Chapter 12 wait for mrs ryder

The vistas of the Indian Ocean and the east coast of Africa still held a remarkable allure, and Rand remained in Cairo after his wife left for England to start her spring course at Reading University.He told Layla, "I want to stay at sea for a little over a week, and then I'll go home." "But it's the rainy season," she reminded him. "They call it the long rainy season." "I know, it's cloudy and sunny every now and then." "Just like some husbands." Rand's destination is Laamu Island off the coast of Kenya.He heard that he could take a plane to Manta Airport, only a few kilometers away, and then take a diesel yacht across the strait.He set off that route on a Monday afternoon in late April and arrived in the middle of the long rainy season, just as his wife had said.Leila studied archeology in Egypt and traveled frequently to East Africa.He would have liked to take her with him, but she had to go back to school.

There was an electric boat waiting for him at the pier, and the rain died down as the boat carried him and two other passengers across the channel. "Damn the weather," muttered the short, fat man with the white beard, "I've lived here for ten years, and it rains like this every spring." "Are you British?" Rand asked, though his accent didn't quite look like it. "I'm Australian," he said, holding out his hand. "James Conte, I write travel books, and I'm updating the East Africa volume right now. But I also lived in London for a while, maybe because of that." , you mistook me for an Englishman. You are English, aren't you?"

"yes." "Few people will come to Lamu Island this season. Are you here on business?" "No," Rand answered him with a smile. "I'm a retired civil servant. I'm just here for vacation." "Have you found the hotel yet?" "When I was in Cairo, someone recommended Sunrise Hotel to me." "That's a nice place," said James Conte, stroking his moustache.Rand guessed he was fifty years old, "Especially in this wet season. There are ceiling fans and mosquito nets in the rooms." "It sounds pretty good."

Another man on the motorboat wore a muslim hat and a full-length white robe and carried a closed umbrella for the unpredictable weather.He didn't speak, and Rand thought he didn't understand English.He was the first to disembark when the boat docked in the Strait near Ram. "Sunrise is at the end of this street," said James Conte and Rand as they stepped out of the dock. "After customs, turn right at the fort and you'll see it." Rand found the hotel easily and booked a room for three nights.This appears to be a clean, well-managed hotel with a sweeping view of the bay.He noticed a sign at the reception stating that the sale of drugs and alcohol was prohibited, and that prostitutes and homosexuals were not allowed to stay here.

He turned on the ceiling fan in the house, took the luggage out of the small suitcase, found a bug in the wardrobe drawer, and decided to put most of the clothes in the suitcase.The shutters were open wide, letting in an afternoon breeze from the Indian Ocean.Aside from the bugs and the humidity, it's a nice place to be.Leila would love it. At dinner time, he left the hotel and looked for a suitable restaurant along the old and narrow alleys.Along the way, he passed several Africans and some Muslims dressed in white and leading donkey carts.Private motor vehicles are not allowed on the island, so donkeys and carts are obviously the usual means of transport.In the brochure Rand took at the hotel reception, he saw a white-walled fortress surrounding the city, which was almost two hundred years old and had been used as a prison in recent centuries.It is now closed and will soon be converted into a museum.

On the small road, there were women walking with men, and he was surprised to find that the women here wore traditional black wrap coats, but did not wear Muslim veils.What surprised him even more was that in the coffee bar where he was dining, there were two waitresses greeting the guests.The waitress who came to take his order was Onix, a brown-skinned, Western-looking woman, probably about forty years old.Her English is good, at least she can understand what he wants. "Give me another beer," he said after ordering. "We have Tusker, the local beer." "Can."

"Cold or room temperature?" Seeing his disgusted expression, she explained, "Most Africans drink room temperature." "I don't want room temperature ones, give me cold ones." The meal was passable, and by the time Rand finished, the table was nearly full.As he tried to call Layla in Reading, he saw a familiar face in the corner.When he walked out of the restaurant, he realized that he had read it correctly. "Isn't this George Ryder? I'm Geoffrey Rand. We met in London many years ago." His voice was low, although the next table was empty.

Ryder was a handsome gray-haired man in his early fifties.When Rand met him in the offices of the Covert Communications Agency ten years ago, he was admiring the Thames.Rand had retired from the British Intelligence Service by then, but Ryder was still active in the CIA. He looked away from the food and smiled, "You must be mistaken. My name is Watkins." "Sorry." Rand left the coffee bar and continued walking.If George Ryder was on a mission in Ram, Rand would have violated one of the basic espionage rules by calling him by his real name.But as far as he knew, Ryder had never participated in the detection of any cases.He's just sitting in his office in Langley, Virginia, doing paperwork.

