The Long Summer of Monsieur Loiseau

"This incident is not mentioned in the movie." The reporter said.

"Of course not, it's not exciting enough, and it doesn't meet the standard of a spy movie. In order to please the audience, the so-called 'biographical film' omitted the facts that were not exciting enough, and put a lot of fabricated anecdotes on Barry, making him Created as a double agent to cater to the public's curiosity. Barry hasn't been seen since the day he stopped me at the subway station, and I was connected with a young Algerian. He gave me a complicated set of codes , on the phone, so that even if someone listens in on our conversation, they won't understand what he's talking about. The apartment on St. Dominique Street doesn't have a phone, so it always calls to my office. If he sells coconut oil Soap, means meet in front of the bakery two streets away in an hour. If he says 'hello, is this Perrier & Sons Clock Repair?', that means the Algerian is downstairs and I There must be an excuse to meet him at once."

"Those 'letters' are mostly unmarked sealed document bags that I would stash in my bag, between similar brown paper envelopes and file folders, and bring them into the embassy for press conferences or interviews. This is a simple task. Sometimes Algerians will make weird requests, such as having to wait in the subway station at 27:[-] pm with a postcard. The postcard is an ordinary landscape postcard with crooked handwriting all over the back. , it's Spanish, and the only words I know are 'dear grandma', 'travel' and 'very happy', it looks like a souvenir from a child to grandma. I had to make up a lie to deal with Alex Kex, hurried out to the designated subway station. I waited on the dirty bench on the platform and kept looking at my watch until a man with a long-handled umbrella came and sat down, took the postcard, and sat down on the chair. I have left an envelope on it, and I need to deliver this envelope to the agreed place to signal for the Algerians to come and pick up the 'goods'."

"The most dangerous time was at the Polish consulate. The guard found the document bag I had just put down and wanted to open it. I ran back and took the document bag back from him. I justified that I had lost it by accident, and then left quickly. That file sat in my briefcase for two full weeks, and finally I received new instructions to take it to a small church in the outskirts and drop it under the second-to-last row of pews."

"You must have noticed, Mr. Rivers, that some Barry biographers and Cold War historians have accused me, either explicitly or implicitly, of: Why didn't I suspect that the contents of those paper bags were strange? Could it be that Mr. Prudence was Morton Sir's secret accomplice? It's not fair, even MI[-] and MI[-] didn't find out in time that Brandon Morton was actually in Moscow's hands, how could they turn their finger on a An outsider with no intelligence training? Besides, I was coerced, and I just hoped that this sudden and ridiculous drama would not affect Alex."

"One day in November, I can't remember the exact date. If you need to know, you should be able to pull up the records. The CIA and MI[-] released all the documents a few years ago. It should be the end of November. I Yes. I went to work as usual, and I even got to the paper about ten minutes earlier than usual. Schmidt called me into the conference room where the editors hold their morning meetings. I went to the office to get a notebook and pen, followed in."

"The conference room was full of people, but none of them were editors. I froze at the door, and Schmidt told me to close the door and come in and sit down. The only empty seat was the chair at the end of the oval table. Everyone They all stared at me, and I sat there feeling like a suspect awaiting interrogation."

"There were five strangers in all, two on the left and three on the right. The stranger closest to me shook my hand, said his name was Mitchell Prescott, he looked like a primary school principal, Or the confessor who has been working in the parish all his life, the kind of guy who is naturally gracious if you know what I mean. He has an American accent and explains that he is an employee of the American embassy and is in charge of some 'security stuff' work', wanted to ask me some questions, which I could refuse, or answer voluntarily. Of course, if I refused, they would have to call in the French police to persuade me to cooperate. The others around the table did not introduce themselves, they were all stern face, staring at my little notebook. A man in a felt hat on the right looks very familiar, but I can’t remember where I’ve seen this person before.”

"'Yes.' I told Prescott, 'Ask.'"

"Pliscott pointed to my bag and asked if it was mine and I said yes. He then asked me if I would bring this bag with me every time I went to the embassy and I said yes and asked him why he was asking this Question. He ignored it and went on to ask me if I had contact with anyone at the Soviet embassy in the past six months, not necessarily diplomatic personnel, but also drivers, typists and doormen.”

"'No, there isn't.' I said."

"'Mr. Prudence, is everything going well with you? It sounds strange, I understand, but what I want to ask is whether you have any debts, gambling habits, or, have you ever been with someone Charming lady pestering you? Is there anything someone could use to threaten you?'”

