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! *****
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