Rand wandered around the city, admiring the beauty of the bay, but this was still on his mind.Most surprising of all were the dhows of the Arab merchants, which were numerous.Rand had seen such ships off the coasts of Arabia and India, but not in such numbers.Watching the boats anchor nearby at dusk, he didn't even notice the white-clothed Muslim approaching."The sailboats are being built and repaired in nearby villages, so that's why there are so many," he said. Rand realized that this was the man on the boat yesterday afternoon, and now he was without an umbrella. "You live here?" Rand asked.

The man nodded and said, "My name is Armin Shad. I trade in these ships." Rand introduced himself and shook his hand. "This is a special place, more like Arabia than Africa." "This magical and romantic island has a long history, remoteness and uniqueness, so in the early 1970s, it attracted those so-called hippies." Rand looked at the ships and said, "I'd like to go sailing." Admiring the fluid craftsmanship of the unique sails, he decided to try them out for himself. "That's easy. Tomorrow morning I'll sail to Matondoni, a small shipbuilding village. I'd love to go with you."

"It's kind of you," Rand murmured, "when will you leave?" "About ten o'clock," replied Armin Shad, "it's a short journey, but it's best to leave before the heat hits at noon. I'll talk about my business. We can eat grilled fish at noon and come back in the afternoon. Tomorrow We'll meet here at ten o'clock. Remember to bring an umbrella, it's bound to rain." Rand said good-bye to him, and continued to walk along the shore. Of course, the people on the island seemed very friendly.After a while, he left the sea and walked towards the hotel on the north side.Just then he heard the laughter of a young woman whom he knew somehow to be English.He hurried after her and saw her with James Conte, the travel-book writer who had been on board yesterday. "God, Rand!" Conte put a hand heavily on Rand's shoulder, and Rand could smell the beer on his breath, "Laura, this is the one I mentioned to you." British mate. Laura Peters, this is Geoffrey Rand." She was much younger than Conte, probably in her twenties, full of youthful energy. "Hello, Jeffrey Land. You should come with us! I'm showing my uncle around where I work." "Your uncle?" "Don't you think we look alike?" she asked mischievously. "If I had a mustache, we'd look alike!" "Where are you two taking me?" Rand asked with a smile. "See something you've never seen," she assured him, and walked down the narrow alley toward the pier. "It's the Donkey Conservation Society!" The neighing of animals can be heard before reaching the destination.Rand had thought she was joking, but when he first saw the pen full of wounded, sick, overworked donkeys, he knew he was wrong. "What's the matter? Are you rounding them up in the streets, Miss Peters?" "Some are brought by their owners, some we find ourselves. We protect and care for them until they recover." "But who do you work for? Who pays you?" "The World Donkey Conservation Enterprises in West Demouth, Devon, UK. I worked for them for half a year, which is very different." "Yes, I think so." Rand agreed with her. She showed them around the place.Rand thought the donkeys were amusing, but a copy of the London Times Weekly found in her small office attracted his attention even more. "I haven't read a newspaper for a long time," he said. "Go ahead and read it," Laura said. "I've already read it. They ship the paper with the supplies every week. If you don't mind reading last week's news—" Rand rolled it up under his arm and said, "Of course not, thank you. Shall I buy you something, beer?" "Excellent!" exclaimed James Conte. "I've had a few drinks, but I can always have another one or two." "Where shall we drink?" asked his niece. Conte grimaced and said, "The only place that serves cold beer on Laamu is Harmony Coffee. That's a few blocks from here." "I know it, I ate dinner there," Rand told them. They stopped at the gate for a moment, and Laura patted her favorite donkeys goodbye.Then they left the Conservation Society and set off for the café.When they arrived, Rand was pleased to see that the man who had denied