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. *****
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