-Olympique claims the € 4,500 check sent by mistake to Jean-Pierre Mourlon. Other e-mails from the Institute for the Fight against Diseases Diplomatic, customs without Borders, the Foundation for the Regis-Laspales quirky humor, Orphans and Orphan Grand Soir, Dead-Jatte stuck in cul-de-Sac, the Orchestra of St. Trophime cacophony-the-Mirabelle, who ask for substantial donations, tax deductible up to 150 %. Several carriers offer discounted subscriptions, and custom preferences. Twelve banks and insurance online claim that their investments are the best and safest in the world. Finally, a Legude, convenor of the Youth Popular Decizois Circle, sent seventy-eight similar messages of support to the action of President Sarkozy, accompanied by application forms and pledges.
is then the neighbor lady Trottemenu Prudence, which strikes the flap to ask if the journalist prefers turbot mullet for lunch, "because the fishmonger warned me yesterday morning that he would direct delivery of Britain but if you prefer the sole, or even a little piece of sturgeon, which is not bad sturgeon tarragon, EVEN Lesgourde gave me a lick last week, well, me I liked it, finally you choose, and worse as vegetables, you want to make small peas or carrots, or both mixed j'vous then leaves the market will open easter me and I used to and 'the first, there are plusses of choice, not true, sir Mourlon? "The good
gossip has just disappearing around the corner when a strange noise echoed through the neighborhood, like a fog horn accompanied by a jingle: brothers Miquet arise on bicycles survivors of the Tour de France 1903; the two lads look great with their hats with earflaps topped glasses tankers, hoses slung spare, bagpipes overloaded with bottles for here and there, they operate vigorously pears their horns hoarse. Reached before the old home Fumerol they go awry in a disturbing creaking. Mourlon, leaning out his window, asks:
- Oh, the two sprinters! You prepare the World Championship?
- The doctor recommended that we exercise. A force remain planted at the corner of the bridge, we finally become stiff, is not it Raymond?
- So we have recovered two old nails in the attic and Dede, not half of what a penguin, has rehabilitated. Today is the day G.
- You mean the D-Day?
- No, G! The day of the gymkhana ... You know not what is a Gymkhana? A sporting event as there is more. And yet, it was tough. So today we will go through all the streets of Decize, potholes, pedestrians unconscious, the queue of cars that change without warning, the terraces of cafes, the fording of the Old-Loire, that the hurdles.
- But that's not what brings us, "adds Dede. The factor has taught us to return your Decize. It appears that you have found a recipe in the papers of our great Fumerol - God rest his soul! So we thought that we, two former deputies, deputies loyal yes, we may say, well, we should have a lil pension, if you understand, what did you say that as the attorney, the executor of our
late ... - Do not worry, guys. Precisely this is what I am going to have a golden opportunity to enhance a little the work of the Master. I can not tell you more, a state secret. I'll keep you posted.
- Well, in this case, we can move on. And both
Miquet mounted their flimsy thatched antique frames, zigzagging across the dock Louison Bobet and-down the slope at full speed and disappear in the tall grass bordering the stream.
Mourlon did not have time to close the door. A police van arrives, flashing lights in action. A slamming door, and the journalist is faced with Chief Warrant Officer Caillac, a chief warrant officer furious:
- What do I learn? You negotiate the legacy of Fumerol! And with that, j'vous to request? With this scoundrel Champagnac!
- CHAMPAGNOLE.
- ish, if you prefer. A bastard who comes to the bread r'tirer mouth! With all I have done to you! Ah, that's unfair! Of High Treason! You Gotta go pay my little Mourlon!
- But ... But ...
- but there is no! I understood everything. It tastes like sugar, not of lucre ...
- From lucre?
- Yes, gain, wheat, moolah, profit. Fire Fumerol you are not interested because his deeds are synonymous with pumps money. Leray with your friend, you've found Fillon, not the vein j'm'embrouille. The books publishing, secrets to reveal, the heirs to represent as many scams is the key. But I've j'vous to the eye. While these negotiations, with these slip- Champagnole, you will drop, and we are the police we will resume dialogue with you. OK?
- How do you know?
- Nothing simpler. Mics.
- What pickups? Computers?
- I had suspicions, something in the eighth, distrust and division, two precautions are better than one and a half, and fly sewn motus. So I did install microphones in the room Fumerol deceased. To protect its interests and thwart any attempt at diversion.
- You do not have the right ...
- You think he has the right, this little Champagnole Commissioner ? Well, it's not all that, you'll give me ...
- What?
- Give it to me without making a fuss ...
- Give you what?
- Code.
- What code?
- Do not make the innocent! CODE ZERO-ZERO. Is that what you promised in CHAMPAGNOLE, right?
- But I have promised nothing ... Well, when we speak of the wolf ...
Indeed, the wolf is not far. Commissioner Champagnole stands in the doorway leading to the garden. A gun in hand, he observes the scene. One of his henchmen, also armed, slipped behind the CWO.
- And if Mr. Mourlon wants to sign the contract, we are ready, the Commissioner launched a bantering tone.
CWO, thrown, heads toward the exit, and mumbles:
- If you want war, you will!
Outside, Supreme insolvency, Constable notes that the four tires of the van police are flat and that Brigadier Cocagne, responsible for keeping the vehicle was tied against a utility pole. Comfortably seated on a bench, the second "big arms" that accompanies Champagnole, smoking a cigarette with eucalyptus.

