Chapter 13 old spy club

It had been many years since Rand had retired from British intelligence, but he was not invited to join the old spy club until he was sixty years old.It's certainly not the real name, but it's always called it in London's Pub Street, especially by non-members who are a little jealous of its high status and generous membership. The club owns a three-storey late Victorian building in St. James Street, just a short walk from Piccadilly.The first floor of the club is the gentlemen's lounge and restaurant, as well as billiard room, chess and card room, smoking area, library and some other common entertainment facilities.The second floor is the living room and private dining room, as well as the club's office.The third floor is the bedroom for members, there are more than 30 bedrooms, members can live there for a day or a year without any problem.The sitting room is always available to members traveling to London on business, but they can also go there in the event of a sudden death or divorce that alters a member's marital status.

Rand joked with his wife, Layla, that he was an elder at the old spy club, but he was in fact a newcomer.The first time he took the train from Reading to the club on a warm July afternoon, he was a little downcast.When he walked into the gate of the club, the first person he met was Colonel Qi Wen.The irascible old man could be a part of any comedy about the military.It's hard to imagine him getting involved with intelligence work. "Rand, old chap, how's it going? I see your name on the new membership list. You're welcome to join." His gray mustache hangs down his thick lips, and he spits when he speaks quickly.But Rand acknowledged that at his age, he looked well-groomed and healthy.Colonel Qi Wen used to work in the military intelligence department, and his field of work was very different from that of Rand.He only dealt with him when there were government banquets that he couldn't avoid.

Now, he tries to be polite and friendly.He asked Qi Wen: "Colonel, do you come here often?" "I'm here for a two o'clock meeting, and I assume you are too." "No," Rand said, "I'm just here today to get acquainted with the environment." Colonel Qi Wen smiled and said, "Let me show you the way." Rand liked the comfortable leather chairs in the lounge, and wondered if he was really old enough to spend his afternoons in such a place. "Before, the air here was filled with blue cigar smoke," the colonel explained, "but now the smokers have gone downstairs to the little parlour. Times are different."

He led the way through the sizeable billiard room and card room, where lamps with green shades hung over blanket-wrapped ball tables. "I'm guessing some of the poker players must have cheated," Rand said. "That's for sure. I like bridge, but more people like to lose money quickly." Rows of tables and chairs were neatly arranged in the dining room, as if they were an invitation. Rand thought about when he would bring Layla here for dinner.When they arrived at the conference hall on the second floor, it was exactly two o'clock, the time for the colonel's meeting.Rand was about to leave with an excuse, but found another familiar face among the crowd entering the conference hall. "Harry, Harry Westerly!"

Hearing his name, the thin man turned around with a smile and said, "Oh, isn't this Rand! Nice to meet you, old man. How long have you been away from the Covert Communications Agency?" "It's been a long time, Harry. After all, I'm old enough to be in this club. There's no more Secret Communications." Westerly giggled.Rand and Westridge were close buddies when they started working together in intelligence, but they separated after a few years because of erratic missions abroad. "Look, why don't you come to our meeting, Rand? It's no secret to you, and maybe you can make some good suggestions."

"I don't know what it's about yet." Rand politely refused. Westerly smoothed his thinning gray hair back. "Old man, find the truth. This is what the meeting was about," then, smiling and urging Qi Wen, "Colonel, call him together, this is an open meeting." Qi Wen put a hand on Rand's shoulder, "You heard him say, come with us." There were a dozen people sitting at the long oval table, but there were more than twice as many seats.Rand realized that the club, like other clubs in London, hadn't started accepting women.Harry Westerly sat at the end of the table, ready to begin.Obviously, he had the right to invite Rand to this meeting.Looking at the other people sitting around the table, most of whom were around his age or slightly older, Rand was surprised how few people he knew.Although the tall red-faced man with a bald head like a bullet looks familiar, the only people he can be named after are Qi Wen and Westridge.