being George Ryder had left.The owner of the cafe, a fat Arab named Shegard, was handing the menu to Onix, the waitress who had previously ordered for Rand. "We serve Indian food on Tuesday nights," he told her, "and some businessmen have come from Zanzibar to taste it." A dhow docked at Ram Quays was like a clipper docked on the Thames in a way that Rand had never imagined, but an hour ago he had never imagined that there would be a Donkey Conservation Society either.The three of them picked a table near the door, and Onix came to help them order.It was past dinner time and there was only one other table occupied. "Just beer," Conte told her, "three cold Tuskers." As Onix leaves to get a beer, Rand asks Laura about the local economy, "What do people on Ram Island do for a living?" Laura Peters grinned, "Rely on donkeys. Really, although the village also builds and repairs boats, there is also a tourist season every year. Sierra, a village in the south, has a very beautiful beach. You can make money with that .The local police will also tell you that illegal cash transactions are also thriving, but I think they are exaggerating." After two glasses of wine, James Conte and his niece chatted about family affairs and gossip about their relatives in England and Australia.Rand scanned the front page of Time magazine, quickly reading an article about the royal family.He finally saw a message at the bottom of the homepage.The headline read: "CIA Officially Prosecutes Espionage Case." Rand skimmed the report from Washington.George Ryder, the longtime CIA director, and his wife, Martha, were both indicted by the Supreme Court on multiple counts of espionage.They have now left the United States, and a global manhunt has begun.Ryder and his wife are believed to have received more than $2 million over the past decade selling CIA intelligence to Moscow. Rand looked up and saw that he was sitting at the same table that George Ryder had been sitting at a few hours earlier. On the way back to the Sunrise Hotel, Rand pondered the fate that had brought him and George Ryder to meet in this remote place.They barely knew each other, and Ryder probably didn't remember him at all.And now that he was a wanted man, Rand had been like an idler since his retirement. At the Sunrise Hotel, Rand climbed to the second floor and inserted his key into the lock of his door.As soon as he entered the dark room, he found that the ceiling fan above his head was turning slightly, and he had turned off the ceiling fan when he went out.He immediately lay down gently, but he knew it was too late.A red laser aiming line had shot through the darkness on the wall next to his head. "Shall we talk?" Rand asked.The answer was the coughing sound of a suppressed gun, a bullet hitting the wall above his head.He gently crawled under the bed, took off his shoes suddenly, and threw them against the wall next to him.The laser line followed immediately, and before it was too late, Rand crawled out from the other side of the bed, ripped the mosquito net off the frame, and restrained the gunman before he fired again. He picked up the gun that had fallen, dumb guy with laser sight and suppressor. "Who are you going to kill with it, Ryder? I'm retired, but I'm not lame. How did you find me?" "I'll follow you at the port this afternoon." "Remember, no matter how hot it is, never turn on the fan when you're in the dark waiting to kill someone." "Give me back the gun and let's forget about it. It was a mistake." "You've been wrong. I read about you in the London Times. I suppose the Russians pay you a lot." He sighed and looked at Rand, "You know what they said?" "You shot at me, I think so. I didn't come after you, Ryder. I'm retired from British intelligence and have no connection to the CIA, of course." "Then what are you doing in Ram?" Rand let go of the mosquito net, but still held the pistol.He said, sitting on the edge of the bed, "I'm curious about this part of the country. An American writer, Walter Satterthwaite, said Ram was the most beautiful place he'd ever seen in his life. What are you doing here?" "Wait for my wife, she should have come here to meet me three days ago." "Strange meeting place, not like