***** Chapter Five: A harvest index, trails galore.
The autumn sun painted pink roofs of the old Decize. Successor to that rainy day, a rainbow spans the sky tower Minimes. Squadrons of crows cawing back in fields where they are stuffed with worms and corn. The evening promises to be enjoyable. Finally! Since
already eight hours straight, Jean-Pierre Mourlon, surrounded by the Commissioner and Inspector Champagnole Carole Nemo, search, fumbles, sorts and selects the archives Agnan Fumerol. He could not escape from this tedious work for two times three minutes, the time to satisfy a natural need under the supervision of a supercilious two henchmen in dark glasses. Explorers such terra incognita Mourlon and police remained tense nerves, all senses alert. As it had to sustain themselves, to cope, one of the assistants went Champagnole rob the dispensary where a pizza s'enfume eight hours a day: a pile of empty beer cans and greasy paper demonstrates the hungry body following the frenzied quest code zero-zero.
Commissioner, to subdue his nervousness, his fingers kneading an empty can of Adelshoffen and annoying squeal of aluminum in more top point Mourlon, busy running a treaty of occultism, The Grimoire of Insight, one of the last drafts Fumerol deceased.
- Hey, it's weird! I think I have a clue.
Champagnole can not hold his eagerness, so he tore a corner of the sheet as he tends Mourlon:
- show soon! Hurry! Hurry! But I do not understand a damn! "Collection of the rarest Secrets of Art Magic to see spirits where the air is filled ..." It was crazy the Fumerol. "Spirits where the air is filled! He was ravaged by mosquitoes, no doubt ... Ah, that there is too much. Inspector Listen! "To come three Demoiselles where three gentlemen in his room after supper ..." Ah, the rascal! He wanted to organize orgies! Even stronger: "To have gold and silver ... pluck the hair with the root of a mare in heat, closer to nature ..." What is "closer to nature "Carol?
Inspector blushed a bit and ventured:
- I think it's sex, the ancients had of modesty ... And what do we do with this pile of horse?
- We plant it in hand, grins Mourlon. No, Commissioner is not Fumerol who invented these antics, he merely react. Look rather summary, page 142: "To extinguish the fire ... ... to discover treasures for ..."
- And how it extinguishes the fire, your chimney sweep?
- "Say the following words three times, made the sign of the Cross: Anania, Anassia, Emisael, libera nos, Domine. "
- Banania, Pineapple and Michael! Well, my friend, if Greek firefighters had read that book, they would not have needed our Canadairs! Not true, Inspector?
- You are wrong to joke, Commissioner. With respect, it must be read little of this literature, even if it seems silly, because désécriture is alchemy. In my humble opinion, Agnan Fumerol had lots of fun with this arcane treaties and took great delight in dragging its code from a bunch of nonsense.
- That's what I understood, that adds Mourlon continues - Page 113, "Guard against the confidences and secrets ..." You know what a guard?
- Yes, says the Commissioner, the guard dies but does not surrender, as at Waterloo!
- Not quite. A guard in this cryptic language, it is a formula to avoid danger, a sort of vaccine. Well, the confidences and avoid disclosures that may apply to the code désécriture. It is well to remove text, erasing, writing that prevent any remains.
- If I remember correctly, interrupts the small inspector, Agnan sent me a card one day completely white on the front and on the back three words: "Look, read, windshield. I thought it was a joke. At first, I understood "read" within the meaning of the flower, and besides, how could I read, because nothing was written or even drawn? And then I had a towel on the map, I wiped, and instantly became one heart, but not a heart of love, a heart of animal or human, dripping blood, short of Gammon , and it disappeared just as quickly. Is it the désécriture?
- Without doubt, explains Mourlon. Me, he asked me several times to show me what he called experiments. But before he died ...
Commissioner Champagnole crumples feverishly another slip:
- Well, what do you think of this: "Steaming Herrego Gomet gueridans sesserant amei deliberating? "This is the beginning your famous keep confidences? It's Latin, Greek, Hebrew?
- A bit of everything and anything coherent. Nor the invocations to St. Sylvain, to Coridal at Crouay at Acham, Beelzebub, Satan or Baal-Hadur. The text mixture of old formulas cast demons, saints, and word games. Here, "Brac Cabrac, Carabra, Cadebrac, Cabracam, it lacks abracadabra. Until we meet Harry Potter
... The whole night is devoted to this exploration confused. Abandoning the occult, Mourlon reads several books on Decize, its history, its treasures. Nothing. No significant evidence. Code zero-zero remains an enigma. Champagnole and his assistant, however, noted some thirty formulas, words, for they are excellent police officers, could open up avenues.
Day breaks, dull, foggy, wet, icy. In the third crowing of the cock, the reporter understands that he is betraying his dead friend. Does he have the right to assist the Secret Service to acquire désécriture? Fumerol loyalty, patriotism, fear of a major cultural catastrophe, even a world war of information? In his brain, contradictory tensions exercised to the detriment of his attention to his health. He staggers, his eyes blurred.
is precisely the condition that Champagnole and his assistants wanted to provoke. A Mourlon less confident, easier to handle, already forgetful of promises of yesterday. The contract he signed only a decoy. € 50,000 at the first sign, 50000 other upon discovery of the complete recipe, this recipe again when 50000 will be implemented and a life pension of 10,000 € per month. That the contract was established with Fumerol Champagnole is it that has been proposed to Mourlon but the Commissioner look forward to applying this famous contract code zero-zero when it is operational and erase some of the zeros are to be paid ... with the secret hope of transferring the balance on the account he had opened himself to the Union of Banks Swiss La Chaux-de-Fonds. Jean-Pierre
Mourlon can do more, he reopened the Treaty of occultism on page 74 "Counter Headache: Miller, Vah, Vitalot; Pater and three times." He mumbles quickly forms: "... and do our induction in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo ..."
- What will you do in Saint-Malo, Mourlon?
- No Saint Malo malo, evil in Latin ...
- Ah, my boy, you wanted to hide the hint! Because you were to perfume. Carole, note "Saint-Malo, there is probably something to find there, I dunno, me in the tomb of Chateaubriand, or the mast of a catamaran, as the message in the Unicorn remember? Tintin, Haddock, the Bird Brothers. Also note "message in the mast, it will serve. Well, I summarize. Fumerol we prepared a treasure hunt. But the secret services are used. Just think, with the listing Clearstream, we feasted. Inspector, read us the clues potential please ...
- Machidael Barefchas contra ratout a Wednesday before sunrise, a yard of white, three pinches of cobalt, chard, ad bos bias Yoth heth, vau, Montparnasse, an arbutus branch, Scotty Stoneman and Bill Emerson's fiddle and bluegrass banjo, Barzy no longer in the alley where fleet quiet mind hazy and turns and turns the windlass, the blood of a bilious man, from the pen of bee the circus, the queen asks Mr. Mercy to spend six hours today at her home in middle of the circle igneous, Wanadoo-WANAD-WANAD-squeaker squeaker, Ronnie had prepared a cocktail for Elvira Here the view is unobstructed (Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols, chapter 46), a mullet of the island, red jumper, Saint-Malo, messages in the mast. What gibberish, so I can ... And a tarot card bearing the words "Kyrnéa among the Greeks, orb of Saint Spiridon, awakening of the volcano." But I think that this card has no interest. *****

