crows of strasbourg

16.

There were three groups of interrogators in total, and Leon concluded that Sokolov came alone each time, and the rest came in pairs, changing partners so frequently that he couldn't remember who came last time.They repeat the exact same question and leave when they don't get an answer.Leon fumbled along the walls, from one end of the room to the other and back again, purely to avoid going mad in the dark.The chair is fixed, no matter how much he pulls it, it will not move.The handle on this side of the door had been chiseled off, and where the keyhole should have been was a piece of welded metal.Some kind of wooden shelf was built into the wall, and Leon could feel the scuffed-smooth indentations, perhaps for storing wine.A basement, he thought, would be great.

He didn't know the time, the interval between each interrogation was getting longer, the torture was more frequent, Leon circled between these four silent walls, his fingers brushed the uneven brick wall, the smooth wood of the wine rack, a protruding Nails, cold iron doors, and then bricks.Later, he didn't have the strength to stand up, and he huddled in the corner, his tongue lightly pressed against a loose molar.He pictured a car pulling up in front of the farm, the impassive secretary getting out, hat in hand, sorry, Mrs Christen, your son is dead.He wondered what the logistics department would choose as an excuse. A car accident, a sudden illness, a robbery, a skiing accident, probably a car accident, which could convincingly explain the horrific body.He went on imagining the thin Methodist church his mother used to go to, where they would weep and pray, knowing nothing about Genoa.

The light flooded in as the door opened again, so bright it was like a small explosion.Leon closed his eyes tightly, turning his head to avoid the light source.Two hands grabbed him, handcuffed him again, and escorted him up a flight of stairs.The window was boarded up, and he caught a brief glimpse of the fading sun through the gap before he was blindfolded and tied tightly with cloth strips, pressing hard on his swollen left eye.Two taciturn assailants pushed him into the car, and the door was slammed shut.

He didn't know how long the car had been driving, maybe four or ten minutes, and he didn't know which direction it was going.No one spoke, and the whole time two hands clenched his arms, as if he could somehow escape from the speeding car.The car smelled of detergent mixed with rotting flesh, as if someone had just taken out the bloody seats and scrubbed them hard.The tires rattled on gravel, they turned a corner, stopped for a while, someone got out, came back after a while, and drove on.After a heavy bump, the car drove onto the smooth road again, stopped, and stopped moving.The car door opened, a pair of hands pushed him down, and the salty wind hit his face, the pier, Leon thought.

Then he heard the low roar of jet engines, a sound no ship could make.Leon staggered and almost fell, but the assailant picked him up from left to right, and walked towards the direction where the sound came from.No, he realized, the thought chilled him like ice water, this was an airport.

-

The clock ticked six, but it was perpetually late at night in the area dispatcher's windowless office.The phone rang, first on the left, and the Consul got up to go out, and Prescott gestured him to stay where he was.

"What plane?" After listening in silence for a long time, he asked the first question, and directly extinguished the cigarette butt on the wooden table, "Wes, let him direct this matter, although I don't like to say it, Hai Insby you're good. I'll talk to the Italians and see what they can do. Listen," he stood up, the phone line tensing, "don't let Sokolov get on that goddamn plane Airplane, even if it blows up the airport. Don't leave alive, lest Moscow bring candy to replace this vermin - no, the hostage is probably not our concern now, just a bloody telegrapher. And one more thing , Wes."

Prescott tucked the receiver between his ear and shoulder and lit another cigarette.

"When this farce is over, arrest Hynes, send him to Paris, without delay, and I'll make sure he's in jail for a few years. Don't mess it up."

He slammed the receiver back to its original place, took a deep breath, glanced at the consul, and frowned, as if he had forgotten that there was such a person sitting across from him. "Sam, Sam, Sam," he hummed the name like a song, brushing off the ashes and regaining his mild, confessor-like expression, "will you and I be sent to the world At the end, it's up to tonight."

-

Daylight is fading fast.

The bar's van bounced on the gravel road, and the door on the cab side had a picture of a dog sleeping next to an anchor.This car is usually used to transport drinks, vegetables and fruits, and the plastic boxes containing beer are still piled up in the cargo compartment, colliding with each other and making loud noises.Hines was driving, and the young detective sat in the back, staring ahead, as if petrified by something no one else could see.His older colleague fiddled with the gun in the passenger seat, unloading the magazine and backing it back again, rattling incessantly.