"I think everyone knows the purpose of this meeting." After the others quieted down, Westerly began to chair the meeting. Rand raised his hand and said, "I'm afraid I don't know." "Oh, of course, Geoffrey. I forgot. You may have read a paper last winter about the death of Cedric Barnes during heart surgery. He wrote a lot about the famous British spy Book, he was a double agent himself, worked for Service 5 and 6 of the British Army, and was an Air Force intelligence officer. I think he wrote a book on Covert Communications, your old service." Of course Rand remembered.When that book came out, he felt a strange sense of pride.Because he found sixteen entries related to himself in the search.Even in a top-secret organization, it's nice to have some level of visibility.But strangely enough, a few days earlier, while reading an American news article about the CIA no longer employing journalists to collect intelligence data, he had thought of Cedric Barnes. "I had lunch with him," Rand said. "He wanted to interview me, but the Official Secrets Act doesn't allow it. I don't know where he got his information from."

"It doesn't matter anymore," said Westridge. "What matters is that his daughter, Magda, is going to auction off the furniture of his country house. Barnes' wife died ten years ago, and the entire estate goes to his daughter." .The auction will be held at Sotheby's in London next week. We all agree that if the auction is successfully held, it will pose a great threat to our country." Rand looked around the table and was slightly surprised to find that everyone looked serious. "Do you really think he's hiding some secret papers in the piano's legs?"

"It's possible," said the tall, red-faced man. "He's working at home with his daughter, and we've been told that there will be bids for the material from journalists with important news. A diary or note could be worth a fortune." .” Harry Westerly went on, "Guys, my suggestion is that we put a price on all the furniture to prevent this auction. I've discussed it with Magda Barnes, and she agrees." "How much does she want?" Colonel Qi Wen asked. "A million pounds." There were sighs and skeptical sounds from everyone. "The club doesn't have that much money," someone said.

"We can negotiate with her for a smaller amount," Westridge tried to reassure everyone, "but we must all realize the importance of this matter." Rand spoke again: "If this is so important, why doesn't the government step in and take action?" "The government has done everything it can," Westridge replied vaguely.Rand wondered if he was implying that the government had given the old spy club financial support in this matter. The one who voiced the most opposition was Colonel Qi Wen. "You mean you want the members of this room to put together a million pounds and stop this auction? That's just ridiculous."

Westerly tried to take his attack calmly, but the other members quickly took sides.After everyone expressed their views, it was obvious that he became a minority. "We can't afford the money at all," said the red-faced man. "Shirley, do you have any other suggestions?" Westray asked. At first, Rand was taken aback by the feminine name, but then his memory was slowly awakened.Shirley Watkins, a man with a girl's name.When Shirley worked for a classified government agency, his missions were usually assassinations.Few people know his name and almost no one has seen his face.Rand had seen him in Berlin twenty years ago, but he thought he was dead.Is this man that Shirley? "Let me talk to his daughter," Shirley suggested. "Maybe I can convince her." It may be a naive idea, but it could mean death threats if this person steps in.Rand knew his imagination had gone too far, but he raised his hand anyway and said, "If you don't mind, I might be able to help you, sir. Like I said, a few years ago he wanted to interview the Covert Communications Agency. I dined with Cedric Barnes when I was in the 1980s. If his daughter worked with him, she might remember my name." "Rand, this proposal is very good," Colonel Qi Wen said immediately, "What do you say? Should we accept Jeffrey Rand's proposal?" There was agreement around the table, perhaps a sense of relief.Rand couldn't help wondering what he had gotten into again. Sotheby's London auction house is located in a refurbished four-storey building in New Bond Street.The building, which probably dates back to Georgian times, occupies a whole block of St. George's Street, with the main entrance at the rear of the building.Rand went in from there and bought a full-color copy of this week's auction