Chapter 6 The Spy and the Roman Cat
In the office of the British Intelligence Agency Hastings, Rand sat on the familiar chair, feeling faintly uneasy.He had sat here hundreds of times before, but this time was different.He had already resigned from the Covert Communications Agency last fall, and although he had been involved in the investigation of one or two incidents since then, this was the first time he had returned to the old house.
"Nice to see you again, Rand," said Hastings. "How is your wife?"
"Layla is fine. Now teaching Archeology at the University of Reading."
"You're living out of town now, aren't you?"
"Yes. We bought a house on the west side of London, between London and Reading. It's very convenient for her to go to work."
"And you?"
Rand shrugged. "Writing books. I guess that's what everyone who retires from here does."
"I want you to know that I couldn't be more grateful to you for helping us solve that chess game case a few months ago."
"You said that back then," Rand reminded, "What's the matter this time?"
"Is there something to do?"
"You're such a busy person that you don't have time to ask me to chat. What's the matter?"
At that moment, Hastings looked old and frail. "The sins of our youth have come to us now. Colonel Nelson."
Rand froze.That was—how many years ago? — At least ten years.Colonel Nelson worked for the British Intelligence Service on some international missions.During a mission in Switzerland, he concealed the truth from Rand and killed some innocent people.Not long after that, Colonel Nelson broke down and retired.Although ten years have passed, Rand still remembers this man and what he did.He took all his anger on Hastings, and then used this incident as a negative example for educating new agents, so that they can understand the serious consequences of a multinational intelligence agent who conceals the truth and fails to report.
"What happened to him?" Rand asked.
"We have reports from Rome that he is agitating and recruiting some white men to go to Africa as mercenaries."
"Not for British Intelligence, of course!"
"No, no, of course not. I don't think he's working for the Americans. To be honest, we don't know what kind of medicine he sells in his gourd. But at this time, it's especially embarrassing."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Can you go to Rome for a day or two? Find out what the hell he's up to?"
"Oh, here we go again, Hastings! I'm retired. I helped you with the game of chess because..."
"I know, I know. But I don't want to send someone formally. You know Colonel Nelson. Even after ten years, you'll know him."
"He recognizes me too."
"That's enough of a deterrent to stop him, or at least keep him low-key. You're not an official agent, but he'll get our message."
"I don't want to leave—" Rand protested.
"Two nights at most. In such a short period of time, your new wife will definitely let you go."
Maybe it was the monotony of the winter, maybe it was just a need for some activity to refresh his mind, maybe it was the unsettled account with Colonel Nelson that was making him miserable.Ten years ago, Rand had tried to kill him.Today, maybe when he sees this man again, he will make a settlement so that he can let himself go.
"Okay," he said, "I'll go."
Hastings smiled, "I knew you would say yes. I've already prepared a ticket for you."
Rand called Layla's university and tried to explain to her that he was sent to Rome for two days. "Do that again, don't you?" she scolded.
"No. Something was left unfinished. Something to do with a former colleague of mine."
"Be careful, Jeffrey."
"Don't worry. I won't take any chances."
He packed some things into a travel bag and flew to Rome that night.He has been to this city before, and his impression here is different from other cities.To him, it was not so much a city of churches as a place of fountains and cats.
That night, after he settled in a hotel not far from Plaza España, he took a taxi to a restaurant near the square.Here the streets are cobbled and cats, big and small, huddle together, waiting to feast on the kitchen scraps.It is said that as early as the fifth century BC, the Egyptians who worshiped cats brought cats here.They scurry about the city, often squatting, watching passers-by with a regal indifference that one cannot help but believe has occupied the city for 2,500 years.
The restaurant itself is rather unassuming, called Sabato - Saturday - presumably because that's the only day people visit.Naturally deserted this Thursday night.Rand saw a few people standing at the bar—a group of young, strong men, the kind that would make good mercenary material.If Colonel Nelson was recruiting here, business must have been good.
A woman in a tight satin dress and scoop-neck shirt came out of nowhere and led him to a table.She asked something in Italian, and he replied in English: "Sorry, I forgot all my Italian."
"Do you want a menu?" Her English was almost as good as his.
"Thank you, no. My name is Rand. I'm looking for a friend. I hear he can be found here."
"What's his name?"