being on Waterloo Bridge or the top floor of the Empire State Building." "We came here together a year ago. Because it's remote, it's suitable for meeting." "This is the way to Russia." "I doubt we're going to go to Russia. Honestly, I don't know where we're going," he turned to look at Rand, the moonlight shining on his face through the window. "Are you going to hand me over?" "Is there a reason I shouldn't? If the reports are true, the Russians are paying you more than I've ever made at the Covert Communications Agency in my lifetime. How did you and your wife get involved in this anyway?" George Ryder moved with difficulty. "If we're going to talk, I want you to undo the mosquito net that's wrapped around me." Rand turned on the lights, closed the blinds, and allowed Ryder to break free of the mosquito netting. "Don't play tricks, or I'd like to see how this gun works." "No tricks," the CIA man promised.He was sitting on the only chair in the room, a white wicker chair that seemed uncomfortable.Rand was still sitting on the edge of the bed. "Martha and I met in college," he began, "I was going to do a play and she helped me with my makeup. We started dating, and we got married shortly after graduation. I was in pre-law, but my junior year When the CIA hired me. We moved to Washington to hang out with other civil service couples. I believe we were very popular then. People made fun of us as George and Martha, just as they made fun of Washington and his wife. Seventies scene Unlimited. I got promoted and Martha got a good job in a travel agency. Then came the eighties." "What happened?" Rand asked softly. "I don't know. Maybe we're all tired of life. Maybe, like the spy in Eric Amberle's novel, we need money." "What message did you give the Russians?" "The name of a Russian double agent. I never betrayed an American." "What about your wife?" “Martha used her position in a travel agency to help me arrange the itinerary. When I was on a business trip abroad, I would fly to a nearby city or country to meet with my Russian contacts. That’s how I gave them information and got paid. The money is sent to a Swiss account in Martha's name, from which she withdraws money when we need it." "They never suspected you?" "Of course. I was routinely interrogated several times, especially during the big spy hunts in the mid-'80s. But things always settled down. I could satisfy them and even pass a polygraph." "Now you've been charged." He stood up, and Rand switched hands to hold the gun. "Let me tell you the truth, because we are, or were, Rand. Maybe you can understand the situation now, the cold war is over, the superpowers check each other, and live in peace. You know how Martha and I escaped What? My only good friend at the bureau called me at the hotel two weeks ago and talked me through it. He said they've been spying on me and listening to my home phone for a year. If I go home, Martha and I will both will be arrested." "What did you do then?" "I sent a fax to Martha's travel agency and informed her with the previously negotiated password. She couriered me the ticket to Lamu and left a message saying that she would meet me here." "How do you think the CIA caught your fox's tail?" "That's the worst part. My friend said I was blacklisted at the top a year ago. It just took them a year to gather evidence for those allegations." "Top level?" "No one will admit it. Maybe fifty years from now when the top secret is declassified, historians will know. At that point, it won't matter to anyone, least of all Martha and me. Do you remember what happened a year ago A new president of the United States meets a new president of Russia who is in dire need of aid. The cold war is over. Our president wants to start it all over again, and the Russian president owes nothing to the former Soviet Union. (KGB) what." "What are you trying to say?" Rand asked. "I can't prove anything, but I know what happened. The two of them had a brief meeting, without even bringing a co-advisor. The Russian president ended up asking for more aid, and then our president asked, 'In good faith, can you get What in return?’ The Russian said, ‘I can give you the names of top former Soviet agents in the CIA.’ And he threw a piece of paper on the table, and it had my name on it.” "You really think so?" "Yes. The higher-ups ordered an in-depth investigation. They spent a year and finally caught me and Martha." "If she hasn't arrived now, she may not come." "I'll wait and see. Every day there is a boat from the airport, I will keep an eye out for newcomers to the island. Of course, I saw you today too, but I hope you won't meet me, and I hope you don't remember me. I hope you weren't sent by them to arrest me." "If they catch Martha, it's easy to know where you are." "Yeah, I guess she hasn't been caught yet, she's on her way here, maybe took some detours. If anyone can get rid of them, it's Martha." "You're waiting here trying to get rid of people like me. If there's an enemy here, anyone could be, Ryder. He could be an Arab leading a donkey through an alley, or a man with a single mast Merchant of sailing ships." "I know." "You're going to spend the rest of your life in hiding. That's why you don't want to go to Russia, right? Because you feel the Russians have betrayed you." "I'll go," he said, "give me back the gun." Rand dumped the bullets on the sheet and emptied the gun.The gun was then returned to George Ryder. "You may need it, but not against me." He returned the bullet, too. The American put the gun back in the holster under his shirt and left the room. The next morning, a sudden downpour awakened Rand from his nightmare.He shaved and dressed and went out, borrowing a black umbrella from the row of umbrellas at the front door of the hotel. Although there was morning tea in the Risheng Hotel, he still decided to go to the Harmony Cafe for breakfast.It was still raining when he got to the cafe, and he left his umbrella outside the door.The waitress, Onix, was not at work, but Shegard was waiting for the guests.Rand ordered honey banana pancakes and a cup of tea.The pancakes were delicious, but the tea was too milky and sweet for Rand, who ended up asking for a Coke. "Has an American gentleman been here this morning?" he asked Xie Jiade. The fat Arab shook his head and said, "Not today. They're waiting for the rain to stop." A few more customers came in to take shelter from the rain, and the waitress finally came, leaving her umbrella outside like everyone else. "You're here again," she said with a giggle, "Our food is so delicious, is it worth your frequent visits?" "This was my first breakfast. The pancakes were great." Onix glanced at Shegard, "Sometimes he asks me to make pancakes, which taste better." The rain finally stopped, and Rand remembered that he had made an appointment with Amin at the pier at ten o'clock.Worry about George Ryder for a while.He paid the bill and took the umbrella by the door.The sun's rays penetrated the clouds and evaporated the accumulated water in the puddles in the alley, making it even more humid outside. Before ten o'clock he reached the place where the dhow was moored on the south side of the quay.Shad was nowhere to be seen, but he was surprised to see Laura Peters struggling with a stubborn donkey.She tried her best to lead it along the coast to the Conservation Society a few hundred meters to the north, but the donkey still didn't move. "Need help?" he asked. "Exactly, Mr. Rand. This little thing just doesn't know I'm doing it for its own good. Can you give me a hand, a push as I pull from the front?" He put down his umbrella and got ready, "It's not every day I get a chance to push a donkey." But it worked, and the monster obeyed without even kicking. "Thank you!" she shouted over her shoulder. "I'm always welcome when you need work!" He waved with a smile and turned back to where the boat was parked.Still haven't seen Armin Shad.Eventually he asked an old man who looked like he was chartering a boat, "Has Amin Shad been here this morning?" The old man looked at the boat floating on the water and said, "He has already left, and he has been waiting for you for a long time." The boat he was talking about was about fifty meters from shore.A figure in white was hunched over one of the masts, but there were no rowboats nearby.He borrowed a boat from the old man, and rowed to meet Xia De by himself. "Did you forget your