Testimony of Mr. J. Stanley

I can't remember what I said.Ferguson tapped on the wood, nodded, turned around, and returned to the sofa.

"My number," he said, handing Stanley a piece of cardboard the size of a credit card that didn't even have a name on it, just a string of numbers printed on it, "if you happen to remember a clue, call me anytime .Believe me, it's for the Doctor's sake."

"of course."

There was a strong wind outside, Ferguson turned up the collar of his windbreaker, "We will contact you again."

Stanley closed the door.

-

The graffiti-covered dark green van was nowhere to be seen, but Stanley still glanced at the deserted avenue from time to time, examining the shadows behind the bushes and utility poles suspiciously.Only a few sporadic media mentioned IntelGenes. The inside pages, in a very small space, talked about the progress of the seminar that no one cared about, and did not mention Dr. Coleman a word, as if someone put a special mouth mask on them.

He turned off the computer, closed all the curtains, took the notebook from the shelf, and opened it.Jason's handwriting varied in shades of pen, pencil, and pen again, sometimes in neat italics, thoughtfully transcribed, and more often a jumble of incomprehensible abbreviations.Stanley could make out references to neurotransmitter drugs and Apophis, and beyond that, new research he wasn't involved in.

The kitchen window clicked, and he almost spilled tea on the note, which Stanley hastily tucked under a stack of newspapers and groped cautiously into the kitchen.The side door was locked, and there was the knock again, and someone stood between the neglected hedge and the wall, and the shadow was cast on the shutter.

"Gaspar, open the door."

His movements were faster than he'd imagined, full of fury.The visitor staggers a step back, nearly tripping over the steps. "Thanks," Jason Coleman said, touching his punched cheek and frowning, "Nice to meet you, too."

10

10.

He couldn't stay long, he just wanted to get the notes back and get away, and Stanley had better do the same, the Hounds would catch up before long.He was willing to explain everything but didn't know where to start.There was a scab under Jason's left eye. He raised his hand to touch it from time to time, and put it down halfway. This nervous movement filled him with a sense of panic and panic.Stanley thought of the mouse that fell into the dry pool. In the early winter of 1981, the poor animal scratched at the dried mud and algae debris stuck to the pool wall, with bulging eyes, and ran wildly among the accumulated autumn leaves. .The students gathered around the pool, throwing stones at it until the gardener, a taciturn Gibraltarian, chased them all off, stepping into the pool, trampling the mouse's head with thick-soled work boots like one stamps out cigarette butts Twist it hard, and there is a click, which is no louder than the sound of crushing dead leaves.

"Other than that, he needed a place to rest, 'just for one night', he said, and I didn't say no, I couldn't, did I? You'd have to be brutal to throw a friend out the door in need. He changed Two passports and five planes came to my door, two passports, 157 pounds for the blank one, 350 pounds for the one with entry and exit records, the price of entering the underground world is unexpectedly low, I always thought it would be higher .'Get your notebook and don't show up in front of me again', I said the next morning. I just made one small mistake, one small concession, and I agreed to send him to the airport."

"No."

"You must be more specific, Miss Gibson."

"The part about the passport is okay, just the right amount of detail, but the story doesn't stand up," Gibson said, drawing a box in her notebook with a straight line dividing it in half. "From here on, you and Ferguson The testimonies of the detectives were very divided. Ferguson stated in his report that after visiting you, he had the surveillance team withdrawn to a 'minimum manpower' and they kept records of your hours, visitors, emails , any suspicious litter thrown out, etc. If the Doctor shows up in Boston, do you think they'll do nothing?"

"He can show up between shifts."

"It's 24/[-] surveillance, 'no matter the weather,' as my grandmother used to say. We have to be very careful to build your testimony on top of Ferguson's and only make minor changes. Besides, your attitude changes so quickly, and you are so angry one moment that you want to hit someone, and the next second you agree to help, no jury will believe such a story. I don’t mind lying, Mr. Stanley, but Right now, the smartest move is to be honest with your attorney."

