crows of strasbourg

Anton saw the American from a distance.

Peter would say "he'd be a terrific thief," which in his lexicon was a compliment, meaning he'd also be a terrific spy. "Never need an invisible man," Peter would go on, rolling the tobacco tightly, "we need someone who everyone sees but doesn't notice."

No one would give Hines a second look, cheap gray trench coat, unpressed trousers and worn leather shoes, nothing worth noticing.He only wears a tie when playing Alex, a half-Windsor knot.He was wearing glasses today. As far as Anton knew, his eyesight was fine. Maybe the two glasses were a reminder that you are now a boring embassy employee, not someone else.Hines paused on the landing and glanced at his watch.Anton knew he had found him, but he still pretended not to notice.A childish game where whoever greets first loses.Anton sat there without moving, waiting for him to come over.

"You don't have any other ties, do you?"

"No budget," Anton pulled out the chair for him, "You came early."

"Apparently not early enough." Hines put his feet up on the chair in front of him. "Another day, huh?"

Anton stared at a spot of light on the wall, "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I mean, we were stuck in Bonn until we got old and dull and fat. Didn't you ever think about it that way?"

"Never."

"You are boring, Anton Andreevich."

In the empty parliament hall, a thin shadow was sweeping the floor, like some kind of diligent winged insect, moving slowly between the regular shadows of the pillars.

"I had a crazy idea," Hines said.

Anton waited.The hunched figure disappeared into the corridor, and a door slammed shut, echoing endlessly.

"My Spanish governess, I mean, Roger, went to the Czech Republic today, or maybe Poland, and I wasn't listening to him. It meant the cage door was open and I could run up the hillside Sing a song, or buy a new friend a drink. We can talk, you know, trade." Hines turned sideways, glanced at the gate, the hallway was still empty, "If we leave now, no one will find us came."

Say no, his imaginary Peter said sternly, slamming his cane against the table leg, refusing him.

For the first time since leaving Moscow, Anton did not heed this voice.

-

The first obvious benefit of a "bird house" is that there are no bugs.Because it is not a safe house, there are naturally no agents on duty and the owner of the butcher shop across the street who seems to be busy but is actually in charge of surveillance.No one saw the trade assistant who was supposed to attend the hearing come back early, and no one saw what kind of guest he brought with him.

"Do me a favor and don't go into the living room, okay?" Hines took out two glasses, "If you accidentally see any forms that are supposed to be kept secret, I might have to strangle you and bury you in the In the backyard."

"Are all Americans so friendly, or is it just you?"

"We, Sokolov, plural, we are a separate species. Sit down."

There is only a small square table and two unpaired chairs in the cramped kitchen.Against the wall sits a baby high chair, painted a cheerful orange. "The chief foreign correspondent and wife from The Post lived here for two years, and they also set up the swing."

Anton saw nothing but the layered shadows of the chestnut trees.He asked Hines if he knew the reporter.

"Only knew his charming wife, whose husband threatened to hail me with a shotgun if I set foot in here again." Hynes handed him the glass. "Ice?"

"no, thank you."

The boat officially sailed into dangerous, unfamiliar waters, and Anton took a sip of his drink, purely to avoid talking, already regretting asking a stupid question.The wine has a deep, smoky smell, like biting off a coke drizzled with honey.Hynes leaned against the table, watching him.

"If you want to ask me something, now is a good time."

"You didn't invite me to drink."

"Look, the detective from Moscow has solved the first puzzle."

"It was a bad decision."

"This is a reasonable arrangement." Hines reached out and untied his tie. "It doesn't mean anything. After leaving this house, everything will be as usual."

Still a bad decision.This was Anton's first thought.

The second is that his eyes are indeed green.

-

Anton woke up early in the morning in Istanbul, and it took a while to realize what had woken him up.Phone, top right corner of the desk.He slept on a stack of files spread out, his shoulders and neck feeling like he'd been run over by a train.He picked up the receiver.

"The marine police just picked up a car, sir," said a squeaky voice, and it took Anton a few seconds to align it with the embassy employee with the ridiculous beard, "but the license plate was removed, and--"

"And the frame number has been chiseled off?"

After a brief hesitation, "Yes, sir. Do the children still need to stay in port?"

Anton rubbed the bridge of his nose, "No, let them go. I'll visit the magician."

He hung up the phone without waiting for an answer.