Women Groping In Train

CODE ZERO-ZERO etc. Chapters 21

Chapter Twenty-One: Zero points.

Disappointment quickly succeeds to the enthusiasm when the trio manages to read the message Fumerol. Champagnole shines Mourlon on a look vindictive:
- Yet, you had spoken well of the code zero-zero.
- Oh! He had especially told that the code did not exist. I think he tried all kinds of experiences, but it did not have success.
- So why have we taken for a ride for so long?
Champagnole Commissioner is furious. It now measures the failure of his mission, the adverse consequences that may ensue.
- And he laughed at us ... He would not reveal his secret. But the code still exists ... Because hundreds of copies of the book Lenoir who have been cleared, it was not nothing!
- And the documents that we have seized just after his death, added Inspector Nemo. I remember we spent a few nights in the Survey, the lab ...
Mourlon casts an eye back on the back of the canvas. Enrolled in a series of concentric circles - which correspond exactly to the halo of St. Spiridon - message posthumous Agnan Fumerol is concise:
"Needless désécrire. Just do not write. I tried, I could not find. The code was a zero-zero decoy. "
- Commissioner, our mission is closed. You will make me ...
- Not so fast, my friend. You signed a two-year contract with the service. We know well ... use your talents
- A contract for discovering désécriture exclusively!
- You will use the books. Exactly, I received a request from a counselor at the Elysee. Up there, they never fail to biographers, but nobody has written about the military exploits of the President. Must say it has not done military service, nor participated in any war, for now. But he is envious of his pal Bush. You can see Las Cases in the little great man, author of the Memorial of Neuilly, or De Bello contra Racaillam ... That should satisfy your ego.
- Meanwhile, I really need a perm. A fortnight should suffice. The time to go visit my parents Hildegard, Bad Ischl, Austria. Because you are not unaware that ...
- You will get engaged. Congratulations. I will do whatever is necessary. And then you can resume editing Fumerol, his sanctimonious will be decommissioned sooner or later, more "secret" and unqualified imprimatur. You're luckier than me.
- You are there for nothing. If your heads were naive enough to think of a recipe, they got what they deserved ...
- You can not imagine the stupidity of the great who govern us. The other day I read that the Burmese dictators did delete sentences that might undermine their authority in newspapers, and they forced to replace them with harmless advertisements. The result: when a reader reads a section full of ads for cars, gadgets or insurance contracts, it is sure that things go wrong and he imagines the worst.
Chapter Twenty-two: Twelve chapters in Search of an Author.
- Well, sir Leray, business resumed.
- Softly, softly.
- Published qu'vous working for the Army now. It must pay well.
- Do you! The only advantage is that it pays me a salary, but I lost my freedom. Thierry Leray
recovers its currency, the crusty baguette stuck under his left arm and leaves the bakery. Rue de la Republic is swept by strong winds. Spring is once again disturbed, this year and one day he made 27 °, the next night it freezes, storms come and go, the Loire is in flood, buds burst, the cherry blossoms fall. Not surprising because since the last presidential election, "everything is possible" as the repeated factor tirelessly Jean-Paul Ragot.
- Why, exactly, I thought of you, Popaul.
- And here I am loyal to the post, but a little less to post.
- You seem busy.
- What do you want? With municipal elections, we were overwhelmed with useless paper. When you think that there are eleven lists Decize.
- The place is good ...
- Tavel And Dede does not represent. Hey, I have a letter for you.
- Come read in Maxim. You did well for a minute.
- Even two or three. And besides, I have a thirst for these!
factor dips his mustache in the foam of red beer.
- What it says to you, your old skin? Still in love?
- Do not fuck, I can not blair. Oh, look. I'll make you laugh:
"Philomena Samenot, Inspector Educational Honorary Officer of the Academic Palms - it reminds me of the ugly duckling - etc. ... etc. ... Dear Mr. Editor, I learned from a friend that decizoise young and sprightly journalist - talk about a playboy! - Was on the trail of a secret code that is revolutionizing the world of publishing and bibliophile. As in our family we are more to tease the muse - or her! I pity the poor muse! - I allowed myself to organize, with the help of my daughter, my granddaughters and two cousins in the way of Britain, a little contest. It was found that in the best frame of adventure novel. And we offer the exclusivity of our imaginings. It remains only to shape the work and we thought that among the writers of talent you are editing, he found the great novelist - without a doubt, my dear - who will benefit from our proposals ... "