A cart passed by, its metal wheels rattling without rubber rims.

"Mr. Stanley?"

"Yes, all right," the person concerned pressed the bridge of his nose, "There is a letter in that package."

Gibson turned a few pages forward and checked the previous notes, "What made you feel the need to conceal this letter?"

"I'm worried it will make me sound like a knowing co-conspirator."

"Is there anything else I should know?"

"Only this letter."

Gibson studied him, frowning like someone who examines second-hand jewelry with a magnifying glass, mentally weighing whether blemishes would affect the price.Behind her, rain beat against the double-paned windows, clouds the color of muddy water encased in gravel.

"I swear, Miss Gibson."

The lawyer tore off a page, crumpled it up, stuffed it into his coat pocket, scratched the paper angrily with the tip of his pen, and scratched out lines of notes, "Coleman never showed up outside your door."

"No," Stanley said in a sound that was between a laugh and a cough, as if he was choking, "I went to him, just like I always did."

-

My dear friend, the letter begins like this, without mentioning the name of this dear friend throughout.He was using a fountain pen, and the ink was swimming across the shoddy letter paper like fresh bloodstained bullet holes.Tomorrow's flight, he continued, without foreshadowing or explanation.I had to leave, they were everywhere, M. Tucker ordered the lab closed, a pack of uniformed jackals broke into the west wing of the R&D center late last Saturday night with a search warrant, she wanted my notes, claiming it was Government property, that's a witchy word, I used to know its good, now I'll see its bad.

The baby's shrill cry sounded like a siren, and Stanley woke up suddenly, and subconsciously touched the inner pocket of his coat, where the folded letter was still inside.The cabin was dark, and he pushed the visor up six inches, and the darkness outside the porthole was as smooth and tight as a cocoon.

Honestly, my friend, the pen has scratched the paper here, and the letter writer has made it worse by trying to remedy it.Between us, I've always thought I was the smarter one, but it's actually the opposite.You are also the more decisive one, and it always takes more courage to leave than to stay.The end of the paragraph is blotted out and completely illegible.The letter writer started a new line, and the handwriting became scribbled.

It's 02:30 in the morning and a bottle of wine is opened to make letter writing a little easier.I doubt the point, maybe the package will never reach its destination; maybe in an hour someone will break in and transport me back to London in a cage, and Tucker will get what she wants.After the incident in Aleppo, the snake was put back in the iron box and thrown into the sea, which was not what she wanted. 'Since you can't guard these non-running potions,' she said, 'MI6 will do it for you.Hand over everything'.

You can imagine my answer.

The baby was still howling, and the young parents in the front row tried to comfort them, looking tired and confused, as if they didn't understand what was writhing in the blanket.Stanley closed the visor and glanced at his watch. It was five hours before landing.The passenger next to him grunted indistinctly in his sleep.

Secretary-General then, Foreign Secretary now, and maybe Prime Minister next year, Tucker needs to prune off what was left of him, you, me, Jim, and Lane, if he can't run fast enough.I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push you into a dangerous situation (again), in a sense, neither of us ever left this fire pit.If it is not a last resort, I will never leave IG, at least not in this way.She won't keep me alive, only the dead body won't tell the truth, or sell the snake in the iron box to the Americans.

He fell asleep and woke up again with the roar of the turbo engine like waves in a cave.

I got the address from your mother, who was as elegant as I remembered her, and insisted on sending me a bag of brownies, a fitting gift for her son's little playmate.She's fine, in case you were wondering.Your mother said she hadn't seen you since the 'skiing accident' and I'm sorry about that too, I didn't know.

There are still 10 minutes before landing, and the sparse clouds decorate a pale morning.

After daylight I go to the post office first, and even if they stop me at the airport, it will take me a while to find the whereabouts of the notes.Please keep it safe for me, if you prefer to burn it, I understand.Now I just wish I could step into the post office, it's literally across the street, but the street has never scared me so much, an empty hunting ground too long to walk and too suspicious to run through.

The customs officer opened Stanley's passport, glanced at the photo, and then at the passport's