"Colonel Nelson."
"Ah! The man with the cat."
"Cat?"
"He feeds the cats. When he goes, they follow him."
"Does he come every night?"
"Usually, but you missed him. He came, he's gone."
"I see. You don't know where he lives?"
She shrugged, "I don't know."
Rand glanced at the row of people standing by the bar, "Are there any friends of his here?"
"Colonel Nelson's friends are those cats."
"But if he comes here, he's bound to drink with someone."
"Ask them." She pointed to the group of men at the bar and replied.
"Thank you, miss—"
"Anna."
"Thank you, Anna."
The first person Rand spoke to spoke only Italian, but a friend of his knew some English and something about Colonel Nelson. "I can take you to him if you want. He lives not far from here."
"Very well. Does he work around here?"
"No, no, he's very old. He does nothing but feed the cats every day."
Rand calculated that Colonel Nelson should be in his early sixties, but maybe his mental disorder hastened his aging.Still, it sounds odd that an old neighbor who feeds stray cats is recruiting mercenaries to fight in Africa.
"Okay, take me to him."
The man in front of him gestured, "I have to pay for the drink."
Rand took his cue and put down two Italian bills.The man smiled, pocketed one of them, and left the other with the waiter.Then he led the way out of the restaurant, toward a dark alleyway lit by dim light from the restaurant's curtains.
"How far?" Rand asked.
"Not far from here." The man just repeated what he said.Rand couldn't help suspecting that he had fallen into a trap.But at this moment, they came to a dirty and run-down brick building, which was obviously a small apartment, and the man pointed into it. "I'll just send it here. Sometimes, he doesn't like having company."
Rand checked the letter boxes—some of which stood open with broken hinges—and found one marked "Colonel A. X. Nelson."Ambers Xavier Nelson.The full name hadn't crossed Rand's mind for ten years.He turned his head and wanted to thank the person who led him the way, but that person had already left and disappeared into the night.
The apartment was on the third floor, and Rand walked carefully up the dark stairs.There was a rotten smell in the corridor.Not quiet either, he thought.When passing a room on the second floor, the sound of arguing came from inside.There was a man lying on the ground on the third-floor platform. For a moment, he thought it was Colonel Nelson who was knocked down by enemy agents.But when he turned the man over, he realized that it was just a drunk man snoring with his mouth wide open, and an empty wine bottle was thrown beside him.
He knocked on Colonel Nelson's door and waited.
No one answered the door.After a while, he tapped harder again.
Finally he heard a voice from inside: "Who is it?"
"An old friend, Colonel Nelson. This is Rand, and I'm here to see you."
The door was not opened. "Who?" Still repeating the question.
"Geoffrey Land from London."
"Rand. Rand?"
"Yes, open the door."
He heard the sound of the latch being undone and the lock being turned.The heavy oak door opened a crack, and a white kitten slipped out.The door was opened a little more, revealing a wrinkled face and a bald head.Tired eyes stared at Rand through thick glasses. "I'm Colonel Nelson," said the man, "what are you doing here?"
"Come and see you. Can I go in?"
"Okay. The room is messy."
Two more cats came into view, bouncing back and forth at Rand's feet.He lifted a stack of newspapers from a chair and sat down.The room was indeed messy. "Do you remember me?" Rand asked.
The man in front of him waved his hand. "Memories come and go. Sometimes the days go by. But I think I remember you, yes."
"I'm surprised," Rand said casually, "because I've never met you. You're not Colonel Nelson."
The old man smiled, showing a missing tooth, "I know I can't fool you, but I have to try, right?"
"Who the hell are you? Where is Nelson?"
"He's away. Hired me to watch the house and cats. My name is Sam Shawburn."
"you are British."
"Of course I am! There are a lot of Englishmen in Rome, you know. When I was young I worked at the British Embassy. That's where I met old Nelson."
"But this place—!"
"Not very clean, is it? Colonel Nelson, he's in a rough place now, with a small pension, but not enough to live on, you know."
"And he's paying you to look after the house while he's traveling. That doesn't make sense."
"He's in business. He's counting on making some money, and he says he's going to move to a better place. Maybe take me with him."
"I see. Is this his cat?"
"Of course it is! I can tell you, not mine. He feeds them in the alley, and sometimes they follow him home. There are more than a dozen cats gathered around here, and there may be more."
