The Dark Tetrad by A.P. Rawls

Author:A.P. Rawls [Rawls, A.P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781737261315
Publisher: Upper West Side Press, LLC
Published: 2021-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

“This is the address,” said Kori. “Seven Rue Girardon. This is where Chardin said that Trémaux lived. But if he’s not here, then it’s back to square one.” The two stood in front of a three-story rowhouse, a ten-minute walk from the café.

Anya peered inside the window. “It’s dark. I don’t think he is home, but perhaps there are clues.”

“Right. Let’s go in,” said Kori. “Let’s see what we can find.” She pulled her lock pick out of her purse and with a quick jiggle the door was opened.

Anya found a light switch on the wall and flicked it on to reveal a cramped and cluttered room, books and magazines stacked on the floor, clothes carelessly strewn over a sagging sofa, empty wine bottles here and there. “Not exactly luxury,” she said.

“Apparently, anarchists don’t live very well,” said Kori.

“There, his laptop,” said Anya, pointing toward a small wooden table in the corner. She walked over and opened the laptop and powered it on. “It’s password-protected.”

“Nothing’s ever easy, is it?” said Kori. “Can you get in?”

“Of course.” Anya dug into her purse and pulled out what looked to Kori like a thumb drive. She inserted it into the computer and in less than ten seconds, announced, “I’m in.”

“Slick. What do you have there?”

“A de-encryption device. Do you not have one of these?”

“No, but it’s certainly going on my Christmas list.”

The two hovered over the screen as Anya browsed around documents, pictures, and videos. She searched the name “Carlisle,” and words like “uranium” and “bomb” but found nothing. She opened his browser and scrolled through his history.

“Cripes,” said Kori, “this guy seems like he’s way more interested in porn than politics.”

“Yes, some pretty strange stuff, too,” said Anya. “He seems to like Russian women. I suppose I should be flattered.”

“Or grossed out.”

“Yes, that.”

“Strange that there are no links to any anarchist sites. No links to anything political, in fact. And, Anya, check out the books around here.” Kori meandered around the room, picking up various books and leafing through them. “Baudelaire, Flaubert, Proust, Voltaire. And American authors, too. And look, books on literary theory. They look like textbooks. What the heck kind of anarchist is this guy, anyway?”

“Nothing incriminating in his emails, either,” said Anya, still scrutinizing the laptop. She was about to say something about the name that Trémaux was apparently using in his emails when the door burst open.

“Hey!” said a male voice, “what are you doing in my flat?!”

Anya and Kori swung toward the door. A man stepped in, tall and lanky, the same man from the café, but now the light was on him and both agents could tell it was not the face Anya had on her tablet, the pockmarked skin and long sideburns. This man had a long, thin face with a clear complexion, and short blondish hair. Kori figured he was in his early twenties. Trémaux was closing in on forty.

Kori was taking no chances. She pulled out her Glock and leveled it at the man.

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