exterior walls. There should be a rear staircase, too, I reasoned, because even before fire escapes, people in buildings didn't want to be trapped.
I walked along the alley and found doors into each building, although whether the doors were original or later alterations was impossible to say. The locks were old large-key door locks, the kind that were popular in Europe between the world wars. They probably dated from a renovation during that period, which I thought must have been the last major one. I glanced at Rodet's back door. It was not alarmed, at least on the exterior, but high above, pointed down at a fairly steep angle, I saw a security camera. The thing seemed to be aimed straight at the doorway. If the video feed was not monitored inside the building, then it must be monitored off-site, which meant there was a dedicated telephone line or an Internet connection. I continued strolling along the alley, craning my neck left and right like your average tourist.
If you think it would be easy to go in through Rodet's back door, think again. I would have bet serious money that the old door was there because local ordinances prevented exterior modifications on historical buildings. Immediately inside, I suspected, was another door, a steel one with terrific locks, festooned with alarms. Yet the exterior walls, with old metal drainpipes coming down off the roofs, could be climbed.
When I got back in the square I looked again at the roofs. Above
Rodet's apartment was an attic with dormer windows. I wondered if that attic was part of his apartment. A careful man could go over the roof and enter through one of those windows. It was something to think about.
I was also thinking about Marisa Petrou, Rodet's mistress. Could I use the fact that I knew her to gain entrance to this apartment?
I spent the rest of my half hour just looking, trying to make the scene and details stick in the gray matter. Alberto Salazar and Rich Thurlow arrived right on time to pick me up.
"I thought we'd look at DGSE headquarters tonight and save the chateau for tomorrow," Rich said after I was in and the car was rolling again.
"Sure. Drive on."
We hadn't gone two blocks before Salazar said, "Sure is different from Iraq, isn't it?" He directed that comment at me. "There's a place I don't miss, let me tell you. Squalor, dirt, heat, fanatics, car bombs, blood on the street, body parts strewn around .. . It's the contrast, y'know? I have nightmares about the place. How about you, Tommy?"
"Hard to forget a resort spa like that," I agreed.
"Remember that time we located those explosives inside that house, and when the soldiers surrounded the place, that woman walked out? She was wearing one of those chadors, those black robes that cover her head to toe, and she had a baby in her arms, a kid maybe a year old. She walked right toward the lieutenant."
I knew how this story ended, and I wasn't in the mood for it. Let's talk about something else, Al," I suggested.
He ignored me. He glanced at Rich to ensure he was listening and continued. "She was walking toward the lieutenant and interpreter, who were standing behind an APC, when she blew up. Had explosives around her waist in some kind of belt. Goddamnedest thing I ever saw. One instant she and the kid were there, then they weren't. Gone in the blink of an eye. When the smoke and shit cleared so we could see, there were little pieces of skin and bone and bloody tissue
splattered for blocks. Everybody was watching when the bomb went off, so everybody got hit with this stuff, and six or eight guys got scratched up with shrapnel or something."
"That's enough, Al," I said.
"If they try to send me back, I'm quitting."
"Okay," Thurlow said, "but enough's enough. I don't want to hear any more, either."
"Fuck you," Al shot back. "You too, Carmellini! Fuck both you dickheads."
Of course, he would be the guy behind the wheel. He was hunched over, gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were turning
I walked along the alley and found doors into each building, although whether the doors were original or later alterations was impossible to say. The locks were old large-key door locks, the kind that were popular in Europe between the world wars. They probably dated from a renovation during that period, which I thought must have been the last major one. I glanced at Rodet's back door. It was not alarmed, at least on the exterior, but high above, pointed down at a fairly steep angle, I saw a security camera. The thing seemed to be aimed straight at the doorway. If the video feed was not monitored inside the building, then it must be monitored off-site, which meant there was a dedicated telephone line or an Internet connection. I continued strolling along the alley, craning my neck left and right like your average tourist.
If you think it would be easy to go in through Rodet's back door, think again. I would have bet serious money that the old door was there because local ordinances prevented exterior modifications on historical buildings. Immediately inside, I suspected, was another door, a steel one with terrific locks, festooned with alarms. Yet the exterior walls, with old metal drainpipes coming down off the roofs, could be climbed.
When I got back in the square I looked again at the roofs. Above
Rodet's apartment was an attic with dormer windows. I wondered if that attic was part of his apartment. A careful man could go over the roof and enter through one of those windows. It was something to think about.
I was also thinking about Marisa Petrou, Rodet's mistress. Could I use the fact that I knew her to gain entrance to this apartment?
I spent the rest of my half hour just looking, trying to make the scene and details stick in the gray matter. Alberto Salazar and Rich Thurlow arrived right on time to pick me up.
"I thought we'd look at DGSE headquarters tonight and save the chateau for tomorrow," Rich said after I was in and the car was rolling again.
"Sure. Drive on."
We hadn't gone two blocks before Salazar said, "Sure is different from Iraq, isn't it?" He directed that comment at me. "There's a place I don't miss, let me tell you. Squalor, dirt, heat, fanatics, car bombs, blood on the street, body parts strewn around .. . It's the contrast, y'know? I have nightmares about the place. How about you, Tommy?"
"Hard to forget a resort spa like that," I agreed.
"Remember that time we located those explosives inside that house, and when the soldiers surrounded the place, that woman walked out? She was wearing one of those chadors, those black robes that cover her head to toe, and she had a baby in her arms, a kid maybe a year old. She walked right toward the lieutenant."
I knew how this story ended, and I wasn't in the mood for it. Let's talk about something else, Al," I suggested.
He ignored me. He glanced at Rich to ensure he was listening and continued. "She was walking toward the lieutenant and interpreter, who were standing behind an APC, when she blew up. Had explosives around her waist in some kind of belt. Goddamnedest thing I ever saw. One instant she and the kid were there, then they weren't. Gone in the blink of an eye. When the smoke and shit cleared so we could see, there were little pieces of skin and bone and bloody tissue
splattered for blocks. Everybody was watching when the bomb went off, so everybody got hit with this stuff, and six or eight guys got scratched up with shrapnel or something."
"That's enough, Al," I said.
"If they try to send me back, I'm quitting."
"Okay," Thurlow said, "but enough's enough. I don't want to hear any more, either."
"Fuck you," Al shot back. "You too, Carmellini! Fuck both you dickheads."
Of course, he would be the guy behind the wheel. He was hunched over, gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were turning
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