catalog for a good price.The auction item he was interested in was simply labeled "Country House Furniture of a Writer and Journalist". He spent nearly an hour in the exhibition hall on the second floor, carefully observing the furniture on display.These include antique desks, chairs, round tables, lamps and even a four-poster bed with a canopy.And Barnes' old manual typewriter with a shiny plastic strap attached to it.About twenty books are neatly tied together and sold in bundles.After reading the titles of the books, Rand found that some of them were masterpieces of the Cold War period, some briefly introduced espionage work, some special records during World War II, and David Kahn's thick volume of "Decrypter", "Hitler's Spies" and Robert Harris' latest.And of course the complete works of Cedric Barnes himself, many in foreign languages.This undoubtedly fits well with his identity as a "writer and reporter".At the end is a row of office supplies, including a camera and a tape recorder. Rand spent the rest of the time observing the people wandering the exhibit halls.One of them he recognized immediately as Simon Spaulding, a columnist for the Observer.He is best at digging scandals of famous families, and perhaps now he has expanded his scope of business. Rand stopped at the box office on his way out to buy a ticket to the auction.The young woman behind the desk told him that admission was free. “Anyone can participate in our regular auctions,” she said, “but if you think you might be able to bid, you have to register at the entrance and get a number plate to bid on.” "Can you do me one more favor. Can you help me get in touch with the owner of the auction?" Obviously she is used to such questions, "You can quote us the price of any auction item in advance." "Actually, it's a private matter." He was deliberately vague. She looked at the closed door in the back room and said, "Please wait a moment." She knocked lightly on the closed door and walked in. After a while, she came out with a brunette woman.The woman was about thirty years old, wearing a bright summer dress, which seemed expensive to the uninformed Rand.She smiled and held out her hand and said, "I'm Magda Barnes. The items that will be auctioned are all my father's. I'll see how they are arranged today. How can I help?" " He shook her hand, feeling unexpectedly soft, "Can we talk in private, Miss Barnes?" "I'm looking at the catalog in the meeting room here, maybe we can talk there." She said, looking at the secretary, who nodded in agreement. In the small conference room, after Rand introduced himself, he went straight to the point: "Your father is a respected reporter. I had a chance with him once. You may remember that he wrote the book I've been mentioned several times in the book on the Covert Communications Agency. Some of our retired colleagues thought there might be classified information hidden in your father's furniture, and they feared it might fall into the wrong hands." She laughed and said, "No, it won't. I've checked all the auction items. I've checked and searched each item at least twice, and I haven't found any hidden notes or journals. All his personal papers and manuscripts It will all be handed over to the University of Cambridge." "Miss Barnes, we feel that under the Official Secrets Act, he may have some material that has not been published. Do you know what he was writing on his deathbed?" She guessed who ordered him to come, and the smile on her face disappeared, "Did Westerly send you here?" "I spoke to Harry Westerly, but he didn't send me." "He knows how much I want." "A million pounds is more than we can handle." "That way, the auction will go ahead as planned, even though I know I won't get that much money. A man like Westerly has been against my father all his life, and I don't owe him anything." "When I was looking at the auction items just now, I found a familiar face. He is Simon Spaulding. Of course you don't owe him anything." She didn't take it seriously, "He knew my father years ago. I remember my father invited him to our house around the time Sada was assassinated. It's no surprise that he was interested in this exhibition. Maybe he What else will be photographed?" "Has he approached you about some particular auction item?" "No," she said, rising from the table. "Mr. Rand, I have to go. We have nothing more to say. Please let the Harry Westerly auction go ahead as scheduled." He sighed, and left after a few polite words.Then he went downstairs on this warm July afternoon.He walked a block before realizing someone was following him.It was Shirley