invitation?" he asked, paddling across the rail. The man beside the mast did not move a muscle.It was indeed Amin Shad, but he could not have gone to Shera or anywhere else.He'd been shot in the throat, bleeding a river, attracting swarms of flies, and Rand could tell he was dead. He examined the limp body on deck before calling for help.Shade did not die immediately after being shot.He was dying to write six letters in his own blood. CAMERI, maybe the last letter A is not finished, what he wants to say should be CAMERA camera. Rand looked for cameras everywhere, but there were none on board.In fact, there was no Armin Shad's stuff on board at all.Even if he brought his belongings, they were taken away by the murderer.Although the morning's heavy rain drenched the deck, it did not wash away his dying message.That means he was alive twenty minutes ago, he was alive after the rain stopped, but the shooting could have happened earlier. Rand paddled back to shore and told the old man what he had found. "Amin Shad is dead. We have to call the police." The old man's eyes widened. "Did you hear the gunshot while you were here?" "No, no. He sailed with another Arab." "Did you see that man's face?" He shook his head, "It was raining. Shade covered the other person with an umbrella. I was in the house and didn't see the person next to him." Soon word spread, a crowd gathered on the shore, and the local sheriff arrived.He was a tall black man in half-uniform and drove a Land Rover, the only motor vehicle on the island.He listened intently to Rand's story, and took down his name and address in Ram. "We'll talk to you later," he said in fluent English, "don't leave this island." In the afternoon, when the ferry from the airport on the neighboring island arrived, he found George Ryder, observing the new arrivals in a nearby alley.Rand could see that Martha Ryder was not among them. "Hello, Ryder," he said, "do you still have a gun?" The American looked at him in disgust, "Are you going to blackmail me, Rand?" "No. Someone was killed today, probably with a suppressed pistol, and no one heard the shot. Do you think there are two suppressed pistols in a place like Ram?" "Ten words for me to say. I had nothing to do with the murder. I don't even know who was killed." "An Arab called Amin Shad, a dhow dealer." "I've never heard that name before." "If you saw the ferry yesterday, he disembarked with the travel book writer and me. He was wearing a white robe and hat, and he had a folded umbrella in his hand." "I may have noticed him, but I didn't know him." "Any news about your wife?" "No. I'm afraid she has been caught. Otherwise, she must be here by now." He was about to leave. "Do you understand cameras?" The American shrugged. "Tourists and spies usually carry cameras. Sometimes a tourist's camera is more expensive than a spy's." Rand watched him go.He then returns to the Sunrise Hotel and digs bullets from the wall of his room. The local sheriff called Captain Zhiga, who had seen Rand at the scene of Shade's murder that morning.When Ram had a case, he would use a small room in the post office.There was limited space and he looked stressed and uncomfortable. "It's too wet on the shore," he complained. "Have you any news of Mr. Shard's murder?" "Perhaps," Rand replied.He took an envelope from his pocket and took out a bullet from it, "You can compare this with the bullet that murdered him, I think it has been taken out." "It will come out. The wound is not penetrated. Where did it come from?" "Tell me first if this is from the pistol that killed Shad." The sheriff said with a wry smile, "Lam has no equipment here. The bullets must be sent back to the mainland." "How long? How many hours?" "Oh, you Englishman! You want everything to happen instantly." "How long will that take?" "At least twenty-four hours. Tomorrow morning, the bullets will be sent for comparison. Even if you call, the results will not be available until the afternoon." "Then I'll come back when the time comes. Do you know Shade's background? Is he involved in—?" "Little Shade?" Lieutenant Zhijia laughed to himself, "We will find out, don't worry. Go back, Mr. Rand, go back and enjoy your vacation, or go to business." James