"I could feel the cold sweat breaking out, but I sat there very still so the American wouldn't see anything. I was thinking about the picture Alex and Barry had, and the troublesome guy at the Polish consulate. Guard, did he report the suspicious document bag? Does he know which newspaper reporter I am? Why is Barry's document bag involved in the Soviet embassy? I suddenly remembered the man in the felt hat on the right side of the table Who was it, that was Agent Connelly from MI55, the one who knocked on the door of [-] Juniper Street late at night eight years ago and took Alex away. He was clean-shaven, although he was blocked by a felt hat You can still see a lot less hair, but there's no doubt it's the same person."

"'No, I don't think so.' I replied."

"'You went to the Polish consulate last week,' said Prescott."

"'There were five or six other reporters, too,' I said."

"'You were seen walking into a closed area.'"

"'That was the first time I went to the Polish consulate, I was looking for a bathroom, I got lost, and I left as soon as I realized it was a closed area.'"

"Prescott didn't say anything more, and it was Connelly's turn to ask questions, gnawing on a few points like a crow chasing carrion: Still in touch with Digby? No? Where's James? Neither? Monsieur Alexandre Loiseau? Yes, why? What about Brandon 'Barry' Morton? No? Are you sure?"

"Editor Schmidt came forward at this point and said that the agents had taken up too much of my time and that there was no reason to continue aggressively questioning newspaper employees without any evidence. Prescott apologized to him and to me. , explaining that I was not a 'subject of suspicion' and that this was just a routine questioning. Hope it didn't cause too much disruption."

"Then they left, but not for long. Two very polite gentlemen returned two days later, one tall and one short, who said they were from MI[-], showed me my papers and asked me to 'voluntarily' go with them. I left the office in full view and was stuffed into a car with a barrier between the back seat and the driver's seat, the glass was blacked out, it was like being locked in half a coffin. The journey took about half an hour, and the escorts took I brought in an ordinary-looking two-story house."

"Prescott was waiting in the living room, offered me a seat on the couch, and asked if I would like sparkling water. I declined, and his graciousness ended there. He told me a third secretary at the embassy confirmed Having seen me take an envelope from the front desk, the CIA had every reason to suspect that it contained leaked classified documents, and therefore had every reason to suspect that I was a Soviet spy. I was horrified by the accusation - anyone would The accusations are horrifying. Prescott goes on to list several contacts I had with an Algerian who happened to be close to a group of Cairo businessmen living in Paris who had been bribed by Moscow. Know this because they also pay to 'rent' these crooked businessmen."

"'How are you going to explain all this, Mr. Prudence?' he asked me."

"I finally gave Barry's name and recounted what he said at the subway station. 'This is blackmail,' I told Prescott, 'Barry has some pictures,' but I didn't elaborate on what pictures were Prescott asked if it was about Monsieur Loiseau, and I said yes, and he listened without saying a word, looking up at the ceiling, as if I were saying something he was tired of hearing. I told the story. When I had finished, he thanked me and left the drawing room, locking the door."

"There was a beautiful clock on the wall by the mantelpiece, with two angels blowing trumpets. I circled the drawing-room, staring at the hands like a caged mouse. When half an hour had passed I rang Knocked, no response. An hour later I knocked a second time and a deadpan guard opened the door saying Mr Prescott was in a meeting and would be back soon."

"He never came back."

"For six full hours, after dark, the two MI[-] employees who had brought me here opened the door and told me to go. I was pushed into the same car again and they drove me back to Boulevard Haussmann .my bag and coat are still in the office, but the newspaper office is locked. I have barely enough change on me to buy a bus ticket. I managed to get back to St. Knock on the door. Alex opened it, took one look at me, and asked if I had been robbed."

"I would very much like to have a glass of brandy if I could, but there is nothing alcoholic in the house. I close the door, sit on the sofa, and bury my face in my palms. Alex asks if I want tea. , I said 'no, come here, sit next to me'."

"Then I told him all the farce of the past few months."

"Alex held my hand in the middle of the talk, and when I had finished, he got up, paced the living room, and said he must send Barry a vehement telegram, preferably Take the ferry back tomorrow. I stopped him, after all, Barry still had the photo in his hand."

"'What could he do with those pictures? Send them to a newspaper? We don't have a reputation to defend,' Alex asked."

"I told him the papers probably wouldn't bother with the trivialities, but what if Barry sent your father the picture?"

"Alex stopped talking, went back to the couch, and stared at the opposite wall with me. After a long time, he asked me if I was all right now, now that I've explained Barry's despicable deeds, those intelligence agencies Should the bastards here understand that I'm just an innocent mule transshipment."

"I honestly answer I don't know."

tbc.