Watkins, the man who had been the killer with the head shaped like a bullet. "No progress? Mr. Rand, I told you. That woman won't cry until she sees her coffin." When Layla was preparing to leave for school the next day to teach Egyptian archeology to the students, Rand told her that he was going to London that day. "Two days in a row?" she asked a little surprised. "Maybe three days. There's an auction tomorrow at Sotheby's and I've got to go. It's from Cedric Barnes, the guy who wrote the book on the British Intelligence Service." "I hope you don't buy anything." "I'll do my best." He grinned. This time, there were only three of them in the conference hall on the second floor of the old spy club.Westridge and Colonel Qiwen listened carefully to Rand's account of what had happened the previous afternoon. "I didn't know Shirley would follow me when I said I'd be in touch with Magda Barnes. Did you send him to follow me?" "No, old man," Qi Wen replied, "You know Shirley, he has an idea." "The auction will start tomorrow morning. Shirley can't stop it, and you can't let him just threaten that woman." "We didn't expect that," Westerly said. "It's none of our business now, we're all retired. I'm no longer breaking codes, and Shirley Watkins is no longer killing people. Do you understand?" Colonel Qi Wen said disdainfully: "I suspect that he never killed anyone. I'm afraid this is just a tactic to threaten the other party." "Maybe he believed in the strategy himself. He mentioned that Barnes' daughter needed a little lesson before she understood the case. I told him to stay away from her." "Have you seen the lot?" Westerly asked. "Is there any place to stash notes or journals?" "Desks or coffee tables may have concealed drawers or false bottoms. If it's microfilm or microphotographs, it could be hidden anywhere," Rand decided to open the skylight. "Look, you have something to hide in this case." Look at me. You talked about spending a million pounds, you talked about terrorizing Barnes' daughter, you talked about keeping the media away from it. What are you hiding? What information is in the log that is so valuable?" Westerly had kept an uneasy silence, and when Colonel Qi Wen was about to speak, Westerly interrupted him and said, "Perhaps you know that too, Rand. There are rumors that Cedric Barnes once interviewed a We were working as a double agent, and he was about to go to Moscow. It was Barnes' last work, and the policy of his interview was not to publish it until that person was safely evacuated." "and then?" "Then something happened. The man didn't defect, and Cedric Barnes kept his word and didn't publish the book." "When did this happen?" Rand asked. Harry Westerly shrugged resignedly. "Some say 1985. Others say the seventies when Barnes was young. Your guess is as good as mine." "Yet twelve people at the conference table yesterday believed it. Not only that, but where are the interview materials still kept. Why did Barnes keep them all these years? Why not just destroy them?" "Unfortunately, he's a journalist," said the thin man. "I guess he kept the files because he thought there might be a slim chance that the man might defect. The Cold War ended, the Berlin Wall came down, and he still has it." "You can't be sure." Rand pointed out. "Simon Spaulding knew. He was looking for the journal." It dawned on Rand that someone else knew about the journal, the person interviewed.Must have begged Barnes to destroy those interviews when he decided to stay in the UK.He naturally knew or suspected that those materials were still preserved.He must have been anxious to get the information before it fell into Spalding's hands. Rand asked the obvious question: "Who in the club thought of this first? Who wanted to stop this auction?" Colonel Qi Wen replied: "We have all heard about it. They say that Barnes will reveal something when he drinks too much at night. When we heard the news of the auction, many people thought about it. I think it is Harry and I took the lead, but it was Shirley who brought it up and arranged the meeting. He said there would be twenty-four brothers in attendance, but you see, twelve showed up on the day of the meeting." "Eleven to be exact," Westerly corrected. "You should remember that Rand joined later. Let's say you and Shirley were the organizers. The other eight were very indifferent to it." "Can you provide me with a list of attendees?" "What do you want the list for?" Westerly still maintained the professional habit of agents not wanting to put information in written form. "If the rumors are true, the mysterious double agent may