- It gene not the same: If it is so great, she and her tribe, why not publish does not at the author?
- Probably to avoid financial risks ... wait for the sequel!
"Here is a diagram of the first twelve chapters: 1 °
Mourlon sagacious journalist discovers the copied code désécriture writing in a notebook where fire Agnan Fumerol traced his first letters to primary school. 2 ° The spiritual
Mourlon journalist examines the curious recipe:
- Grind black anthracite double zero.
- Pour one ounce of sulfur harvested at the entrance to Hades.
- Add two petals of edelweiss picked the roof of Finnmark in full sun to midnight.
- Pour a bowl of cider AOC Pays d'Auge and two calabashes of palm oil.
- Touillez Bourdalou in china.
- Dry the mixture in a linen sheet, a full moon.
- Reduce powder and bag in pockets of wallabies.
- then sprinkle the pages désécrire.
- On the third day, the magnum opus will end.
3 ° Mourlon crafty steals a sample of the Museum of Anthracite Mine Machine. With great difficulty, he grinds the robot married her neighbor.
4 ° The smart journalist includes flipping moult and moult old volumes that the entry of Hell is located near Naples, the Campi Flegrei, and that it easily picks up sulfur in the purest Solfatara of Pozzuoli. He goes presto.
5 ° clever journalist Mourlon his expedition returned to Gates of Hell, alas, on the ring road from Naples, his vehicle was hit by a truck, two armed men forced him to follow them, he is a prisoner of the local chief of Camorra, Don Vito San Ceruto. This demands a ransom of 500,000 €.
6 ° ransom is paid by the CIA got wind research the courageous journalist Mourlon. It is released from the underground Roman villa where he was reclusive Castellammare ... "
- Tell me if I'm dreaming! Your inspector retired, she is unbeatable in the romance of train station. Mourlon our friend will be delighted when he will be dressed as Tintin, Indiana Jones or Rouletabille. Because you'll read him mumble, I hope ...
- Trust me. When he learns his pseudo-adventures, he is okay to laugh.
- You know, I have an idea. We will propose this scenario Joel Lenoir. Since his return from Switzerland, he is languishing in his mansion.
- Want more? There are six chapters
... ... "7 The estimable journalist Mourlon hand pick edelweiss in Northern Samoyeds. After a grueling journey from the glaciers, he discovered the coveted flower. At home, he passed quickly from one of his colleagues, local correspondent of the daily Paris-Normandie Pont-Audemer, which makes it taste the best cider in the country and equips a solid reserve for future experiments. The astute
8 ° Mourlon unearths, with an old junk from the Porte de Saint-Ouen, a genuine Bourdalou china ... "
- What is c'machin?
- A chamber pot. Named after a Grand Century preacher, Father Bourdaloue. He preached for so long that his parishioners had to bring with them a chamber pot in order to relieve themselves by listening, without having to leave the church.
- Funny, your story. Appears that the Venezuelans have empty cans while watching the speech of their caudillo. Continues, please ...
... "9 The mischievous reporter stirs the mixture, then poured into a sheet of linen stolen from the Marquise de la Tour Who Lean. This chapter would benefit from being enriched by a chase between the groves that surround the old Gothic castle.
10 ° minions of the CIA, who did not forget to watch our watchful eye of a clever journalist, remove it nightly and lead in their lair Langsey, Virginia. There, in a laboratory ultra-modern, experts are preparing to remove barrels of powder (powder-erasing pattern filed by Pfizer). 11 °
The clever journalist arrives to escape from his guards during a visit to Disney World. He assaults a false dwarf from Snow White, accepts his place and miscarriage - automatic correction of the fool! - They part company with the CIA The CIA
12 ° pours thousands of tons of powdered eraser on Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Gaza and West Bank. This has no effect because it lacks oil palm! During that time, the Jester Mourlon manages to make his true powder désécriture in U.S. federal archives in clothes - ah, this stupid automatic correction! - In the basement of the Vatican, those in the Kremlin, the BNF, the European Central Bank, in filing the Parisian Messaging, and even in the municipal library Decize. But this chapter is a dream of the ineffable Mourlon, who wakes up on a beach in Miami, lying near a bimbo (not a creature of dreams, but of flesh and bone). The beautiful Angelina Exquisite is obviously a secret agent in the pay of Al Qaeda. [LOOK] "
- What class, friend Mourlon!
- What imagination, granny!
- And all this is thanks to the vagaries of Agnan Fumerol. END

Preparation H And Saran Wrap 2010

CODE ZERO-ZERO Chapters 6-10

Chapter Six: Conversations parallel.

