JК
The English Assassin :: Silva Daniel
Страница: 31 из 209Would you mind delivering this package to this address for me? You’re flying to Tel Aviv? Would you mind taking a package to a friend? The packages would inevitably be filled with explosives, and his lovers would be blown to bits along with anyone else who happened to be nearby. One night in Zurich, Hamidi met a university student named Trude in a bar in the Niederdorf section. When the girl suggested they go back to her flat, Hamidi agreed. Five minutes later, she led him into the narrow alley where Gabriel was waiting with a.22-caliber Beretta. Even now, Gabriel could hear the sound of bullets tearing into Hamidi’s body.
“I suppose I should thank you for getting me out.”
“A show of gratitude isn’t necessary. In fact, I’m afraid I owe you an apology.”
“An apology? Whatever for?”
“Because if it wasn’t for me, you would have never been at Augustus Rolfe’s villa in the first place.”
RAMI, Shamron’s ever-present personal bodyguard, was behind the wheel of the car. Shamron told him to drive in circles at Kloten. For twenty minutes Gabriel watched the same parade of airline signs and departure gates marching past his window. In his mind he was seeing something else: flash frames of past operations, old colleagues and old enemies. His palms were damp, his heart was beating faster. Shamron. He had done it again.
“Rolfe sent a message to us through our embassy,” Shamron began. “He wanted to meet with someone from the Office. He didn’t say why, but when a man like Augustus Rolfe wants to talk, we usually try to accommodate him. He wanted the meeting to be handled with discretion. I looked into Rolfe’s background and discovered he was an art collector. Naturally, I thought you were the perfect man for the job, so I arranged for you to be hired to clean one of his paintings. A Rubens, if I’m not mistaken.”
“It was a Raphael.”
Shamron pulled a face, as if to say such distinctions were of no interest to him. Art, music, literature, the theater-these things bored him. He was a man of the real world.
“Did Isherwood know it was all a game?”
“Julian? No, I’m afraid I deceived him as well.”
“Why do it like this? Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”
“Would you have done it?”
“No.”
A tilt of his bald head, another long pull from his Turkish cigarette- I rest my case. “I’m afraid the truth and I are somewhat estranged. I’m an old man, Gabriel. I’ve spent my entire life telling lies. To me, lies are more comfortable than the truth.”
“Let me out of the car! I don’t want to hear any more!”
“Let me finish.”
“Shut up! I don’t want to hear your voice.”
“Listen to me, Gabriel!” Shamron slammed his fist onto the console.
“I suppose I should thank you for getting me out.”
“A show of gratitude isn’t necessary. In fact, I’m afraid I owe you an apology.”
“An apology? Whatever for?”
“Because if it wasn’t for me, you would have never been at Augustus Rolfe’s villa in the first place.”
RAMI, Shamron’s ever-present personal bodyguard, was behind the wheel of the car. Shamron told him to drive in circles at Kloten. For twenty minutes Gabriel watched the same parade of airline signs and departure gates marching past his window. In his mind he was seeing something else: flash frames of past operations, old colleagues and old enemies. His palms were damp, his heart was beating faster. Shamron. He had done it again.
“Rolfe sent a message to us through our embassy,” Shamron began. “He wanted to meet with someone from the Office. He didn’t say why, but when a man like Augustus Rolfe wants to talk, we usually try to accommodate him. He wanted the meeting to be handled with discretion. I looked into Rolfe’s background and discovered he was an art collector. Naturally, I thought you were the perfect man for the job, so I arranged for you to be hired to clean one of his paintings. A Rubens, if I’m not mistaken.”
“It was a Raphael.”
Shamron pulled a face, as if to say such distinctions were of no interest to him. Art, music, literature, the theater-these things bored him. He was a man of the real world.
“Did Isherwood know it was all a game?”
“Julian? No, I’m afraid I deceived him as well.”
“Why do it like this? Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”
“Would you have done it?”
“No.”
A tilt of his bald head, another long pull from his Turkish cigarette- I rest my case. “I’m afraid the truth and I are somewhat estranged. I’m an old man, Gabriel. I’ve spent my entire life telling lies. To me, lies are more comfortable than the truth.”
“Let me out of the car! I don’t want to hear any more!”
“Let me finish.”
“Shut up! I don’t want to hear your voice.”
“Listen to me, Gabriel!” Shamron slammed his fist onto the console.