be retired by now. He may even be a member of the club. If so, he would have been more than happy to attend yesterday's meeting." "Nonsense!" Qi Wen blushed with anger and shouted, "I have known these people for almost half of my life. I am willing to vouch for each of them." Rand ignored him and asked Westerly, "Where can I find Shirley Watkins?" The thin man considered for a moment and said, "If he's not here, he's most likely at the Moon and Star. It's by the river, next to Canary Wharf." Shirley Watkins' two worlds are far apart.The quiet and luxurious Old Spy Club and the Moon and Star Bar in Canary Wharf are only eight kilometers apart, but they have very different styles.Canary Wharf, once a paradise for sailors on the nearby docks, is now a meeting place for the staff of Britain's tallest building.Not even an IRA bomb attack scares people here.On this summer Wednesday, the place was packed, the aroma of beer mingling with the haze of cigarettes. Rand spotted Shirley Watkins at a glance. He was sitting in a box with a middle-aged woman with heavy makeup.He wore a suit and tie, and his bullet-like bald head reflected the overhead lights as he drank.He was about ten years older than the other men in the bar, and he was probably the manager of the Canary Wharf company.When he saw Rand walking towards him, he said to the woman, "I have something to do, I'll talk to you later." She gave Rand a sullen look, and left the box. He used to sit in her place. "I want to talk to you about the auction," he said. Shirley looked at him, looking up and down, "How did you find this place?" "Harry Westerly said you might be here." "Oh, Harry. I think he's still watching us, in case we're unfamiliar." "Did you take my advice, don't touch Magda Barnes, stay away from her." He made a gesture of surrender, "You can say anything, I always obey orders." Rand avoided his eyes on purpose, for fear of finding the sarcasm in his words. "I spoke with Westerly and the colonel this afternoon, and they told me about the rumor." "What rumor?" "Barnes had done the interview before that double agent defected." "That's the one, by the way," said Shirley Watkins, finishing his drink. "Do you believe it?" "I don't know, I first heard about it an hour ago." When he said this, Rand frowned, "What do you mean by that?" He stopped talking as soon as he started asking.At this time, another acquaintance also walked into Xingyue Bar. "What's the matter, Rand?" "Spaulding, that reporter, just came in. He must be following me." "After a few harsh words, he fainted from fright." Rand laughed dryly, "Have you really killed anyone in your life, Shirley, or was it just for show?" "I do my job." "Aren't we all like that?" He stepped out of the box. "I'd better talk to Spalding." The columnist ordered a half pint, and Rand sat down beside him, trying not to look in the direction of the box. "You're Simon Spaulding, aren't you? I don't think we've been formally introduced yet. I'm Jeffrey Land." Spaulding is a lean man in his early fifties with thinning brown hair and a crooked nose that may have been broken in his youth. "Yes, you're a retired spy. You've been active lately, haven't you? You must hate to see the Cold War end." Rand had read his column before and knew he would not like this man. "I retired before the end of the Cold War," he said. "Are you a friend of Cedric Barnes? I saw you at Sutheby yesterday." Spaulding shrugged. "Journalist too. I'm interested in the merchandise that's up for auction. I think we only met at an awards dinner once." "I think his daughter has taken something of value." He glanced at Rand as if to ask a silent question, "Then we don't know. Sometimes people hide valuables well. There are even fake beer cans for sale that you can put money and jewelry in, Stash it in the freezer." "That's a good idea, as long as the thief isn't thirsty. I think you'll be at the auction tomorrow morning." "Of course. I'd like to buy a souvenir from my old buddies." "There is a legend about his unpublished story." Simon Spaulding laughed, warming up to Rand now. "We all have some stories that don't get published for a variety of reasons, and so do you, man. I remember the Observer taking me out of the European editorial division in 1981 and putting me in charge of a column. I gave a lot of greatness to the people who took over. story, but nothing happened." "Tell me, as far as you know," Rand said with a smile, "Who are you following this afternoon, me or Shirley?" "They said that man was a government killer." "What does he look like?" "Absolutely!" "Then it probably isn't. Of course