"While I'm still in Rome, I really want to meet him. When is he expected to come back?"
"Who knows? He's been gone for a week."
"I heard he has business dealings with Africa."
Sam Shawburn narrowed his eyes. "Where did you hear that?"
"Word travels fast. I hear he's recruiting mercenaries to fight in Africa."
"Old Nelson's an old slick. I won't tell you what he's up to. But I never heard he had anything to do with Africa."
"Well," said Rand, "anyway, it was a pleasure chatting with you. You must tell him I came to see him."
"Of course!" said the old man.
Rand left the apartment and went downstairs.The drunk on the landing was nowhere to be seen, and Rand suspected ghosts.Was Colonel Nelson's apartment under surveillance?If so, by whom?Rand hadn't seen the phone in the dilapidated hallway, so once he was out on the street, he decided to wait a few minutes and see what happened.If anything.
Luck is on his side.In five minutes, Sam Shawburn came out, followed by the two cats, and walked down the street.He might have meant to take them for a walk, but Rand was willing to bet he was going to call.
In this part of the city all the streets and alleys are deserted at night.Rand couldn't keep up too closely.Once or twice he thought he had lost track, but at last he saw Shawn go into a small tobacco shop and borrow the phone inside.The two cats were waiting outside, scouring the streets for undiscovered food.
He waited until the old man had come out of the store and turned back the way he had come, then strode across the street and stopped him. "Meet you again, Mr. Shawn."
"what?"
"It's Rand. I assume you contacted Colonel Nelson just now."
The old man took a step back, as if startled by this sudden encounter. "No, no, I didn't contact him."
"Who are you calling?"
"when?"
"Just now, in the tobacco shop."
"My daughter. It's calling my daughter."
"She's in Rome?"
"Yes. No—I mean, not far from here."
"You're calling Colonel Nelson, aren't you?"
The old man hung his head. "I sent him a telegram. I think he wants to know."
"Where did you send the telegram?"
"Moscow."
"Colonel Nelson is in Moscow?"
"yes."
Rand cursed inwardly.What incident had he involved himself in again?A little bit of help for Hastings, but like a swamp not marked on the map, it is difficult for him to get out. "What is he doing there?"
"I don't know. I guess it's business."
"Where did he end up?"
"I have no idea."
"You must send the telegram somewhere."
Shawn lowered his head even lower. "Ukraine," he said at last, "he's staying at the Ukrainian Hotel in Moscow."
Without hesitation, Rand decided to go to Moscow.He called Hastings in London, told him the news, and arranged for an early flight the next morning.Hastings immediately pointed out that Russia may have something to do with the recruitment of African mercenaries, and the opportunity was too good to pass up.
Rand had been to Moscow, in 1970, and he was surprised to find new paint on the facades of buildings that had been neglected for so long.The beautified city is more modern and more dynamic than he remembered.Rand took a taxi from the airport and drove on Kalinin Avenue. The scenery along the way was almost the same as other big cities in Western Europe.From a distance, he saw the Gothic spire of the Ukrainian Hotel, which contrasted sharply with the modern office buildings and apartment buildings on both sides of the avenue, making him feel as if he had returned to the Middle Ages.He couldn't help wondering if Colonel Nelson could get his wish in Moscow's Grand Hotel if he hadn't found him in the cat-infested alleys of Rome.
In the Ukrainian hotel, the receptionist at the desk could speak a little English and knew Colonel Nelson. "I think he's in the dining room," he said to Rand.
Because of the time difference between Rome and Moscow, Rand didn't realize it was dinner time.He thanked the receptionist and went into the restaurant.It is extremely spacious here, with a raised stage at the end, and balconies on both sides sticking out.A huge chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, adding a touch of opulence and awe-inspiring.Most of the tables against the wall were group tables, and at a small table in the center, he found Colonel Nelson dining alone.There will be no mistakes this time, even after ten years.
"Hello, Colonel."
It was the familiar smile that greeted him, but the face was older, and the eyes were also tainted with a trace of fanaticism. "Hello, Rand—nice to meet you! I'm sure you had a great trip here from Rome."
"So Bernard Shawn has sent you a second telegram."
"Of course! Don't you think he won't? The old man is loyal."
