robotic.
Fache's sole emotion this evening seemed to be one of intense resolve, as if this arrest were somehow personal to him. Fache's briefing of his agents an hour ago had been unusually succinct and assured.
I know who murdered Jacques Saunière,
Fache had said.
You know what to do. No mistakes tonight
.
And so far, no mistakes had been made.
Collet was not yet privy to the evidence that had cemented Fache's certainty of their suspect's guilt, but he knew better than to question the instincts of the Bull. Fache's intuition seemed almost supernatural at times.
God whispers in his ear,
one agent had insisted after a particularly impressive display of Fache's sixth sense. Collet had to admit, if there was a God, Bezu Fache would be on His A-list. The captain attended mass and confession with zealous regularity—far more than the requisite holiday attendance fulfilled by other officials in the name of good public relations. When the Pope visited Paris a few years back, Fache had used all his muscle to obtain the honor of an audience. A photo of Fache with the Pope now hung in his office.
The Papal Bull,
the agents secretly called it.
Collet found it ironic that one of Fache's rare popular public stances in recent years had been his outspoken reaction to the Catholic pedophilia scandal.
These priests should be hanged twice!
Fache had declared.
Once for their crimes against children. And once for shaming the good name of the Catholic Church
. Collet had the odd sense it was the latter that angered Fache more.
Turning now to his laptop computer, Collet attended to the other half of his responsibilities here tonight—the GPS tracking system. The image onscreen revealed a detailed floor plan of the Denon Wing, a structural schematic uploaded from the Louvre Security Office. Letting his eyes trace the maze of galleries and hallways, Collet found what he was looking for.
Deep in the heart of the Grand Gallery blinked a tiny red dot.
La marque.
Fache was keeping his prey on a very tight leash tonight. Wisely so. Robert Langdon had proven himself one cool customer.
CHAPTER 9
To ensure his conversation with Mr. Langdon would not be interrupted, Bezu Fache had turned off his cellular phone. Unfortunately, it was an expensive model equipped with a two-way radio feature, which, contrary to his orders, was now being used by one of his agents to page him.
“Capitaine?”
The phone crackled like a walkie-talkie.
Fache felt his teeth clench in rage. He could imagine nothing important enough that Collet would interrupt this
surveillance cachée
—especially at this critical juncture.
He gave Langdon a calm look of apology. “One moment please.” He pulled the phone from his belt and pressed the radio transmission button.
“Oui?”
“Capitaine, un agent du Département de Cryptographie est arrivé.”
Fache's anger stalled momentarily.
A cryptographer?
Despite the lousy timing, this was probably good news. Fache, after finding Saunière's cryptic text on the floor, had uploaded photographs of the entire crime scene to the Cryptography Department in hopes someone there could tell him what the hell Saunière was trying to say. If a code breaker had now arrived, it most likely meant someone had decrypted Saunière's message.
“I'm busy at the moment,” Fache radioed back, leaving no doubt in his tone that a line had been crossed. “Ask the cryptographer to wait at the command post. I'll speak to him when I'm done.”
“Her,”
the voice corrected. “It's Agent Neveu.”
Fache was becoming less amused with this call every passing moment. Sophie Neveu was one of DCPJ's biggest mistakes. A young Parisian
déchiffreuse
who had studied cryptography in England at the Royal Holloway, Sophie Neveu had been foisted on Fache two years ago as part of the ministry's attempt to incorporate more women into the police force. The ministry's ongoing foray into political correctness, Fache argued, was weakening the department. Women
Fache's sole emotion this evening seemed to be one of intense resolve, as if this arrest were somehow personal to him. Fache's briefing of his agents an hour ago had been unusually succinct and assured.
I know who murdered Jacques Saunière,
Fache had said.
You know what to do. No mistakes tonight
.
And so far, no mistakes had been made.
Collet was not yet privy to the evidence that had cemented Fache's certainty of their suspect's guilt, but he knew better than to question the instincts of the Bull. Fache's intuition seemed almost supernatural at times.
God whispers in his ear,
one agent had insisted after a particularly impressive display of Fache's sixth sense. Collet had to admit, if there was a God, Bezu Fache would be on His A-list. The captain attended mass and confession with zealous regularity—far more than the requisite holiday attendance fulfilled by other officials in the name of good public relations. When the Pope visited Paris a few years back, Fache had used all his muscle to obtain the honor of an audience. A photo of Fache with the Pope now hung in his office.
The Papal Bull,
the agents secretly called it.
Collet found it ironic that one of Fache's rare popular public stances in recent years had been his outspoken reaction to the Catholic pedophilia scandal.
These priests should be hanged twice!
Fache had declared.
Once for their crimes against children. And once for shaming the good name of the Catholic Church
. Collet had the odd sense it was the latter that angered Fache more.
Turning now to his laptop computer, Collet attended to the other half of his responsibilities here tonight—the GPS tracking system. The image onscreen revealed a detailed floor plan of the Denon Wing, a structural schematic uploaded from the Louvre Security Office. Letting his eyes trace the maze of galleries and hallways, Collet found what he was looking for.
Deep in the heart of the Grand Gallery blinked a tiny red dot.
La marque.
Fache was keeping his prey on a very tight leash tonight. Wisely so. Robert Langdon had proven himself one cool customer.
CHAPTER 9
To ensure his conversation with Mr. Langdon would not be interrupted, Bezu Fache had turned off his cellular phone. Unfortunately, it was an expensive model equipped with a two-way radio feature, which, contrary to his orders, was now being used by one of his agents to page him.
“Capitaine?”
The phone crackled like a walkie-talkie.
Fache felt his teeth clench in rage. He could imagine nothing important enough that Collet would interrupt this
surveillance cachée
—especially at this critical juncture.
He gave Langdon a calm look of apology. “One moment please.” He pulled the phone from his belt and pressed the radio transmission button.
“Oui?”
“Capitaine, un agent du Département de Cryptographie est arrivé.”
Fache's anger stalled momentarily.
A cryptographer?
Despite the lousy timing, this was probably good news. Fache, after finding Saunière's cryptic text on the floor, had uploaded photographs of the entire crime scene to the Cryptography Department in hopes someone there could tell him what the hell Saunière was trying to say. If a code breaker had now arrived, it most likely meant someone had decrypted Saunière's message.
“I'm busy at the moment,” Fache radioed back, leaving no doubt in his tone that a line had been crossed. “Ask the cryptographer to wait at the command post. I'll speak to him when I'm done.”
“Her,”
the voice corrected. “It's Agent Neveu.”
Fache was becoming less amused with this call every passing moment. Sophie Neveu was one of DCPJ's biggest mistakes. A young Parisian
déchiffreuse
who had studied cryptography in England at the Royal Holloway, Sophie Neveu had been foisted on Fache two years ago as part of the ministry's attempt to incorporate more women into the police force. The ministry's ongoing foray into political correctness, Fache argued, was weakening the department. Women
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