not anymore. Like us, he's retired." There was a sly look on the columnist's face. "But he's a member of the old spy club, isn't he?" "what is that?" "That St. James Street where you all go. That's what they call it, isn't it? If it wasn't for the fear of being sued, I'd have written a feature." "Let's write about the royal family," Rand advised him. "That's safer." He got up from the bar, waved Shirley Watkins goodbye, and walked out the door. Rand had to catch an early train to London the next morning for the auction.He got up before Layla, trying to clean up and oil his little pistol, which he hadn't used for a long time.He knew she would worry a lot when she saw him with a gun.But seeing himself in the mirror, he thought it was all ridiculous.He is too old to do such a thing.Lethal Weapon wasn't used on Sotheby's, and certainly not against the old Spy Club folks. The first acquaintance he met as he walked into the auction hall was Harry Westerly, registering to ask for a plastic bid.He stood by the door, looking at his watch. "I really hope you come sooner, Rand," he glanced at the number plate, "No. 77! It's auspicious if you want to bid. If Qi Wen and Watkins also come, I think we should share Sit in different parts of the lobby so you can control the bidding process. I know it's generally impossible to know the identity of the high bidder, especially the phone bidder, but we can try." He thought of himself as an old spy, Rand thought. "Simon Spaulding is definitely going to be in the bidding. I'll be keeping an eye on him." "Very good! I saw him a few minutes ago. He has a bidding card. He must want to buy something." Rand entered the auction room, which had a high ceiling, adorned with chandeliers and rows of folding chairs.The first person he saw was Magda Barnes, stunning in her white summer dress. "Mr. Rand, we meet again." "It seems so." "Would you buy something from your father?" "Maybe," he said, holding up sign No. 77 and turning it around, "good luck! You've got a good audience." Then he walked away and took a seat. The auction has started, and the fifteenth item is being auctioned.Rand estimated that there were one hundred and fifty people in the room.Some, clearly high-end buyers, sat upstairs in glass booths.Looks like they were on the phone with the agent downstairs.On the platform where the auctioneer stands, there is a large electronic board with the latest quotations marked in pounds, dollars, francs, yen or other currencies.Every auctioned item is displayed on a carousel next to the auctioneer, with observers on both sides of the house watching for bids the auctioneer might have missed. Rand could see that the bidding on antiques was rising rapidly.Personal items and office supplies are less expensive.Simon Spaulding sat a few rows ahead of Rand.Offered two hundred pounds for Barnes' old manual typewriter.Rand saw Colonel Qi Wen suddenly appear, holding a sign in the back row to buy books.Bidding was very active, but Qi Wen did not get any bids in the end. The four-poster bed with canopy could not fit on the turntable and was pushed onto the stage.It was bought by a very dark man who might have come from Arabia.Barnes' desk was bought by two well-groomed young couples at a high price.Eventually Rand saw Shirley sitting in the back aisle.He holds card number 68.That might mean he had come before Rand, but Harry Westerly, standing by the door, hadn't seen him.But of course that doesn't mean anything.Westerly probably went to the bathroom halfway through. The final auction was of Cedric Barnes' own work, available in translations into various languages.This time Colonel Qi Wen bid again, and finally he won the whole set of books at £1,100. Some bidders come to the office to pay and, if the item is portable, pick it up.Rand met Simon Spaulding at the St. George's Street entrance on his way out. "Did you shoot anything?" the columnist asked. "No, but I saw you took pictures of old typewriters." "It's only worth a tenth of what I paid for it, but I'd like to have a keepsake of an old friend. He's one of the best in the business," Spaulding said, holding up the suitcase it contained. Rand smiled and agreed. "Of course he is," he said, looking at his watch. "You see, Spaulding, it's getting a bit faster. We can have lunch together. Just a few blocks from the old Spy Club you mentioned earlier, Just across Piccadilly. We'll go together, I'll treat you." Spaulding readily agreed. "You are very generous, Rand. I admit, I have always been curious about it." Rand advised Spaulding to leave the typewriter in the coat locker as they entered