JК
The English Assassin :: Silva Daniel
Страница: 187 из 209He supposed he’d known itall along.
“His name was Tariq al-Hourani. He’s the one who placed the bomb under your wife’s car in Vienna, yes? He’s the one who destroyed your family.”
FIVE miles from Otto Gessler’s villa, at the edge of a dense pine forest, Gabriel pulled to the side of the road and got out. It was late afternoon, light fading fast, temperature somewhere around twenty degrees. A mountain peak loomed above them, wearing a beard of cloud. Which was it? The Eiger? The Jungfrau? The Mönch? He didn’t really care. He simply wanted to get this over with and get out of this country and never set foot in it again. As he stalked around the car, through six inches of wet snow, an image appeared in his mind: Tariq telling Peterson about the bombing in Vienna. It was all he could do not to pull Peterson from the car and beat him senseless. At that moment, he wasn’t sure who he hated more-Tariq or Peterson.
Gabriel unlocked the handcuffs and made Peterson crawl over the shifter to get behind the wheel. Oded got out and joined Eli Lavon in the van. Gabriel took Peterson’s spot in the front passenger seat and, with a jab of the Beretta to the ribs, spurred him into motion.
Darkness descended over the valley. Peterson drove with both hands on the wheel, and Gabriel kept the Beretta in plain sight. Two miles from Gessler’s villa, Lavon slowed and pulled to the side of the road. Gabriel twisted round and looked through the rear window as the headlights died. They were alone now.
“Tell me one more time,” Gabriel said, breaking the silence.
“We’ve gone over this a dozen times,” Peterson objected.
“I don’t care. I want to hear you say it one more time.”
“Your name is Herr Meyer.”
“What do I do?”
“You work with me-in the Division of Analysis and Protection.”
“Why are you bringing me to the villa?”
“Because you have important information about the activities of the meddlesome Jew named Gabriel Allon. I wanted Herr Gessler to hear this news directly from the source.”
“And what am I going to do if you deviate from the script in any way?”
“I’m not going to say it again.”
“Say it!”
“Fuck you.”
Gabriel wagged the Beretta at him before slipping it into the waistband of his trousers. “I’ll put a bullet in your brain. And the guard’s. That’s what I’ll do.”
“I’m sure you will,” Peterson said. “It’s the one thing I know you’re good at.”
A mile farther on was an unmarked private road.
“His name was Tariq al-Hourani. He’s the one who placed the bomb under your wife’s car in Vienna, yes? He’s the one who destroyed your family.”
FIVE miles from Otto Gessler’s villa, at the edge of a dense pine forest, Gabriel pulled to the side of the road and got out. It was late afternoon, light fading fast, temperature somewhere around twenty degrees. A mountain peak loomed above them, wearing a beard of cloud. Which was it? The Eiger? The Jungfrau? The Mönch? He didn’t really care. He simply wanted to get this over with and get out of this country and never set foot in it again. As he stalked around the car, through six inches of wet snow, an image appeared in his mind: Tariq telling Peterson about the bombing in Vienna. It was all he could do not to pull Peterson from the car and beat him senseless. At that moment, he wasn’t sure who he hated more-Tariq or Peterson.
Gabriel unlocked the handcuffs and made Peterson crawl over the shifter to get behind the wheel. Oded got out and joined Eli Lavon in the van. Gabriel took Peterson’s spot in the front passenger seat and, with a jab of the Beretta to the ribs, spurred him into motion.
Darkness descended over the valley. Peterson drove with both hands on the wheel, and Gabriel kept the Beretta in plain sight. Two miles from Gessler’s villa, Lavon slowed and pulled to the side of the road. Gabriel twisted round and looked through the rear window as the headlights died. They were alone now.
“Tell me one more time,” Gabriel said, breaking the silence.
“We’ve gone over this a dozen times,” Peterson objected.
“I don’t care. I want to hear you say it one more time.”
“Your name is Herr Meyer.”
“What do I do?”
“You work with me-in the Division of Analysis and Protection.”
“Why are you bringing me to the villa?”
“Because you have important information about the activities of the meddlesome Jew named Gabriel Allon. I wanted Herr Gessler to hear this news directly from the source.”
“And what am I going to do if you deviate from the script in any way?”
“I’m not going to say it again.”
“Say it!”
“Fuck you.”
Gabriel wagged the Beretta at him before slipping it into the waistband of his trousers. “I’ll put a bullet in your brain. And the guard’s. That’s what I’ll do.”
“I’m sure you will,” Peterson said. “It’s the one thing I know you’re good at.”
A mile farther on was an unmarked private road.