- And the minister of justice, Rachida! She looks good with his two brothers dealer!
- You say that because she is beur! Incorrigible racist, go!
- Finally, Nicolas tone, he could have chosen a white woman, for crying out loud! He not only takes a wog, what not white at all, but she comes from a family of criminals.
- Shut up, Stephen! You're in no position to lecture us! Your Jean-Marie, it is not entirely clear to him ...
- Redis it a bit it is not clear, Jean-Marie! Head high and hands clean, it is the moral here!
- Clean Hands, my eye, or rather his eye! He was not blind to ogle on the fortunes of the cement ... You know what I'm talking to my guys ...
- gossip, without any evidence, pasqu'on wants to demonize ...
- Anyway, your constituents, we are free cloth ... So!
- A free cloth are you perhaps have to '. But that's no reason to bring in black women and Fatma in the government ...
- Shut up, I tell you. You understand nothing at the opening.
- And why it has not hired a guy free cloth us, I dunno, but knows better than Gollnisch c'grand idiot Kouchner's foreign policy. And Navy, it could have ...
- Being appointed admiral in chief of submarines, no doubt!
- Do not fuck, Jeremy. F'rais you better order a little yellow ... politics makes you thirsty.

The daily debate between Jeremy Duchemin, Sarkozyist more than ever, and Etienne Poitrinard, stalwart defender of the National Front, has just resumed, crescendo, driven as always by reading news items. Today, the dispute started with a snippet quite unusual, page 26 of the Journal of the Centre: the discovery of a package of human intestines in the backyard of a farm Sermages. From surprise to horror and indignation at the vindication of the challenged the police to the stigmatization of small socialist-lax judges, the tone is mounted, each step in anger is accompanied by a glass of pastis. And then the inevitable happened, when Stephen Poitrinard quoted the Minister of Justice ...
Regular customers finally have a show at the extent of their curiosity. Some scream of encouragement: "Go Stephen! Kss kss! - Bite to the eye, Jeremy! You're going to eat this time! "Others giggle and pretend to browse the sports pages of the daily departmental, to give a capacity And they do not, however, a replica of the chicane. Welcome, Guest few expect the general tour, which occur every day as the fateful moment of reconciliation.
At the end of the counter, undisturbed, the eye lost in a dream staff, the old Zigzag regularly throws his glass of Sancerre, in trembling.

Seated at the back of the room, two customers derive a sad thrombin. Jean-Pierre and Thierry Leray Mourlon, came to St. Private bar to share a few secrets, are left to lick their small gulps of beer mats Fritz Special. The publisher grumbles:
- There is no agreement here, as usual!
- Difficult to get a word with these two Weirdoes. But really, it is perhaps no worse. Because of us, the case code, better not to fuss made. The cops already have dug up the hatchet. You know, friend Agnan leaves a strange legacy.
- You mean the full version?
- Not at all! The edition is taking quite a job, but in the long run you will succeed. It makes me désécriture the pain ...
- The désécriture, I have never believed. It a hoax. Ah, if only they could put on hold, their others out there!
- I too thought like you. Until recent days. If the ace of the Parisian cops arrive here is not part of Cluedo ... Thou hast not seen, they were ready to défourailler cons and the pandores adjupète is also failing yesterday afternoon.
- So, what are you doing?
- For now, it bathes. Champagnole, the big boss of the secret service, I prepared for the contract emerged Fumerol and he passed along a small check in exchange ...
- You should
not ... - No, I have no idea désécriture code. So the commissioner and I, there were a series of bizarre clues. He seemed satisfied. It launched its experts on a dozen tracks. In my humble opinion, he put his finger in the eye. As for the actual code, if it exists, I think was pretty shrewd qu'Agnan for désécrire or take her with him to God the Father. Perhaps Jehovah's having fun ... hope they do not erase the Gospels ...
- And that check? Thou hast spoken well of a reward? We could ...
- Top secret, buddy. Finally, not alarmed now, I'm going to turn largely to ex-wives and children Agnan.
- If it is a tad ...
- Oh, it could help the publisher in need, I understood.
- Come tomorrow evening, we will discuss it with friends. I expected a little couscous royal with ... I say, there will be trouble at the counter!

Confidences mezza voce can not continue because the two parties fell from political controversy to the altercation. Jérôme Duchemin has suddenly launched the water jug stamped on the face of Stephen Ricard Poitrinard And the latter responded with a mighty knee into his opponent coucougnettes; collapsing in grief, the unfortunate Duchemin was bitten on the left thigh blood of the intractable Le Pen.
As the keeper of the bar phone firefighters, spectators, suddenly reminded of the requirements of solidarity, around the two combatants. It wipes the skull Poitrinard wet, we try to heal the wounds as best they could. A joker sings the immortal Johnny tube, "The Beatings, yes it hurts ..."

Jean-Pierre and Thierry Leray Mourlon slip away towards the bridge.

Chapter Seven: What a circus in the avenue!