the club, but the columnist clung to it and said, "No! It cost me two hundred pounds, and I'll take it." Rand giggled and led the way to the dining room.They had an exotic lunch of roast steak and blood pudding, a dessert topped with claret and topped with cake.After lunch, Spaulding produced a cigar, and they moved to the smoking room.At this time in the afternoon, the place is empty except for a bald man sleeping in an armchair.The columnist lit his cigar and offered Rand one, which he declined.Then they reclined comfortably in the thickly upholstered armchairs. "I can see why you guys like it here," Spalding said. "It's a great place to spend your retirement years." Rand smiled faintly, "Now that we are full, I think you can show me that typewriter." "What? This?" "This is it." "why?" "That way I can confirm the identity of this double agent." Simon Spaulding laughed. "Would you like this old manual typewriter from Barnes to tell you?" "I believe it, and you do. Who's ever seen a manual typewriter with a shiny plastic strap? It used to be cloth," he said, opening the suitcase.The columnist didn't hold back either, "The cloth tape is a quarter of an inch narrower than the plastic tape on an automatic typewriter. They keep saying there's a journal, but Cedric Barnes interviewed with a tape recorder, didn't he? They're auctioning off today I picked one up," Rand pulled the machine's tape away. "That's the tape, pretending to be a typewriter tape. It's the tape of Barnes' unpublished interview with a double agent." "That would make me a fortune," Simon Spaulding said. "Maybe kill you. I'll get a machine and we'll play it now." "here?" "It's just the two of us here except the sleeping man. We won't disturb him. Don't you want to know how big this fish you caught?" "I still want to go back to the office and listen to it." "Interesting," Rand said softly, "you told me yesterday that you only met Cedric Barnes once, at an awards dinner. But his daughter told me you visited his house, around When Sada was assassinated. That was 1981, right?" "You're better at keeping track of time than I am." "There was a rumor that the one Barnes didn't openly interview was a double agent, a traitor who repented at the last minute. Rumor has it that Barnes kept a record of the interview. It's just that Barnes didn't keep a journal, he used a tape recorder. Only one person knows At this point, only he knows what to look for in the auction lot, and only he can find the audio tape disguised as a typewriter tape. That person is the double agent Barnes interviewed." "Damn it, Rand!" "If I'm wrong, play me the tape now." Spaulding drew a pistol from his pocket.Rand remembered his gun and wished he had it. "Remember, I'm a reporter, not a spy like you." "With that gun, you don't look much like a reporter. I guess Britain and Russia use reporters from time to time, as rumored the CIA does. Your position in the European branch is just right for gathering information. As for interviews, A reporter who knows what good news material is and most likely told Barnes about his experience before defecting." Simon Spaulding clutched his gun.Rand heard the snoring of the man behind him. "If you're right, why did I change my mind after the interview with Barnes?" "Because the Observer gave you a column." His face turned into an expressionless mask, "How do you know?" "Magda Barnes remembers you coming to her house in 1981, around the time of Saada's assassination. You told me last night that the newspaper gave you a column instead of doing European news, and that was in 1981. You Is it because the newspaper column abandoned communism, Simon?" "Barnes asked me that too! I should have killed him before he let it go. I thought it was over, especially after the collapse of the former Soviet Union." Rand held out his hand and said, "Give me the gun. It's too late to shoot now." Spaulding raised his pistol, not knowing whether to shoot or surrender—Rand would never know.There was a low cough from behind the man's chair, a stream of blood spurted from his chest, his head fell back, and he fell to the ground dead. The bald man was Shirley Watkins, and the suppressed pistol disappeared before Rand saw it. "I knew you might need help with that thing," he said, "but I hate punching holes in chairs." "You were already here when we came." Rand was puzzled. "I knew you were coming here when I saw him holding a cigar in the restaurant." He looked at the corpse, then at Shirley: "So you are really a killer." “曾经干过一次，年轻的时候。” 兰德看着尸体说：“我们该怎么办？” “忘了发生的事，我会处理。如果这磁带如你所说，整件事就能被掩盖下去了。这里是老间谍俱乐部，记得么？” 兰德搭着晚班车回家了。