"Mind if I eat with you?" Rand asked, but he had already pulled out a chair.
"of course not!"
"How's the food here?"
“Very average. And the service is very slow, like all Moscow restaurants. But I recommend you the soup. It's so thick that you can stand your fork in it without pouring it over.”
"I'll try it," Rand said, smiling. "Colonel, why are you in Moscow?"
"For business. I don't think it's a matter of the Covert Communications Agency."
"Oh, I'm retired." Rand said lightly.
"You're retired? Then why are you traveling across Europe to find me?"
"I went to Rome and thought I should meet you and see how you were doing. I have to admit that when I found out you were in Moscow, my curiosity started. All these years have passed and you haven't changed your position. right?"
Colonel Nelson looked around nervously, as if worried that someone might be overhearing. "I've been out of London for a long time. You must remember how I got kicked out."
"I remember how you lied to me on that mission in Switzerland and how many people died."
"Rand, our job is to cheat. You know that. Didn't Hastings cheat you?"
"Not as far as I know."
"Ah, good old Hastings! A knight in shining armor! But he's the only one left of the old generation, isn't he? You and I are gone - and I hear even some of the Taz The Russians are gone too."
"Taz was killed by a car bomb before I retired. Retiring was a mistake for him."
Colonel Nelson smiled, "I hope you don't make the same mistake."
Rand leaned forward. "Colonel, what the hell are you doing here?"
"A business matter."
"You're playing with fire. Your apartment in Rome is under surveillance."
"Must be someone from the British Intelligence Service."
Rand decided to showdown. "They know you're recruiting mercenaries," he whispered.A small band took to the stage, and he doubted that even a directional microphone would be able to overhear their conversation.
Colonel Nelson just shrugged. "Old people can't do what we do. But everybody has to earn a living."
"Russia employs you?"
Nelson thought for a while, and then said, "Rand, how about it, you go with me tomorrow morning, you can judge for yourself, and it will save you the trouble of following me all day."
"tomorrow morning?"
"See you in the lobby at ten o'clock. Let's go to Gorky Amusement Park. This is the first weekend of warm weather after entering spring, and there must be a lot of tourists."
At least, his weather forecast was accurate.The temperature climbed to 22 degrees Celsius, and the amusement park was full of tourists.Gorky Amusement Park is located on the Moskva River, a few miles south of the city center.Rand had never been here before, and he was amazed by the huge Ferris wheel.
"People come here to skate in the winter," Colonel Nelson said, "and to sunbathe on the slopes in the summer. This amusement park is for all seasons."
"It's a great place to meet, too," Rand echoed, "especially on a warm and pleasant weekend this spring."
"The man I want to see is Greg. You can make a note for Hastings if you want."
"It's not necessary."
They walked into the depths of the amusement park, through the amusement park, and onto the river bank.Some people rested on the grassy banks of the river, and Colonel Nelson said: "It is not cold to swim here only in midsummer, but people like to wade."
"You know Moscow well."
"Having been here so many times, to me it's like London, like Rome. Come on, that's Greg."
Greg was a well-built Russian, and his dark gray suit looked too heavy for the weather.Unexpectedly, Rand was there, and he was a little nervous. After talking a few words in Russian, the two of them walked out of Rand's hearing. "You can understand, old chap," said Colonel Nelson.
Rand found a bench and sat down, watching the children play with a fat yellow cat.He couldn't help but think of those wild cats in the alleys of Rome. It seemed that Moscow cats ate better.At this moment the two men parted, and Colonel Nelson came and sat beside him.He bent down, patted the cat, and suddenly sneezed, scaring the cat into the bushes. "It's simple," he said, "I've done business in Moscow."
"You gave him an envelope."
"A deposit in advance. Three weeks later, he will ship five hundred weapons made in Russia and East Germany, mainly automatic rifles."
"You buy weapons here?"
"Of course! What else could bring me to Moscow?"
"Your African mercenaries?"
"Yes," Colonel Nelson replied triumphantly, "in case the weapons are seized, it appears that Russia has hired them."
"Who is the real employer?"
"You know as well as I do, Rand. The British paid for it, and maybe the CIA helped too. You see, I'm still working for British Intelligence. I never really left."
