Murder at the Lanterne Rouge

Sunday, 9 A.M.

RENÉ RUBBED HIS shoulders. Two hours of endless configurations spent over Samour’s decrypted attachment and he still couldn’t get a grip on it.

At least he’d left Meizi safe at the hotel.

And his hip ache had subsided to a dull throb once he’d borrowed the portable heater from Luigi’s travel agency down the hall.

Aimée’s mahogany desk was piled with samples of their new security prospectus. Hadn’t she promised to come in? And why hadn’t she updated him on the museum?

Saj sat monitoring the spyware installed on Coulade’s computer.

“Any activity?”

Saj shook his head. “Not so far. I’m also trawling Coulade’s desktop files. Nothing interesting pops out.”

“What do you make of this, Saj?”

Saj’s sandalwood prayer-bead bracelet clacked as he peered over René’s laptop. “Hmmm … I’m hungry.”

“That’s all you can say, Saj?”

“A recipe.” Saj handed him a battered takeout menu. “Which reminds me, feel like ordering in?” Saj stretched his tanned arms high over his six-foot frame, cracked his neck. His billowing white muslin Indian shirt blocked René’s view. How could he wear almost nothing in January?

René stared at his screen, at the reams of code from Samour’s attachment. A cipher.

“Say that again.”

“We had sushi yesterday,” Saj said. “What about the new South Indian vegan?”

“No, I mean recipe.”

“See those interesting code breaks?” Saj pointed to the flat lines of script.

His curiosity piqued, René highlighted a section of the attachment that he’d already pored over several times. “You mean this?”

“Think of it in 3-D. Add dimension.”

René slotted in a disc. Hit the icon to open the program. “Like this?”

A raised bed of points and concave lines appeared.

Saj shook his head. “Try a line separation.”

Excited, René scrolled down and hit another key.

The script aligned to borders and line breaks.

“Reminds me of my grandmother’s recipe book,” Saj said, pulling up a chair. “Those configuration symbols start each line.”

Symbols. “Meaning what?”

“I’d say they represent numbers, quantity, or measurements, René. Symbols grouped in those kinds of configurations often indicate Roman numerals.” Saj nodded, pulling a scarf around his shoulders. “Or medieval drams and weights, I’d guess here.”

“Say fourteenth century?”

“Why not?”

René grabbed the takeout menu. “Order anything you want, Saj. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”