A row of fences that were about to be swallowed by bushes appeared on the right, and the warning signs hung on them were blurred under the wind and sun. The car turned to the left, and the gravel road was cut off by the iron fence. Iron gates stood between them and the tarmac. "We should contact the airport," said the young agent, "and tell them—"

Hines stepped on the gas pedal to the bottom, the gravel flew, the engine of the pickup truck groaned angrily, and crashed into the iron door. in the gravel.A rearview mirror was knocked off, and the van sprinted onto the paved asphalt road, heading straight for the runway in the distance.A twin-engine airliner crawled there, like a pigeon waiting to be fed, the gangway had not been put away, and a jeep was parked on the barren grass, with its headlights on, piercing the gradually gathering twilight.

"Five goals," Weiss said, "three at eleven and two at two."

I know, Hines thought.The first bullet grazed the car body, the second shattered the windshield, sending debris like barbed hail.More people joined the party, bullets clattering against metal.Wes fired back, cursed and ducked back, crouching under the dashboard.Without slowing down, the van continued forward and slammed into the Jeep sideways hard, flipping it over.The momentum lifted the hood of the van, the metal crumpled and tore like paper, Hines kicked the door open, a man in a leather jacket dragged his bloody right leg and crawled towards the fallen gun, Hines Stepped on his hand and shot him in the back of the head.The passenger door was open and Wes was nowhere to be seen, the rear door was jammed and Hines yanked it open, leaving the young agent on his side with a bullet hole in his forehead and spattered seats. blood.

Damn, he turned and ran to the plane.

The setting sun dyed the sea red.The shadows deepened, and all that remained was the silhouette of the plane, imprinted on the cardboard sky, and someone was shouting, drowned out by the muffled roar of the engine.Stray bullets hit the plane's engine, and the blades of the air intake rotated with a terrible sound, like many steel teeth gnawing at each other.He saw Wes limping toward the gangway, raising his gun with a look of triumph on his face, aiming it at Sokolov, and Hines watched as he pulled the trigger.

No, he thought.

Then a sudden fire engulfed everything.

-

The blast blasted Leon out of the way and onto the ground, rolling as if caught in a flood, his ribs hitting the tarmac hard, then his shoulder and the back of his head.Searing shards rained down.It took him a long time to realize that he was lying on the ground, his mouth full of blood and ashes.With the handcuffs still on his wrists, Leon got up and pulled off the cloth strips that blindfolded him.

The fire illuminated the wreckage all over the ground, and the grotesque shadows danced like they were alive.His left eye was so swollen that he couldn't open it. He groped and crawled towards a corpse not far away, opened his fingers, took the gun, and slapped every pocket on his body.The key, thank God, his hands were shaking so badly, the little metal thing slipped from his stiff fingers, he rummaged through the broken glass in panic, picked it up, and opened the handcuffs.There was a shrill siren in the distance, save me, he wanted to say this, but he couldn't make a sound.Leon stood up staggeringly, and walked towards several figures that appeared and disappeared in the thick smoke.

-

The siren beat on his already aching nerves.Four or five meters away, Wes moved a bit, made a crackling sound, and tried to get up.Hines picked up a piece of scorched and twisted steel rod, aimed it at his head and smashed it down. The detective let out a muffled groan, lay down on the ground, and stopped moving.Hines dropped the steel rod, wiped the blood from his eyes, took the last few unsteady steps, and knelt down beside Anton.

The blood looked like sticky black pitch in the flickering firelight. The bullet hit the shoulder, and another was aimed at the head, but in the end it only tore a deep and long gash near the ear.Hines took off his coat, picked up a piece of sharp-edged iron, cut off strips of cloth, and tied the wound tightly.Anton grabbed his wrist, recognized who he was, and tightened his grip, "Connor."

"it's me."

The other party closed his eyes, seemingly lost in the pain for a short time.Hines lifted him up and let him lean against him, "Can you go? I have to get you out of here."

Anton nodded.

"do not move."

They looked up and looked at Leon Christen.The operator stepped out of the shadows, the muzzle trembling, and aimed first at Anton, then at Hines, "You can't let him go."

Hines raised his hand, palm open, as if trying to appease a rabid animal, "Kristen, listen to me."

"He killed 'The Crow' and nearly killed me," Leon said in a hoarse voice that didn't sound like his own. "I thought he killed you as well."

"Put down the gun."

"Do not."

"Leon."

"He's your job, isn't it? You're going to execute him, you should be executing him."

