sinovels Chapter 5 Epi.05
Chapter 5 Epi.05
5.
In the soundproof room at 15 rue d'Alsace, the consul was rehearsing for the final round.
"What if the ambassador proposes to convene a special incident handling committee and asks to drag Langley and Washington into it?" David Parker asked. inches deep in dirty water.
"I'll remind him that this mission was mandated last year and we can't wait for Washington to languish for six months playing bureaucratic pinball after the accident, we don't have the time, let alone make the ambassador look helpless giant baby."
"Emphasis on the giant baby, the ambassador resents the suggestion that he has no opinion."
"Perfect," the Consul muttered, grabbing the bottle from the tray, checking the level, and filling the glass with a little whiskey.
"Next question, 'Why a retired agent'."
"I didn't know he was retired, it must have been because the memo wasn't updated, I bet the KGB knew about the field move before I did."
"Don't say the last sentence in front of the ambassador. Why did the above-mentioned agent retire?"
"Never heard this song."
"Luke McCarron."
"Never heard that name."
Parker penciled something on discarded stationery, "What if the CIA insists?"
"Grateful and welcome, but refusing to provide details. Sorry, can't reach them; sorry, I'm just a consul."
The vice-consul seemed to have finished asking questions and fell silent.They sat on opposite sides of the table, one staring at a pencil, the other twirling a wine glass.The consul's brow was beaded with sweat, but he seemed to have forgotten his handkerchief.The wall clock on the wall said ten twenty-five, and it hadn't moved since the people from the intelligence service took it apart and checked it for bugs.
"Anyway, the ambassador will convene the committee, won't he?" the consul began.
"I'm afraid so."
"We're going to be out of luck."
"We don't say that, sir, we 'still have a non-negligible chance of success,' in the most approved expression."
"Is Scott ready for the car?"
"It's just downstairs, sir. The ambassador and madam invite you to dinner, and you'd better change to a tie."
The Consul drank the remaining whiskey at the bottom of the glass with the ice cubes that had melted into small particles, took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead, "Wish me luck, David."
"Good luck, sir."
It was the first time in his long and checkered career that the vice-consul spoke the truth.
-
"Are you one of them?" Leon asked.
For the past 15 minutes, the car has been slogging its way through alleys resembling goat guts, narrowly dodging elusive carts and spice stalls growing flat like mold.The passenger window was closed, and the dog put its nose against it and exhaled a cloud of wet mist.Leon huddled in the back seat, watching the gray and khaki wall passing by the window.
"It depends on who 'they' are," Hines said.
"You know, the Secret Service, the Office of Intelligence, 'Special Response Teams,' or whatever term that's come up these days."
The car squeezed into a narrower alley and bumped heavily on the stone steps a few times. "My dad was a carpenter and never left Wyoming, and my mom died of tuberculosis before I was five. My dad saved up a small fortune to buy the Jones Brothers' dying lumberyard, Big Jones Laughed at him, my dad slapped him, and Jones Jr. picked up a stick with nails and hit my dad, here," he patted himself on the back of the head with his right hand, "died instantly It was too late to make a sound. The social workers took me away a week later, it was 1955, the only place I could go was the orphanage, and the only way to leave the orphanage was to join the army.”
"I regret that."
"No, because that's not true. I grew up in Charleston, my grandfather and father were West Virginia state legislators, and in two years my brother will be joining the party, and my wonderful mother and sister preside over a church Hospital. 'Connor should seek a position in the Army', my father's sentence, for which I had to serve a sentence in Europe, 'diplomatic experience', they said, 'to make up for Connor's lack of military service'." The car stopped in front of a door with a red dungaree curtain, and Hines turned around and looked at Leon, "Maybe it's made up too, you can never be sure. It doesn't matter what I am or am not. Next Che, Christen, we're going to see the magician."
It took Leon's eyes half a minute to adjust to the darkness in the den.Everyone was shouting to drown out the blaring music, like a flock of wild geese in mating season.The smoke was so thick that it could almost be cut with a butter knife. Hines raised another curtain, and the spiral staircase led them to another door. The big man guarding outside obviously recognized Hines, nodded at him, and pushed opened the door.
The music downstairs faded to a muffled throb, as if there was a heart buried beneath the floorboards.Anika ran straight to the cushioned couch, and the person reclining on it stretched out a hand adorned with rings and bracelets and rubbed the dog's ear.The chunky candles occupy the corner of the coffee table, connected by solidified candle tears, like undulating mountains.A round shallow dish held something uncertain whether it was chalk or bone, and beside it were small bowls of walnuts, raisins, and rolled thin slices of ham.To Leon, it looked like someone had uprooted a fortune teller's tent from a Sunday fair in rural Connecticut and transplanted it here.this
"Tamia," Hines leaned over and kissed her cheeks, left, right, "beautiful as always."
Charming isn't an adjective Leon would use, unless you find an albino sparrow wrapped in colorful swirls very charming.The dog licked the slices of ham and made a wet clatter.Hynes sat on the arm of the sofa, one hand in Tamia's metal-clad bird claw. "Business, I suppose?" she asked.
"I need my climbing gear."
"Get in trouble?"
"When am I out of trouble?"
"Indeed," said the old woman, a lock of curly white hair shaking as she nodded, "indeed, my little soldier. Who is this young man?"
"My nephew Taylor. Taylor, this is Tamia."