This morning, a chilly wind blowing on the banks of the Loire. Buffeted by gusts, old plane trees in the Avenue du 14 Juillet shed their last leaves. Rare passers along the fronts and try to hide in the corner store. Jean-Pierre
Mourlon hastily step towards the station. The paymaster of the Secretary of State for Sports has given him an appointment in Paris to give him a "substantial additional compensation" as the new Minister Bernard Laporte has learned to appreciate the article that the journalist had spent a month earlier in the preparation of XV of France.
But what happens there in the corner, opposite the garage? The right lane is blocked by two white vans marked "Forensic Science" and five mobile police control vehicles which pass dropper. Along the gantry which supports panels of pre-warning, a strange scaffolding has been installed in the car of a public works vehicle, two men dressed in immaculate regulate the combination of a TV camera. On both sidewalks, employees place a strip of plastic colors. And Commissioner Champagnole directs operations, a walkie-talkie in hand. Her eagle eye can not fail to spot Mourlon
- Here! It's you! What are you doing?
- I go to the station, it is the direction, is not it? And you?
- Operation locus-focus ... In the jargon of the house is Phase 3 of the search index. An employee spotted him up there ...
- Your index is the plate "Downtown" with the arrow, perhaps?
- You do not see anything else?
- pigeon droppings and a scribble on the porch.
- This scribble you call that interests us. They say a tag, now when we are in the wind.
- In the wind, everyone is in the wind this morning ... But what he tells you, this tag?
- You see ... Oh, no? That you're not used.
- I do not know me, or something like Kon Klone, interspersed with letters.
- It Klown, we found a dozen in the streets of Decize, including one on the transformer opposite the offices of EDF
- And then? There were a poster for the circus Zavatta, which has passed through the city there are two or three months, according to my neighbor ...
- Klown with a k, not c!
- What is the relationship with the indices?
- Damn! You've recorded with us, these clues ... You may remember the "circus" ...
- Wait, yes, that was weird ... ...
Feather - Feather in the circus bee, yeah!
- But bees do not have feathers! Neither the clowns.
- It depends on which ...
- It's not all that, I have a train at 9 h 43. I go to Paris. Just today, I'll be back tonight. You let me ...
- Of course! Remember that you remain available.
- At your orders, whatever!
Commissioner Champagnole fattening his megaphone and shouted: "Priority Passage for this individual here. Open the dam! "While
Mourlon press the pace towards the bridge Aron, two grannies leaning to comment on their window that order their martial sonotone amplified:
- You think they will release the dam, EVEN Fernande? It will cause the flood, with c'qu'est fallen in recent days ...
- Oh, you never know with these people's movies. They have many ways.
- But it's not cinema, is written on their trucks "Police".
- It's not real. Me I immediately saw qu'c'était film on TV. Here, EVEN Ginette big here, Cui nouaires's eye, I saw the aut 'souair TF1. How then qu'ys'appelle? Tell me ...
- You talking nonsense neighbor! The police is the police and the TV is on TV.

On the train to pass the time, Jean-Pierre Mourlon is "cinema". Elbows on the shelf in front of his chair, he reads the list of pseudo-evidence he provided to police and establishes several drafts of screenplays for investigators. So many action films with stunts, chases, bombs, helicopters spewing fire, without forgetting the dream creatures responsible for diverting the super-cop Playboy - it's fun to imagine Champagnole 007 - its task of his ministry, his sacred mission, the Holy Grail-Zero-Zero ...
Commissioner intrepid hurtling through the Morvan hills to reach the geographic center of the eurozone, Montreuillon or in the vicinity, he through without any damage a circle of fire made of straw bales set on fire by angry peasants, arrives at a social gathering where Ronnie McDonald clown hands him a cocktail that was prepared for the sweet Elvira woe! The cocktail is poisonous, it contains particles of cobalt and a red jumper wins behind him lifeless to the commissioner a palace where the queen bee plumed feather revives him by beating vigorously with a sprig of arbutus c ' is then that the old Nieztsche, recognizable by its long white whiskers, gets to dance with the Earl of Mercy to the sound of banjos and fiddles with a country band Morvan. The sun rises, it's Wednesday morning, as children do not school and play with the teddy bear Barzy. Commissioner Champagnole 007 awakens in Saint-Malo in the arms of a siren suddenly sees it on the dresser, the model of the schooner Unicorn, he runs, runs, runs, stumbles, knocking the small boat into matchsticks including all the masts break, will reduce sulfur powder, ignited, and ten small confetti fly; on each is written the simple word "zero" ... Then
Mourlon out his dream. The sound of the train announcement that Paris is only three minutes and the driver thank, on behalf of the station, 'ladies and gentlemen passengers, wish them a good day and hope they will soon return and they on the Paris-Nevers, Clermont-Ferrand.

****
Chapter Eight: Ya Mustapha!

- Why the casbah was burned, my zami?
- Why the casbah was burned?
- Pasque fatma the fire was put my zami,
- fatma the Pasque has put the fire ... The
drunken voice of Jean-Pierre Mourlon stimulus, sentence by sentence, this silly jingle. The chorus resumed.
Seated around a steaming couscous, the four Musketeers take inventory of exotic songs they know, an exoticism that is more folklore than real military knowledge of North African music. "Let me couscous, baby, Pan-Pan arbi, Darling I love you baby I adore you, We are the Africans who come a long way, Hey, there goes the rod, Mom, what that a virginity ... "Jean-Paul Mourlon find the directory that made him the life and soul train winter evenings in the small European community, there in the foothills of the Atlas, while teaching the language Shakespeare's son of the fellah. The other three commensal
are: first the master of the house, Thierry Leray, director of the Imagination Workshop, responsible for many months of editing the complete works of Agnan Fumerol on his left his accomplice factor Popaul Ragot, revolutionary hardliner strapped Revolution and a great lover of liquor and witticisms, on the other hand, the computer scientist emeritus Alexis Julien, Leray was able to disconnect its computers for a few hours.
front of each guest, a plate loaded bone, sauce and too few grains of semolina, awaiting the next load. Six bottles of Mascara and gray Boulaouane are lying in a basket, or nearly empty, too, they wait for assistance. A strong smell of burning herbs - and smoking - exists in the room.
While opening a new bottle, Jean-Pierre Mourlon sings an old military air, accompanied by the trumpet nasal Popaul:
"Blowin 'the Bat' d'Af 'passing / Ahoy those in the class / A we broads / They retrouv'ra / When the class / When the class will go ... "Before