"I do not believe--"
"Don't believe what? Hastings didn't tell you? Hastings, who always behaves aboveboard? Hastings knows what I'm doing, perfectly. Hindsight. I work for the United Kingdom, supplying weapons and manpower to certain African groups. You have to believe, Rand, because it is true."
Rand was stunned by these words.He would not believe it, would not believe that Hastings had lied to him, as Colonel Nelson had done ten years before.
But before he recovered, a man in a black raincoat broke away from the wandering crowd and walked towards them.Rand's first reaction was that the man looked familiar.Then he saw the pistol and thought they were under arrest.
But the pistol was a German-made 9mm Luger, and the muzzle was aimed at Nelson's chest. "Wota, Colonel Nelson!" cried the man, firing three shots.
Rand witnessed what happened, clearly in slow motion.He saw the bullet pass through Nelson's chest, he fell backwards, and the killer dropped the gun at Rand's feet and disappeared into the bushes.
Rand ran—push past the screaming woman and the terrified man in pursuit, but the murderer had already blended into the crowd on the other trail.Finding him was impossible, and Rand was the murderer in the eyes of most witnesses.He saw a policeman walking towards him under the guidance of others.
As the police got closer, he ducked behind a notice board and hurriedly bought a ticket for the Ferris wheel.As soon as he began to ascend, he found that the police were still looking for him in the crowd.As he rose higher and higher and had a bird's-eye view of the entire amusement park, he saw a crowd gather around the body of Colonel Nelson.He couldn't believe that the little man in the middle of the crowd was Nelson, the man who had survived so many disasters and died in the Moscow amusement park.
He thought about it, and there were people in Hastings, London.
Had Hastings really lied to him?Colonel Nelson has really been working for the British intelligence agency, and his speculation in Africa is also sponsored by the United Kingdom or even the United States?
Was the killing of Colonel Nelson part of the whole deception?
Rand sat on the Ferris wheel for three more laps, then left.The good vision did not bring him the answer to the question, but at least he saw that Colonel Nelson's body had been carried away, and the police had stopped searching.He took a taxi back to the hotel, and as soon as he entered the lobby, he saw two men in black trench coats talking with the hotel staff who were in charge of checking in the rooms.Can't go wrong this time.They are real Russian police.
He turned and walked out of the revolving door without stopping.
They were looking for him and knew where to find him.
He was framed as the murderer of Colonel Nelson.
Rand believes that there are only two paths before him.He could try to leave the country on the nearest flight - and he would undoubtedly be stopped and arrested on board.Or he could go to the British embassy for help.It seems safer to bet on the embassy.He knows very well that once sent to a Russian prison, the day of seeing the sun again is far away.
The embassy was only a few blocks away, so he walked to it.As he approached, the embassy entrance seemed safe, but almost in the blink of an eye, two Russian police detectives stepped out of a car parked nearby and stopped him. "Could you please tell me why you are here?" one of them asked in fluent English.
"I'm going to the British embassy."
"May I see your passport?"
"I lost it. That's why I came to the embassy."
"You must understand that we are looking for a British citizen in connection with a murder. We must check your identity."
"So you won't let me into our country's embassy?"
The Russian shrugged apologetically. "Unless you show your papers. You're still on Russian soil." He pointed to the ground beneath his feet, as if to see if Rand dared to take a step.
"Okay. I have some IDs in the car. I'll get them." He held his breath and turned, fearing the Russians would follow.But they guarded the gate of the embassy and just followed him with their eyes.He walked to the next intersection, and a Moscow car was parked on the side of the road, the front of which was just covered by a protruding building, and the Russian police could not see it.Rand leaned over, pretended to open the lock, then straightened up, shrugging, as if to go around the front of the car.
As soon as he was out of sight of the Russians, he ran towards an alley between two tall buildings.He didn't think they'd leave their post to catch up, but he didn't want to take any chances.
Finally, worried that he would attract attention, he slowed down breathlessly and walked up a busy street.No one stopped him.For now he is safe.
But what should he do now?
He walked into an ornate Moscow metro station adorned with gilded chandeliers and carved arches, and took the subway to the neighborhood of the American embassy.But he saw a familiar car from a distance, with two people sitting in it.He didn't stop, wondering how many embassies in Moscow had police guarding their gates.