"I can't do that."

"why?"

Hines just looked at him without answering.The siren was still going off, and now they could see the figure approaching quickly.

Leon's throat was blocked, and he swallowed hard, "You are a traitor."

"I don't know, and I don't care what I am," Hines said, softly, as if he were an irritable toddler. "Now I just want my friend to live, do you understand?"

Leon didn't understand, and continued to hold the stolen, bloodstained weapon, feeling like a buffoon at a loss in the spotlight.Hines put Anton's arm around his shoulders, and the two walked slowly across the runway littered with debris and bodies.The remaining daylight finally went out, the wind turned, and the smoke was blown head-on. Soon, Leon couldn't see anything clearly except the blood-red flame and smoke.

17 – Epilogue

It was raining and bitterly cold, and both the water and the sky were an opaque gray, like glass blackened by smoke.January was almost over, but some of the Christmas decorations had been forgotten, faded and drooping listlessly from the cold rain and the occasional hailstorm of a Strasbourg winter.

What the consul dislikes the most is rainy days, but when he left the consulate with a cardboard box full of personal belongings, snow particles began to mix and fall in the light rain. The only person who came to see him off was Vice-Consul Parker. They shook hands at the door of No. 15 and said some polite words.Then the down-and-out diplomat got into the car and drove one last time to Strasbourg station, from where the 15:[-] train for the Gare de l'Est would take him to Paris and then Washington. Treacherous political waters.Typists and translators later recalled that the vice-consul, holding a black umbrella, stood in the sleet for [-] minutes before returning to the consulate and telling everyone to come to the foyer on the first floor.The new consuls will arrive in Strasbourg in six days and they must be ready.Everyone listened almost reverently, knowing that no matter who sat in the office on the top floor, the actual person in charge of the consulate would not change.

No one knew where Christen of the dispatch had gone, and after a while no one remembered the name except young Tom of the dispatch.

-

It was a quarter past four when the visitor arrived, the sleepiest hour in Istanbul.The dog sensed it first, jumped up from the tasseled cushion, scratched at the door, and barked.There was a soft conversation outside the door, and then the door opened, and Tamia dropped the cigarette butt into the teacup, and it went off with a bang.

"My little soldier!" she exclaimed in mock surprise, patting the visitor's face. "What did you do to your own face?"

"Rock climbing, a little accident happened."

"I bet it is. Apple sweet tea?"

"No, thank you, I can't stay long, someone is waiting, and his patience is not very good."

"Always causing trouble, aren't you, my dear?"

"I'm afraid so." The visitor put his hat back on. "Anika, good girl, we must go."

-

"This weather," commented the District Dispatcher, with the wet, cold wind blowing off the river tugging at his coat, the Bridge of Concorde almost deserted, no more rain today, but fog, "that's what I don't like European reasons, too much rain, too many cloudy days, you get it. You look nervous, totally unnecessarily, I'm Prescott, by the way, just call me Mitchell, don't really like grades system."

No, said Leon, he wasn't nervous.

"I've heard a lot about you, brave young man, who ran like a wild horse across most of Europe, and no one can put you down. Forgive the analogy. You're a telegrapher, aren't you, in Sri Lanka?" Consulate in Strasbourg?"

Yes, Leon dutifully replied, three years.

They stopped in the middle of the bridge, the banks of the river looming in the freezing mist, the gray of masonry here, the brown of dead trees there. "I've read your report, three times, in fact," said Prescott with a smile, that particular smile that belongs only to politicians, salesmen, and spies. "Do you mind if I ask for some details?"

Leon didn't mind.

"I couldn't help noticing that you didn't give a clear account of the whereabouts of Hines and Sokolov."

Can't remember clearly, he reiterated that he had just been interrogated and tortured at that time, and an airplane engine exploded less than ten meters away from him, and he almost couldn't even remember his own name.

"Of course," said Prescott, still smiling.

As they watched the water, a boat slid by, not a pleasure boat with a glass roof, but one of those dying flat-bottomed wooden boats that drifted into the shadows under the bridge and disappeared.As they continued on, a car sped by, splashing water.

"Naturally, the problem now," Prescott resumed, unprepared, as if popping out of his own thoughts, "is that we need a new crow, not just in Strasbourg, but in the whole of Eastern Europe. Are you interested in working for the CIA, Mr. Christen?"

The author has something to say: It's over QAQ...

Thanks to all the little angels who have been leaving messages