Mourlon started its round of singing, conversation rolled over all the concerns of the quartet: the tour insane factor, the inertia of printers, the discovery of a pile of human intestines in a cottage Morvan, the new championship victory Snider, the future of cable TV network that disrupts traffic in the Faubourg Saint-Privé, the collapse of a tower within the old castle, the price of a baguette, with gasoline, global economic conditions, the latest models of Dell and Acer and the auction caps fire Pinochet ...
And rantings of songs, the four accomplices have come inevitably to the désécriture, the mysterious legacy of their former master Fumerol.
- Fumerol invented nothing. He adapted. In computing, code zero-zero is the virus. It's been ages since the hackers of all countries have introduced worms, earthworms if you prefer, in the machines they want to wreck. This desecration of the most complex software. And the Trojan, it's even more vicious.
- Another feat of Odysseus ventured factor. The computer
shrugs, smooth, and resumed his goatee:
- So, since the internet is accessible to everyone, you understand. But it was the parade: antivirus, firewall. My buddy Norton, for example. The difficulty is that the virus can be developed only after the virus ... You see, it's like the struggle of labs doping control against those who invent new products, obviously undetectable for a year or two ...
Alexis Juliénas strike her audience with a lengthy presentation full of Anglicisms, Netsky, boots, spyware, rolling stones, misterbeane.
- Viruses Hackers Are your icosahedral, helical or wrapped, inquires Mourlon, cheeky?
- You do not understand anything and you make fun of my ...
- Exactly. This is because your virus are too technical they do not match the genius of Fumerol. Him, he clears without intervention mathematics. No need to bytes, megabytes and software. Fumerol him ...
- Fumerol, he might be seated in all the sciences, he did I tell you that adapting.
- I do not disagree, my dear. But its source was not the computer, it was alchemy. In his library, he has left a radius Esoteric treaties. And when he showed me around the room Olga-Olby he told me ...
- The code zero-zero, the demand factor?
- Not quite, just a few things, but I did not get it. So ...
- So children, it is going to have to hunt occurs Leray. But before squirming their brains, let ... A ladle of couscous and a side of each lamb.
- Just a ball, to make you happy. Because, me, my belly full.
- Two chickpeas, I leave a little room for dessert. Do you mind?
- Lightweight, there is light your couscous. It is you who prepared or the caterer?
- Both, sir!

And the great food again, interspersed at regular intervals, new considerations désécriture.

*****

Chapter Nine: The lonely musings of a glutton.

slouched on a pile of cushions, Jean-Pierre Mourlon draws short puffs of his pipe kief. Sated, a little drunk, legs trembling, eyes half closed, he wanders off the remaining bit of conscience. The smell of couscous, smoke ... He'll see you there. There, in the Maghreb. The sun. The range of Bejaia. Prawns cooked on the coals. Constantine, the gorges of Rummel, the Place de la Breccia, the suspension bridge, street vendors, the smell of kebabs, the pastries with honey. Spices, red powder, saffron, brown, green ... The sheep tied to a pole and stuffed with fragrant herbs, destined for an upcoming barbecue. The prickly pears at the end of their rackets. Excursions to the oasis. Touggourt and its sea of palm trees. El Oued and its market, its carpets, its potters. The walls of Ghardaia. Malika's black eyes, mats Naima, jewelry knock Fawzia, dresses multicolored Khadra dancer ... A Kabyle Algeria postcards. Wonderful memories. Other, less pleasant, spring floods, water shortages for the rest of the year, the cholera epidemic in douars slums around the cities, police brutality, the Colonels ... The The omnipresence of the FLN's portraits rais ... The Boumediene "volunteers" of the Agrarian Revolution ... and mismanagement of major projects ... The reporter emits
sigh on sigh.

The meal was certainly too generous. Too wet, too. Mourlon feel heaviness between the stomach and pylorus. Digestion is his weak point since few months. Should be consulted. Avoid excess. But tonight ...
A new suction pipe in kief. The sarabande reveries resumed. More pictures sunny. The Calanques of Cassis. The shores of Port-Cros. The ocher rocks Cape Canaille. A trip on a catamaran with the Marseillaise in laughter, how it is named, the small Jewish? Esther? Judith? Sarah? Finally, a Biblical name. In the distance, dolphins disappearing in a shower of foam. And suddenly, looming behind the rocks of the island claims Riou, the giant car ferry that almost rip the boat.
- There is no longer the car ferry. The Cyrnos has been sold, may be scrapped. Cyrnos, Cyrn, Kyrnéa, like it is one of evidence found on a playing card. A tarot card, that's why I wanted to Marseille. Kyrnéa, it tells me something ... Yes, a review Corsican autonomist or regionalist. Does Fumerol would not ...? There I must have the heart net. Jean-Pierre
Mourlon can not wait. He writes feverishly phone number of his friend Philip Tamburini.