Leon shook her hand, the ring was cold.The old lady didn't seem to believe a word Heins said, but she didn't press further.She crossed the carpeted room, noiseless as a cat, took a few books from the shelf behind her desk, fumbled with a lock that Leon couldn't see, a click, and the safe combination dial turned. slight sound.Leon glanced at Hines, who looked at the window that was covered by curtains.
Tamia put a box of bullets on the table, a second box, a third box; a passport, a passport, much more than one; a wallet, a pass issued by Geneva, written in German and French "Red Cross Transport Vehicles".She moved these things in an orderly manner, like a squirrel emptying out its winter storage.Hines flipped through the wallet, there was some cash in it, each folded into a small stack, francs, marks, pounds.
"Take care of Anika for me."
Tamia propped her twig-like hands on the walnut tabletop, "Should I tell her when you'll be back?"
"Generally speaking, I don't recommend that people talk to dogs." Hines put the wallet in his pocket, and gestured to Leon to put away the rest, "You may also need to deal with a car, Pushing it into the river, crashing it on the mountain road, there are no limits."
"Not the type to like to retire, I've said that since day one."
Hines pushed the door open, "Goodbye, Tamia."
-
The embassy employee with the ridiculous beard puts down the phone.
"The police refuse to set up roadblocks and checkpoints," he explained, and Anton wondered if the man's voice was inherently so high-pitched, or because he was so nervous at the moment, "unless we explain why we're looking for this car, and they want us to pass Regular diplomatic channels, rather than, I quote him: 'wasting their manpower by making up a flimsy reason'."
There is no need to look for this car anymore, Anton wanted to say this, but he didn’t open his mouth. Maybe the marine police will pick up a car in the port in two months. driver.The first time they played against each other, it took Peter's children half a month to retrieve the abandoned truck in the valley.It was the year Israel declared war on Syria and Egypt, and the winter in Bern was particularly harsh, with days seemingly ending in a few hours, giving way hastily to windy nights.The hotel was full of dejected skiers playing cards absent-mindedly on the dark-green velvet-covered couches in the lobby bar, while Anton hid between them, waiting for an English architect who came via Vienna, with his Blueprints for the Cumbrian Uranium Enrichment Plant.The snow downed a section of power line and the train was a week behind schedule, but otherwise there was nothing wrong.
Among these migratory birds inhabiting the bar, Anton recognized a family of Italians, mainly three noisy children, the father was always reading the newspaper, and the mother always ordered a glass of orange juice and a glass of vodka, mixing them together bit by bit; a sullen German who never spoke to each other but smoked one cigar after another; a group of riding school students and their fat supervisor; Given the chance to guess three times, he'll say banker, librarian, or scammer.
On the night when the train was announced to be suspended again, Anton came downstairs later than usual, and the restaurant was already quite crowded.Purely to avoid those three little Neapolitan devils throwing yellow mustard at each other, he sat next to the banker, the librarian, or the swindler.The latter ignored him at first, until the bartender put the martini in front of Anton, and he turned his head, "It's time to try their whiskey."
"What's wrong with the martini?"
"No, just to recommend you a better option. First time in Bern?"
Banker, Anton hammered out an impression. "The second time, actually, just passing by, if not for the train." He gestured.
The banker picked up his glass, his copper cufflinks gleamed under the chandelier, his eyes were green, "To the Swiss Railways."
"To the Swiss Railways."
They each took a sip of wine.The wall clock by the liquor cabinet struck nine, and behind them the band struck its first weary note.No one danced, and the snow whipped against the tall windows.
"The name is Alex, by the way."
Alex didn't seem to be intending to shake hands, and Anton didn't move, "Benjamin."
"Would you like to try whiskey now, Benjamin?"
he thinks.The band changed a tune, playing the violin slowly.They chatted, and for the next two nights, Alex talked about his wife, who had been dead for a year, and Anton, about his non-existent daughter.After all, identities are just gloves. Wear one pair to take out the baking tray and another pair to wipe the blood on the wall.
The architect arrived in Bern on the night the railways resumed operation and checked into the hotel's only remaining penthouse suite.According to the plan, he was supposed to come to the bar at a quarter past nine, pretending to be pleasantly surprised to meet his long-lost friend Benjamin Richter. The microfilm of the blueprint was hidden in his pen, which Benjamin would take away.At 45:[-], Anton ordered a glass of whiskey, Alex borrowed a lighter from him, and announced that he would smoke in the garden.
Alex never came back.At ten past nine, Anton took the elevator to the top floor and walked straight to the guest room at the corner. The door was closed, but it was not locked, and it opened with a twist of the handle.He saw the overturned writing desk first, and then the unconscious informant, pens and watches were missing, and the soles of the leather shoes were cut open.The front desk had no idea where Alex had gone, and the address he had written on the registration form was so scribbled that it was completely illegible.The doorman insisted that Alex hadn't left the hotel, at least not through the gate, but a truck delivering food had indeed left earlier, which was unusual since trucks usually arrive early in the morning.
The bearded embassy employee cleared his throat.In the office across the corridor, a phone rang.
"There is no need to look for that car," Anton told him. "He will choose to walk, and he also wants to leave the country as soon as possible. He has only one choice."
The other party looked at him blankly.
"The port," Anton picked up the coat that was draped over the back of the chair, "let the children go to the port."