Next, he went into a small shop and borrowed a payphone.When he finally got his point across, the woman behind the counter led him to the phone—but there was no directory.He remembered having read in a book that telephone numbers were not readily available in Moscow.Even if he managed to call the British or American embassy, what would happen next?They're not going to risk an international incident by going to the streets to rescue a man accused of murder.At best they visited him in his prison cell after his arrest.
What if he is arrested?Even his friends in London would suspect him of the crime.He had hated Colonel Nelson for ten years, and that hatred might explode and turn into murder.Although some visitors to Gorky's amusement park had witnessed the real murderer, Rand was unwilling to deceive himself into believing that someone would come forward as a witness for him.If the government says he's guilty, he's guilty.
He wondered who it was that shot Colonel Nelson.Could it have been hired by that Russian named Greg?Order to kill Nelson immediately after receiving the advance payment for the weapon?Or is there something else hidden here?
Someone must have leaked Rand's name to the Russian police, and in London only Hastings knew he was in Moscow.Was it possible, as Colonel Nelson said, that Hastings had a hand in it?
No.Rand refused to believe it.
The UK has not sponsored Nielsen in these years.He is willing to bet with his life.
In fact, he would bet his life on Hastings.
He took the tram to the Central Telegraph Building and sent a telegram to a secret address that Hastings had been using in London: to negotiate the transportation of new diesel engines to the ideal port.Eastern countries caused no supply or routing problems.He signed it as L. Gade, and indicated that the reply should be sent to the Central Telegraph Building.
Rand was sure that Hastings recognized the maiden name of Mrs. Rand on the telegram, and that Hastings could understand the deep meaning of the contents of the telegram.
But he knew that he would not get a reply until tomorrow morning at the earliest.
The hotel needs to show a passport, and may also be deposited at the front desk.He also couldn't sleep in the subway station, because they were closed for maintenance from 1:00 am to 6:00 am.And according to his experience on his last trip to Moscow, once it was ten o'clock, there were very few pedestrians on the street.He had nowhere to hide then.
Finally, as night fell, he took a subway train to the terminus of Gorky Amusement Park and slept on a park bench for the night.
The next morning, Rand returned to the Central Telegraph Building, hoping that his overnight mustache would not be conspicuous.Yes, the clerk told him, there was a reply to Mr. L. Gade.She handed Rand a form. After Rand read it, hope rose again in his heart: he received news of our negotiation.The dealer accepts another offer.Signed in the code name of Hastings.
Rand almost cried out.Hastings understood.He will send the passport.He's going to meet the man and then—unless it's a trap.
Unless Hastings helps the Russian police or whoever shot Colonel Nelson framed him.
Hastings' reply directed him to Red Square at noon.So he figured that the agent who brought him the false passport must know him.At noon, there will be a large number of tourists waiting to visit the Lenin Mausoleum in Red Square, and it will be very lively.
Rand knew that the night flight from London would be enough time—or the person meeting him would be from the British embassy.Either way, they have to find each other in the crowd.
When he arrived at Red Square, it was not yet noon, and he wandered aimlessly among the crowd waiting to visit Lenin's Mausoleum.He lowered his head, but his eyes vigilantly looked at everyone who passed by, looking for familiar faces.
At ten past twelve, he was still searching.
Perhaps Hastings was referring to the next day.Maybe--
"Jeffrey," came a soft voice from beside him.
He turned, trying not to look overly surprised, and stared into his wife Leila's face. "what are you doing--?"
"Hastings sent me. He knows to send someone you trust. I've brought you a passport signed Lawrence Gad. And a plane ticket back to London tonight."
"My God, he's thought of it all!"
She looked at him with a smile on her face, and for a moment, it seemed as if there were only the two of them in the middle of the Red Square. "He asked me to tell you that he thought the former director of the Secret Communications Bureau was capable of hiding information in the initials of every word."
"Sometimes it's easy to get away with simple things. My code must be obvious at a glance. But I don't like the idea of him sending you here."
"Jeffrey, I once dived the Nile and slipped on a yacht full of Russian spies! A late-night flight to Moscow was a piece of cake."
He rubbed the stubble on his face, "Come on. If you don't mind having lunch with an unshaven man, I invite you."