The street lamps had just been extinguished, and the faint daylight was not enough to illuminate the streets. Istanbul was deeply immersed in a gray-blue light that was hard to tell whether it belonged to the early morning or the evening.The wind was not very friendly, and it took Anton three tries to strike a match and light a cigarette.Tamia's smoke house is in the southwest direction, 10 minutes, if you walk there.

It took him ten minutes.

The wooden door behind the red coarse cloth curtain was locked. Anton stamped out the cigarette butt and pounded on the door with his fist until the iron chain clanged and a swollen face appeared in the crack of the door.Before that face could speak, Anton kicked open the door, stepped into the darkness that smelled of pungent tobacco, and grabbed his shoulder with one hand, Anton broke free, grabbed that hand, and gave it a hard squeeze. Twist, the scream followed him all the way up the spiral staircase behind the shop.

A big, stout man blocked the hallway like a brick wall, his gun hanging from his slack belt. "It's not business hours."

"I'm here to see Tamia."

The fat man put his hand on the handle of the gun, "She doesn't accept visitors without an appointment."

"Tell her it's Benjamin Richter."

"Even if your name is Kemal, I don't—"

The door behind the fat man opened, and he looked back at his mistress in surprise. Tamia looked like a bird skeleton wrapped in silk. The claw of the bracelet waved at Anton, "Come in, Richter, my little powder keg, you're about to wake up the whole of Istanbul."

"Smoke?" Tamia asked after the door closed, pointing to the neatly stacked hookahs.

"I'm looking for Hines."

"Never knew the art of speaking, have you, my dear?"

"He came to see you."

Tamia shrugged, lay on the couch, lit a cigarette, bracelets clinked and jingled, "Maybe I don't betray my friends."

"You have no friends, as long as the price is right, you can sell anything."

Tamia stared at him, her long, pointed nose like a bird's beak. "Then make an offer, my dear."

"How does it sound that the Lubyanka kids will pretend not to be around the next time your guys run a little narcotics business in Kiev?"

The hostess of the smokehouse smiled at him and put the cigarette to her lips. "He probably hasn't left Istanbul yet, and he didn't mention any means of transportation," she exhaled. "Try old Ahmadi's terrible hotel, maybe Good luck digging out something useful among the worms, my dear."

-

During the seemingly infinitely extended period of staying in Istanbul, Leon watched Hines set up a——it is undoubtedly extremely inappropriate to use the word "spy network", which is more like a few lines than a network. Rope loosely soaked in water.He bought the children wandering the streets one by one with bars of chocolate and small change, and told the filthy critters to keep an eye out for anyone spying on "Mr. McAllen" and his young nephew.If they heard something interesting, they could also tell "Mr. Macallan" about the chance of being paid a bag of biscuits, or even ten lire, depending on what they heard.Bells, Hines called them, once one rang it was time to go.

Leon looked up from his corner, "Suppose they've been silent?"

"Nobody's looking for you," replied Hines, "or someone bought your bells for a higher price and kept them quiet."

"Hell, it's like you're doing nothing wrong."

Hines glanced at him over the frame without comment.Leon discovers that the only time he wears glasses is to read newspapers and clean guns, making his face harder to read than usual.The curtains were kept closed, and Hines' gray hair at the temples looked softer in the dim light of the bulb.Leon couldn't imagine he'd ever been young, probably born with wrinkles and a gun.

"Have you ever killed someone?" he blurted out.

"Official records say I don't have one."

"But actually?"

Hynes took off his glasses and put them aside.Two guns were lying on the desk, and he picked up the one from Tamia's safe, holding the barrel, with the butt facing forward, "Come here, Christen." Leon walked up to him, " take it."

Leon took the gun.

"You know how to use this thing, don't you?"

"I see how it works."

"You understand how it works, that's great." Hines pressed the transmitter's wrist down and pointed the muzzle at the floor. "It makes people think about what's wrong with our diplomatic system."

"You should take it back, I'll probably shoot myself in the foot."

"Do you need helpful advice?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't hit yourself in the foot."

Leon wanted to laugh, or protest loudly, but the knock on the door interrupted him.Just like Hines made an appointment with the kids, two hard taps and one light tap.Leon put away his gun and opened the door. The boy standing outside wore a smock that looked like a potato sack. "I'll tell Mr. McAllen," he said in broken Russian, "someone is looking for him. downstairs."