Conte was drinking a beer when Rand arrived at the Harmony.He raised his glass of Tusker and said, "This is where you can drink ice, come and drink with me." "How's your travel book going?" Rand asked, pulling a chair out to sit. "Modify, revise. Even a place like Ram's isn't the same. The rooms and cafe have had to be re-evaluated, and they've adjusted the prices." Rand told him about meeting Laura and the donkey this morning. "Just before I found out that the Arab, Amin Shad, was dead." "I've heard," said the Australian, "that crimes against tourists are mostly fraud or robbery," and he gestured to Onix, who brought them two more cold beers, "but Shad isn't a tourist." "Maybe he was robbed?" "Everything is possible." Rand saw the body lying in a pool of blood on the deck of the dhow again.He searched in his mind, hoping to find something else, something missing from the scene—"They said the killer was dressed like an Arab, white robe and cap, I think they called it that." "That doesn't mean anything," Conte said. "Yes, I think so," Rand thought of other things. "Is the ferry the only way to get to this island?" "Yes, but there are three ferries from Manda from different directions. One from the airport and one from the mainland. Besides that, of course, private dhows are always available for hire." In the end, Rand was still looking at the flowers in the fog, without a clue.When Conte invited him to dinner, he politely declined, feeling that he needed to clean up.His conversation with George Ryder the night before had spoiled his rest thoroughly, and he was feeling a little weary now.He went back to his room and talked to Layla on the phone, but didn't go into details with her so that she wouldn't worry. "It's beautiful here," he said. "It's a little paradise." "Are you coming home soon?" "I only booked a room for three nights, I'll talk about it then." He wanted to report George Ryder's situation at Ram to London or Washington, but did not do so.He suspected they already knew. On Wednesday morning, Rand wandered the quirky little local shops, choosing a gift for his wife from local crafts and imported Asian bric-a-brac.In the afternoon, he met George Ryder again, not far from the ferry port.James Conte told him that there were different departures each day, but it was obvious that Ryder was only interested in the one from the airport.No one from the airport today.The ferry only carried a man from a neighboring island, leading two donkeys to sell. "Is there no news about her yet?" Rand asked the American. "No. If they've got her, they'll get me next," he said, looking nervously at Rand. "You seem to be paying attention to me." "You tried to kill me the night before," Rand reminded him, "and that made us brothers." "If they come for me, can I ask my brother for help?" Rand almost felt sorry for him at that moment.He didn't answer him directly, just asked: "Where do you live?" "The Yonge Hotel, the northernmost hotel in town, just a few blocks from the Donkey Conservation Society." "I'll find you." Prison was the safest place for George Ryder, but he didn't tell him. After they separated, Rand left the port and walked to the nearby post office.Captain Chicago was in his office, resting under a slowly turning fan. "It's Mr. Rand, isn't it?" "Yes, I came by yesterday and gave you the bullet." "I remember." "Is the bullet the same as the one that killed Amin Shad?" "Yes, the bullets are consistent, but it seems the bodies are not. The real Amin Shad is alive and well in Zanzibar." "Who is that……" "The deceased was an Italian with a prison record. His name was Giacomo Verdi. He was a spy, an unofficial agent. He had blackmailed people many times, and this time he may be trying to do it again. It is obvious that he pretended to be Shardley swindles the sale and purchase of second-hand dhows." "Then he's not an Arab at all?" "No, it's not," said Captain Zhiga, fiddling with the papers on the table, "you can now tell me where I got the bullets—" "Two days ago I found a sneaky thief in my room at the Sunrise Hotel and he shot me. He ran away before I could call for help and since he didn't steal anything I didn't report it .The bullets were dug out of the wall