They arrived at Sheremetyevo International Airport in the evening, with delays and the usual chaos.Rand sent Layla to inquire about departure times, and he had to do some research himself.He remembered the words Colonel Nelson's assassin had yelled: "Vota, Colonel Nelson!" It had sounded like Russian at the time, but he understood now that it was Italian.It's time, Colonel Nelson!It's time to die.
If the murderer was an Italian—someone who had followed Nelson here from Rome—wouldn't he have gone back to Rome?
He confirmed with the information desk that the flight to Rome had been delayed by six hours.There was no chance—just then, he saw the man.
You can't be mistaken, it's him, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette, still wearing that black trench coat.
Rand pulled a retractable ballpoint pen from his inside pocket and walked over to the man.Before the man could react, Rand quickly pressed the pen to his neck. "Don't move! You understand English, right? There's a needle in it that can kill you in a minute. Got it?"
He froze in fear, "Yes, I understand."
"Why did you kill Colonel Nelson?"
"I--"
Rand pressed harder against him, "Why?"
"Someone hired me."
"Who hired you? The British?"
Suddenly, Rand felt something hard poke against his ribs, and he realized he had made a mistake.They bought two plane tickets back to Rome. "Let him go, Rand, or you're dead," said a familiar voice. "Turn around slowly, and drop that pen."
He turned and looked into old Sam Shawburn's hard eyes.
At this time, Rand remembered where he had seen the murderer before. "He's the drunk lying on the landing in your apartment!"
Sam Shawburn laughed. "This Tony? Yes, that's right. He was just about to leave, and he heard you coming upstairs, and there was a scene. We worked together."
"You made him kill Colonel Nelson."
"It had to be done. That business in Africa was getting more and more complicated—the profits were too high to be worth sharing with partners. One of us had to disappear. I was just trying to do it first, before he killed me. I Trying to kill him in Moscow was a brilliant move. Compared with Rome, there are too many people to suspect, including you."
"I should have thought of that earlier. Someone tipped off to the Russian police. I thought it was Hastings. But you also knew about my coming to Moscow—you even informed Colonel Nelson of my arrival. You follow I go here and tell Tony to kill Nelson and give my name to the police. They can easily track down my hotel and put guards in front of the embassy."
"very good!"
“而且那也不是尼尔森的公寓。那些也不是他养的猫，”兰德想起他在高尔基游乐园里打的那个喷嚏，说道，“尼尔森上校对猫过敏。”
"Indeed."
“是你喂养那些猫，是你为非洲招募雇佣兵，只不过用的是尼尔森的名字。”
“他的买卖是从莫斯科购买枪支，但是我认为整个交易中都用他的名字更为保险。”
“你现在怎么搞到枪？”
“格雷戈仍会运送。他的渠道多，也爱钱。”
兰德还要知道一件事，“英国呢？他们赞助你们的交易？”
“英国？”肖伯恩大笑道，“不可能！是尼尔森告诉你的？他整天做白日梦，想着自己还在为英国情报局工作。他无法面对住在罗马那条肮脏后巷里的事实。整桩交易都是我们独立运作的。”
“现在怎么办？你打算在众目睽睽之下杀了我？”
“外面，”肖伯恩决定道，“走在我和托尼中间。别耍花招！”
他们脚步飞快，眼看就要走到门前了，这时蕾拉突然出现，身后跟着两个身材魁梧的警察，她大喊道：“抓住他们！他们挟持了我丈夫！”
肖伯恩试图掏出衣袋中的手枪，但是他年岁大了，动作也慢了。俄国警察抓住了他们，事情结束了。
兰德和蕾拉没有赶上当晚那班伦敦的飞机。
他们花了两天时间，给伦敦打了很多电话，又去了一趟英国使馆，才终于从没完没了的审讯中解放出来。俄国警方从山姆·肖伯恩的钱包中搜出了格雷戈的住址，一桩非法买卖武器案大白于天下。和尼尔森上校被害的案子相比，他们好像对此更感兴趣，但是这些已经足够肖伯恩和托尼在俄国监狱中呆上好久了。
他们终于坐上了回伦敦的飞机，兰德说：“一天之内你救了我两次。我开始考虑这辈子都要你陪在我身边。”
蕾拉微笑着将头靠在椅背上，“如果你以后还要帮黑斯廷斯小忙，你就需要我在你身边。”
Notes:
Notes: