Ramirez and Wilson ate dinner at L’Echalote tonight. I watched them dine through the scope of my VEC-91. I presume whatever they had surpasses the chapulines Ramirez foisted on me this afternoon. The lime helped anyway. I do not think the restaurant itself is privy to the Jacobin plot, but it is crawling with the affluent, decadent Francophiles remaining here in this otherwise impoverished state.
Wilson used the occasion, outside of my direct oversight, to enjoy a glass of Sancerre. I wished he had not. Ramirez, in his usual manner, downed one shot after another. I cannot fathom why they would ever wish to dull their senses in this manner when combat awaits. A time or two I saw a waitress edge in too close. At first, I ached for something to happen, to close my fist and make it all disappear, but the meal passed without incident. They tell me the food was fantastic.
They were able to bring me some chocolate mousse, which I will confess having a certain weakness for. It compares well with the mousse we long ago enjoyed on the Rive Gauche while posing as Sorbonne students. I can recall the dimly lit basement café and the thick distressed wood platter holding a cornucopia of cheeses like it was yesterday. One of your last missives troubles me. Master of escape indeed. My arms have told tales in the past, but only when burn-marked by spent bullet casings. That problem is easily solved. Death awaits us all, there is no need to join him in his Milgram experiment.
The evening did provide us with some information. We followed a small party of Francophones to a commercial district that had emptied at the close of the business week. We conducted some surveillance on the property. Having studied Jomini, I will not risk a direct assault without knowing what danger awaits. I am certain the innocent storefront masks a stronghold. Pinata sales? There are no children here.
I have also carefully reviewed Corporal’s last communiqué. I believe the photos he received were not the photos I sent. Verify the watermark and watch the mails. I received some unclear communications from home. I have a feeling there is something, a truth which is being withheld. The body I saw was riddled with rot and decay. I have sent him home, though notably missing the teeth necessary to make a dental identification, as was clear in the pictures.
I recall one of Toynbee’s favourite haunts back home. When I return, I will pay a visit.
Your brother in arms,