- Ring! Ta ta ta ta ta tatsoin-te-èreuh!
... The first two bars of the Marseillaise suddenly resonate in the humble remains that the retired banker occupies with his wife beside the Biguglia, a few miles south of Bastia.
- Who? Who? Who dares to wake up to an hour if ...?
- is Jean-Pierre!
- But you will not, no! Three hours and fifteen minutes. This is not the time to sleep with you? You, you, you could m'filer a blow to the heart ... So ...
- So here it is. Kyrnéa, it means ...
- A kir is a white-currants, you know the good.
- I have not said Kir, I said Kyrnéa. KYR.N.
- Ben is a former name of Corsica. In Greek, I think.
- Thank you, Filou! That's c'que j'm'étais said. Agnan left us the true index. It's your house that leads us.
- My Home? Why? First, what are you talking about this poor Agnan? He is dead, peace to his ashes!
- Marseille tarot, Kyrnéa, the Greeks, the key code.
- What key? Listen, Jean-Pierre, stop your mysteries. Or do I hang up. Already qu'Anghjula Maria makes me eyes revolver. Because she wants to sleep. You understand?
Mourlon briefly recounts the quest of the code zero-zero, carried away by his enthusiasm, he developed associations of ideas which led to a couscous a little heavy on car ferry Cyrnos, through southern Algeria, the creeks of Cassis, Fawzia with long braids, Sarah sailor and leaping dolphins, leading in Corsica, where he has landed in the shortest possible time.
- You expect, Filou! In two or three days time to arrange ... But, you listen, eh?
A regular snoring shakes the listener.

****
Chapter Ten: The police did not give weapons.

The alarm of the garbage truck stutters his complaints treble in the alley. It is still dark and a light rain, cold, vertical, continuous hammering the roof. Jean-Pierre Mourlon emerges from a restless sleep. He spends his beard over the duvet, extends an arm, another extension, press the alarm clock: once, the melodious voice of the journalist of service lists the odds horse. The reporter hesitated
: Will it rise or sink back into the arms of Morpheus (for want of arms at its disposal more concrete)?
- ... no surprise in the Criterium of Five Years, our favorites are the 9 Orlando Furioso, 17 Offshore 7, OK Coral, and 4 Oh Daniella, 11, Ortolan outsider ... And now our usual topic this morning at the Elysee today, President
Sar ... - Oh, no! We invaded this one!
one angry gesture, Mourlon disconnected his telephone, he hustles all the bric-a-brac that clutters her bedside table, a glass half full of cold tea, two pairs of glasses, cotton swabs, a watch, two novels of Joel Lenoir, a videotape, a crumpled sock, three tissues, a picture of Agnan Fumerol and some dust bunnies.
- Okay, I need to get up. The trip to prepare. Luggage again, airfare, train, boat, what?

While the reporter pulls the zipper of a bag a little too crowded, the doorbell rang input.
On the threshold, the gendarmette De Beers takes shelter from the rain with the briefcase she brandished over his head.
- A call to the police, sir Mourlon. It seems quite urgent. CWO seemed preoccupied.

- I will not mince words, my dear! Give me the key. Otherwise, he'll cook you ... It is you who see.
CWO Caillac pacing up and down his office. Nervous, angry, determined. His mustache quivered at each of its sentences.
- I had confidence in you. And that's handyman Champagnole you deliver your clues ...
- But ...
- No objection, please. You have pulled the rug out from under. And all this in hopes of getting a small windfall Champagnole ... that will not pay you, you can be sure!
- But ...
- You know evil, these guys from the secret police. They have rolled, and smarter than you. In the gendarmerie, was of honor. We respect their word. Them, they are accustomed to dirty tricks, the traps, at low maneuvers. Remember the Rainbow Warrior? And Ben Barka Case? With us, not that ...
- The hut burned down, maybe ...
- this was different, the gus were on duty, the responsibility of the prefect. You're not going to lecture me. So, I recapitulate: Champagnole promises a large sum in exchange for clues, you pretend to rummage through the papers of Fumerol, you deliver a dozen forms, hollow taradiddles, you sign a contract, they pretend to leave yourself happy and you think you have fooled. A fool, my dear. Because they came in your absence ...
- They came back?
- Yes, for your banquet at Leray. I put a policeman on duty in the attic of your neighbor. And we put some microphones.
- Champagnole and his minions have discovered ...
- Not all! One remained in the fountain pen with which you signed the alleged contract ... a contract they do not comply, you can be assured. Their methods of thugs, I know, me ... So you thought the ride. Champagnole did not believe for a moment your clues. He did not fall the last downpour. During his search at night, he made no sound, it left no trace. I recognize that in that area, he and his teammates, they are virtuosos.
Caillac softens tone; a finger, brush mustache.
- If I am relying on the last record, he would have found a chemical formula, or something of that ilk, with bromide and a couple of mysterious ingredients. Is that what you tell me ...
- I have no idea
- In this case, I will appeal to the usual method, is not it?
- What is ... ?
- past, talk to a suspect, the court had recourse to the Issue.
And then the m sisters have evolved, yet we must be efficient, so my colleague, Constable Lecogneur occasionally uses his formidable hairy paw to help the truth to come out of ...
- You no right!
- And you, are you sure that you are authorized to sell a state secret, or rather to deceive the national police with false leads? In fact, since we entered France after, with the presidential election, EVERYTHING IS POSSIBLE ...

Two hours later, after having tasted his flesh and bones in the charms of the question gendarmesque, Jean-Pierre Mourlon nervously leaves the office of Chief Warrant Officer Caillac. "Without the knowledge of his own accord", to quote the famous words popularized by Richard the conqueror of the peaks, he abandoned his inquisitors new vital clues, a chemical formula that his mind full of resources has had time to concoct between two slaps.
Caillac and his company will now practice the game of small alchemist mixing potassium bromide, the Charolais bull horn crushed by a full moon night, the pistils of marigolds, the heels and essence of water lying arthame St. Aré blessed by a monk of San Bernardino. Then they try to désécrire all tags that disfigure the walls of Decize ... and they can communicate their revenue to all gendarmerie metropolitan and overseas. Glory! Promises for advancement! Chief Warrant Officer Lieutenant already sees itself, and why not? Lieutenant-Colonel or Colonel ... ...