by me." "Interesting. The thief might be an associate of Verdy's. There might be a quarrel between them." Suddenly, it started raining again, beating the windows of the small office.This reminded Rand of something he had forgotten earlier. "Did you find Shad's umbrella?" "The umbrella is on the shore with his fingerprints on the handle. He must have left it on the shore before he got into the boat." "I don't have an umbrella now." Rand said looking at the rain outside the window. "It won't be long, and you can borrow mine if you want. I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Rand." His words sounded more like threats than promises. The sheriff was right.The rain stopped after five minutes, and Rand put away the borrowed umbrella.He saw a man leading two donkeys in front of him, the same man who came to the island by ferry before.He was with James Conte's niece, who works at the Donkey Conservation Society, and she wanted to have the animals checked. "Need a push?" Rand asked with a smile. "No, but I want to tell this man that these donkeys are sick. I want to cure them at my place, and then he can sell them." They talked again in a language Rand didn't understand, and finally Laura Peters pulled a small camera out of her jeans pocket and took mugshots of the donkeys.The owner, annoyed, tried to snatch the camera from her, but Rand stepped in to stop it.In the end, the owner of the donkey was calm, and Laura put the camera back with a smile, and took the rein of the donkey. "Thank you for helping me again." After she finished speaking to Rand, she led the donkey back to the Conservation Society, and the donkey's owner followed obediently. Rand smiled and moved on.当他就快到日升宾馆时，一个穿着类似警长的非洲人从旁边的小巷出来截住他。 “兰德先生，芝加上尉想见你。” “我一小时前才从他那出来。他着急拿回他的伞么？” 这个警官并没有笑，“你得跟我走一趟。” 兰德发现自己没有选择的余地，跟着这男人走了。“我们去哪里？回邮局去？” “去永贝宾馆。” 兰德知道这个名字。这是乔治·赖德住的宾馆。他没有再追问。从小巷到宾馆只花了五分钟，他们到达时警长的路虎已经停在前边了。他们到二层，警长表情严肃地和几个人站在一间开着门的房间门口。 “我可以进去么？”兰德问。 警长点头说：“什么都别碰，我们在等摄影师。” 乔治·赖德坐在窗边的椅子上。右侧太阳穴有个弹孔，枪就在他右手边的地方，没有消声器，也没有激光瞄准器。“有人听到枪声么？”兰德问。 “没有。是女仆发现的尸体。你最后一次见他是什么时候？” 兰德知道这个问题是个圈套。他从未和警长提起过赖德，但可能有人看见他们在码头谈话。“就在我去你办公室之前，他在等从机场来的摆渡。” “有他认识的人在上边么？” “没有，只有一个带着两头病驴的商人，驴子现在在保护协会的女人那儿。” “你有什么想法？”警长指着椅子上的尸体问道。 “只有一个，这不是自杀。” "why?" “这地方的墙很薄，却没有人听到枪声。如果你仔细检查枪口，会在装消声器的地方发现擦痕。如果他自己用消声枪自杀，那消声器在哪儿？没有消声器，枪声更响，伤口处也会残留更多火药。” 芝加对他刮目相看，“你一定在英国从事侦探工作，兰德先生。” “不是这种工作，是和密码有关的，但我想大同小异。” “你知道是谁杀了他和另外那个么？” “是的，”他的确知道，但现在太晚了。 “你会告诉我么？” “我们晚饭时再谈吧，上尉。” "Where do you want to go?" “拉姆岛唯一能喝到冰啤酒的地方。” 几个小时后兰德到和谐咖啡厅。进去他看到詹姆士·康特和他的侄女劳拉也在座时，一点儿也不惊讶。餐厅的老板谢甲德看到警长来用餐，明显有点紧张，急忙过来招呼。兰德和康特、劳拉招招手，要了杯塔斯克，芝加上尉则点了杯红酒。 “我已经在拉姆呆了很久了，”上尉解释说，“大陆上还有任务。” “我听说这里没有急事，一切都从容淡定。” “这也是拉姆魅力的一部分，”芝加说，“但有点儿从容过头了。现在你可以告诉我了么？” “我在等待时机。” 啤酒味道很好。兰德从墙上粉笔写的菜单里点了最普通的牛肉，上尉点了羊肉。奥尼克斯及时地把他们的菜送上，兰德可以看到谢甲德在收银台后边休息。“你现在可以告诉我了么？”上尉问。 兰德点头说：“我想已经是时候了。” 奥尼克斯收拾干净桌上的盘子，拿着钱走开。正在这时，兰德一把抓住她的手腕，紧紧握着。“干什么？”她问。 “芝加上尉，让我向你介绍杀死阿敏·夏德和乔治·赖德的凶手，在逃的赖德太太。” 之后，回到邮局的小房间，兰德告诉芝加上尉。“至少有五条线索说明奥尼克斯就是赖德太太和杀死夏德、赖德的凶手。为了产生戏剧效果，我可以称其为线索——借来的枪，别人的雨伞，危险的雨，菜单和死前留言。” “我想你们英国人读太多侦探小说了，但请继续。” “首先，借来的枪。我们从子弹对比发现阿敏·夏德，不管是不是他的真名，是被乔治·赖德的枪所杀。他不到十二个小时之前想用它杀我，但下午又回到他的手中。结论：要么是赖德杀了夏德而后又自杀，要么就是他重新把子弹装在枪里，为了防御某人。因为我已经证明过他不是自杀，我们可以得出结论他是为了防御某人而装了子弹。这明显是为了防着相当亲近的人。玛撒·赖德，他以前的同谋，更可能是这个人。” 警长嘟囔着说：“可是她那个时候并不在岛上啊。” “那是我从他那儿听到的，一个间谍和叛国者说的话。他有充分的理由隐瞒她在这个岛上的事实。如果我或者其他人到这儿来引渡他回美国，我们很可能等到玛撒·赖德也到了之后再行动。只要他假装每天到码头去等她的摆渡，他就是安全的。” "continue." “别人的伞，第二条线索。昨天早上我随身带了一把雨伞。我在和谐咖啡厅吃早饭的时候把它放在门口。在那时，女服务员奥尼克斯来了，带着另外一把伞，也留在门边。我离开的时候拿了一把以为是我自己的伞，然后就到独桅帆船停靠的地方去见阿敏·夏德。我离开时把伞放在岸边好划船到他的船上去，结果发现了尸体。借船给我的人说看见夏德拿着一把伞到船上去的，还遮住了同行人的脸。但船上并没有伞，也没有夏德其他物品。很明显是凶手拿去避雨了。你告诉我他的伞是在岸上发现的，把手上还有他的指纹。是凶手留在那儿的么？不，那把雨伞在划船时根本不是用来挡雨的。它是拿来上岸后用的，所以不会被留在岸上。是我把它拿到那去的，因为我在咖啡厅拿错了伞，那把伞是奥尼克斯带来的。” “但是奥尼克斯怎么会是玛撒·赖德呢？她的肤色……” “这就是指给我第三条线索的，危险的雨。为什么一把伞会对一个杀手如此重要？因为雨很危险。它会冲走她身上的妆！赖德曾告诉我，他和他的妻子在大学排戏时认识，她帮他化妆。她用身体化妆膏来让自己的肤色变成棕色的，作为完美的伪装。奥尼克斯并不年轻，记得么。就算她化了妆，仍然看得出年近中年，长相很西化。还有一点，菜单。星期一在和谐咖啡厅，我不经意地听到老板跟奥尼克斯说周二晚上特别供应印度菜。这暗示了奥尼克斯到餐厅工作不满一周。” “她是新来的，”警长跟他确认，“但你最后一条线索，死前留言——” “CAMERI，我以为他是想说相机那个词，但你告诉我夏德并不是真正的夏德而是叫威尔地的意大利特工。他写下这条留言的时候用的是他的母语。他是想写'CAMERIERA'，意大利语的女服务员。因为她是新来的，所以他不知道她的名字。他只知道玛撒·赖德扮成女服务员，当他想敲诈她时，她用她丈夫的消声枪杀了他。” “那她为什么要杀赖德？” “这只有一种可能。如果他逃脱了，会令相关政府部门很是难堪。” 兰德过了一会儿到码头，警长和他的路虎也离开了小岛。他看着玛撒·赖德带着手铐被押上摆渡。她卸了妆，看起来只是个孤独的中年妇女。他走过去对她说：“赖德夫人，就告诉我一件事，是哪边让你杀掉你丈夫的？” 她望了他一会儿，回答说：“这真的重要么？都是政治。”