Paris, France. 2002. The Louvre.
A tall, over the hill American glanced at the floor with disgust. His disgust was understandable, as the corpse of a Roman Catholic monsignor lay on the ground in front of a painting of Louis XIV. [anchorlink=anchor1]*[/anchorlink]
“What kind of sick bastard would do this to a priest? I can’t f….”
He paused in mid-expletive as Police Inspector Amelie Poulain entered the room. His eyes were drawn to her badge.
“You can’t what?”
“I was going to say that I can’t believe that anyone would stab a priest to death in the Lourve in broad daylight in the summer.”
“Zhis is Paris, mister…”
“Hanky. Thomas Hanky.”
“Zhis is Paris, Mr. Hanky. We French are a madness prone people.”
“Are you what passes for a cop?”
“I will be asking zee questions, Mr. Hanky.”
“Is that what passes for a French accent?”
“Perhaps, Mr. Hanky. But you may learn more about it in a French prison with inmates named ‘Flaubert’ if you do not answer my questions.”
“Flaubert?”
“Zhat is French for ‘Bubba’.”
“Alright, well ask away, then.”
“Did you know zhis man?”
“Who, the stiff?”
“Yes, the poor dead monsignor.”
“Nope, never seen him before in my life. But he did call me earlier today. He said he had important information for me.” [anchorlink=anchor1]**[/anchorlink]
“What information?”
“He didn’t say. I suppose he knew I was here in Paris investigating links between Al- Qaeda and the French Foreign Legion.”
“And do you suspect ties between zee French Foreign Legion and Al-Qaeda?”
“Yes, I believe the French Foreign Legion were behind September 11th. It is an obvious ploy to weaken American resolve so that the French government can retake the Louisiana Purchase by force when our guard is down.”
“Zhat is bound to make you unpopular in Paris, Mr. Hanky.”
“But it is bound to make me popular when I run for the Senate in 2008.”
“Is zhat why you killed this priest?”
“I didn’t kill him!”
“So, Mr. Hanky, you deny knowing that this kind, gentle man was a member of Magnum Opus?”
There was a pause. Thomas had a look of panic crossing his face.
“Shall I repeat the question, Mr. Hanky? Or perhaps we should discuss down at the police station. My partner, Police Inspector Clouseau, might like to have a word with you.”
“Oh no. It’s happening again. Just like last time…”
“Vhat are you babbling about, Mr. Hanky?”
“It may already be too late, inspector. It will happen again, just like it did when Pope Mary Magdalene was assassinated.
“Pope Mary Magdalene? Are you mad, Mr. Hanky?”
“Not as mad as you damned French, police inspector. You know him better as St. Rudger von Eselsberg.”
A Code of Their Own
[anchor=Option]*[/anchor]No, not that one. The other one. You know, the one with the guy in it. And other stuff. Look, it’s not important, really. We haven’t gotten to the part where secret codes and the arrangement of paintings, furniture, and nude busts of nymphs becomes important.
[anchor=Option]**[/anchor] Alright, now you can start worrying about codes and information and other conspiracy stuff. Sheesh.
