American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 9 Collectibles

The Land Rover Discovery slowly drove into the highway service area and stopped in front of the gas station.

Beta casually counted out a few bills and stuffed £500 into Matilda's hand: "Go pick out your favorite snacks."

Leon leaned against the hood of the car, his gaze behind his sunglasses fixed on the petite figure behind the convenience store glass; Beta leaned against the gas pump, gazing thoughtfully at the end of the highway.

The gas pump made a soft "click" sound in his hand. He shook off the last few drops of gasoline from the hose and shoved it back into the pump.

"Looks like your gunsmith friend's in deep trouble." Beta lowered his voice: "There's also a long-range sniper kill in Germany, plus that Downing Street thing."

He paused meaningfully, then said, "Now the entire MI6 is probably mobilized, and all channels for selling guns are under complete surveillance."

Leon adjusted the angle of his sunglasses, his voice extremely low: "The case in Germany and the one in Downing Street, were they done by the same person?"

Beta raised an eyebrow at this, revealing a half-smile: "You don't actually think I'm an MI6 informant, do you?"

He spread his hands: "How would I know about this level of secrecy?"

Leon fell silent again, with only the sound of the breeze rustling through the gas station filling the void between them.

Beta tapped lightly on the hood, the metal surface making a dull "thump-thump" sound.

A dozen seconds later, Beta suddenly turned around, her finger hovering in mid-air: "Are there any gun museums in Britain? Preferably privately run ones."

Leon slowly turned his head: "You wouldn't be thinking of..."

Beta said, "Even if a gun museum does a non-firing treatment, it's impossible to weld every part shut, right? Besides, some private collectors don't do any treatment on their treasures at all. Just a few treated guns are enough to get a firing gun."

"Oh, right," Beta suddenly remembered something, "You brought Matilda to England just for sightseeing? To see some new sights?"

Leon's round sunglasses shone in the sunlight: "I'll show her things she can't see in America."

Just then, Matilda came running from the supermarket carrying a huge pile of snacks, her hair bouncing in the sunlight.

"Look!" she exclaimed excitedly, holding up several colorful bags. "These flavors are nowhere to be found in America! And there are so many other strange and wonderful candies!"

Beta smiled and reached out to ruffle her hair, but Matilda nimbly dodged him.

The girl rolled her eyes without hesitation, slapped his hand away, deftly opened the car door, stuffed her spoils into the back seat, and then climbed in.

Beta tapped her fingertips lightly on the window frame: "I'm going back to New York in May, want to come along?"

Leon was silent for a moment: "The timing is perfect, let's go together."
-
A private gun collection on the outskirts of Oxfordshire.

Beta has completely transformed himself. The height-increasing insoles have added five centimeters to his height, and his deliberately hunched back and unsteady gait completely conceal his original physical characteristics. Speaking with a heavy Northern Irish country accent, he looks exactly like a country gentleman obsessed with guns.

"My God, this is absolutely stunning!" Beta pushed up his round-framed glasses with trembling fingers, his voice filled with deliberately suppressed excitement: "I never dreamed I would see such a well-preserved original P38, let alone one with the Black Hawk insignia. This is an absolute rare treasure!"

The collector's wrinkles smoothed out; it was rare to encounter such a discerning buyer. This seemingly unsophisticated Irishman not only possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of firearms but was also a potential high-quality client, filling him with a joyful sense of finding a kindred spirit. "Not for sale," the collector said with a reserved smile, but a smug gleam in his eyes.

Beta immediately cooperated with an exaggerated expression of amazement: "Of course! This is absolutely the museum's prized possession! You probably can't find another P38 in the whole world that is so well preserved."

His perfectly timed compliments greatly satisfied the collector's vanity.

The collector's wrinkles smoothed out, and he gestured for Beta to sit down: "Mr. Forman, please have some tea."

He poured himself a cup of Darjeeling tea: "I wonder which specific firearms you are interested in?"

“Let me see the collection list,” Beta replied, now “Mr. Forman.”

He slowly and methodically pulled a black leather notebook with worn edges from his inner pocket. The pages were fluffy and yellowed from years of frequent use. He meticulously flipped through each page, occasionally adjusting his glasses, like a rigorous collector checking a catalog.

Beta, or "Mr. Forman," nervously rubbed his fingers together, a collector's expression of almost shy longing appearing on his face.

"Um... I was wondering if you have any Mauser rifles here for your collection?" he stammered, occasionally pushing up his slipping glasses. "I've always wanted to experience shooting this legendary rifle firsthand. I'm sure you can understand that feeling, right?"

His voice grew softer and softer until it was almost a soliloquy, like a nervous young man stammering in front of a goddess. But his eyes, hidden behind his glasses, remained keenly observant of every subtle change in the collector's expression.

The collector was completely moved by Mr. Forman’s sincere enthusiasm. He smiled and got up, walking toward the locked oak gun cabinet in the corner.

With the sound of a key turning, he carefully took out a nearly brand-new Mauser rifle, its blued steel body gleaming faintly under the light.

Beta immediately sprang halfway up from the chair as if drawn by a magnet, her hands unconsciously reaching forward, her eyes sparkling with the longing of a child seeing a Christmas present.

"Please handle with care." The collector gently handed over the rifle.

Beta clumsily took the gun, his fingers groping haphazardly across the barrel like a novice handling a firearm for the first time. He deliberately fumbled with the safety catch, then "accidentally" turned the muzzle towards his chin.

"My God!" The collector rushed forward and snatched back the rifle: "Never point a gun at anyone, including yourself!"

His voice trembled slightly with fright.

Beta's face immediately flushed red, and he nervously twisted the hem of his clothes, stammering, "I...I was too excited! I thought none of these artifacts would fire. I'm so sorry!"

His stammering explanation, coupled with his round-framed glasses, didn't seem to be intentional at all.

The collector breathed a sigh of relief and carefully handed the rifle back to "Foreman," his tone becoming extremely serious: "Please remember, Mr. Foreman, never point the gun at any living thing, especially not yourself."

He paused deliberately to make sure the other person heard him clearly: "This gun retains its firing function completely; it can be fired normally once loaded with live ammunition."

Beta's eyes changed; he had found what he wanted.

(End of this chapter)