Chapter 44 Chapter Forty-Three

The van left again just before seven o'clock in the evening, this time with three people in it and Carter driving.By the time they came back, it was already dark and the dim street lights were on. Ryan brought over the field binoculars. Those people got into the car talking and laughing, including the unsmiling Carter.Wallis was grinning as he spoke, dancing and scooping. Today is Saturday.Ryan guessed that they went out to eat and drank a little wine just now.Soldiers are like that, even when stationed in a combat zone, they need to relax.Maybe that would take away Wallis' oppressive mood.However, Ryan also knew that Carter would keep them under strict control, at most he would let them drink some wine and relax, and would not allow them to do anything else.

The men entered the house, and Ryan saw lights coming on behind the newspaper-covered windows. Within 15 minutes, the lights went out and the house became pitch dark. Ryan checked the time again. 11 o'clock. Ryan huddled in his den, thinking with peace of mind that the people he observed had rested, and there would be no more actions tonight.He wrapped his jacket tightly and put the backpack under his head as a pillow.There was the sound of dogs barking in the street, and in the distance a couple of drunk men were yelling, and in a house not far from him, the couple were making love.

Ryan closed his eyes. The roar of the morning train was like a giant hand, dragging Ryan out of his sleep and throwing him heavily into the ivy.he woke up.The feeling of being light and not knowing where he was gradually disappeared, and he gradually became sober. Ryan first checked to see if the van was there.The van was parked in the alley.He crept out of his hiding place softly and found a place to urinate.After he was done, he took out the only bread and cheese left in his backpack and finished his breakfast.The coffee was already cold, and the taste made him frown.He scratched his chin and felt that the Huzha had already started to prick his hands.

As Sunday passed slowly, there were few people on the street at this time, and there were only a few constant things in Ryan's field of vision.Ryan yawned and flexed his fingers and toes.He wants to exercise to pass this boring time.He silently recited the names of the birds he saw, and when he heard a car approaching, he bet with himself what color the car might be. No one came in or out of that house. The little food he had brought was gone, and at noon, towards one o'clock, his stomach began to growl.For the next few hours, he endured the smell of bacon, eggs and bread wafting to him from nearby houses.If the shop around the corner had been open, perhaps he would have risked exposure by leaving the observation site and buying food there, but the shop hadn't been open all day.

Just then, something happened. A long, sparse line of people—men and boys—walked down Fitzroy Avenue and Jones Road, bursting toward Croke Park Stadium.There were some people who carried flags of various sizes and shapes, and the color was blue. Of course, it's Sunday and there's football at Croke Park.Ryan doesn't like sports, and he doesn't care about events in this area, even if they are organized by the Irish Sports Association, he is not interested.However, he knew that the football season had already started, and the Football League of Ireland was organizing various activities in full swing.It must be Dublin's home game now.

There were more and more men and boys on the street, and the ranks gradually swelled into a torrent of adults.Hundreds of people crowded shoulder to shoulder and gathered around the stadium, waiting to slowly enter the stadium from various entrances. By two o'clock, most of the crowd had already entered the gymnasium, and shouts could be heard from time to time.But sometimes there was a sudden silence in the gym, followed by a burst of cheers, and Ryan knew the game had begun. He listened to the shouts of the people like the waves, rising and falling for a while.He pictured himself lying on the beach—the ivy was the sand, and the sea was lapping at his feet.His eyelids were getting heavy from fatigue, and his head felt leaden.He fought the drowsiness with willpower, but the drowsiness came insistently.

Ryan's mind was in a trance, he seemed to see himself lying in the small bay he found on the island of Eutygia in Sicily, with smooth stones big and small under his body warm and sparkling on the clear sea Lin. The sound of the van door slamming woke Ryan.He struggled to focus his eyes to see things in the distance.He picked up the binoculars. The three got into the car, and Carter was still driving this time. When the van was about to drive under Ryan, he quickly shrank back.Carter turned right and put the car onto the road, heading north.Ryan heard the engine roaring as the truck accelerated, and soon the sound of the truck was barely audible, completely drowned out by the din of the stadium.

Now is his chance, Ryan thought. He stuffed everything into a backpack, hid it under the ivy, and crawled out of his hiding place.All the joints and muscles in his body were protesting when he suddenly started to move again after being frozen for so long.He crossed the tracks, stepped off the embankment, and onto the path.He checked that there was no one around, so he walked under the railway bridge and came to the mouth of the alley. Ryan clung to the courtyard wall so that the people in the house could not see him from the back windows.He quietly approached the place where the truck was originally parked. The ground there was full of oil and cigarette butts were scattered all over the place.

He came to the courtyard door and tried to push it - as expected, the door was locked.The gate of the courtyard was only a little higher than him, so he raised his hand and grabbed the courtyard wall, stepped on the wall with his feet, jumped up and climbed over the wall. The inside of the courtyard wall is a concrete floor, which is very clean, not at all like the courtyards of ordinary people's homes.There are no corners of the yard where household discards are piled up, there are no prams left to rust, and there are no bicycles leaning against a wall. Ryan walked across the yard to the outside bathroom and pushed open the door.Judging from the smell inside, it seems that someone has just used it, but the inside is very clean.Several newspapers hung on hooks on the wall next to the toilet, and a bottle of disinfectant lay on the floor.

He goes to the back of the house.Like the upstairs windows, the kitchen windows and the glass on the door were all glued with newspaper from the inside.He knew it was useless, but he turned the doorknob anyway.Sure enough, it was locked.Then he tried the sliding window in the test kitchen.He wanted to stick his finger in the crack of the window and push it away.But the window didn't budge.The window frame is too strong.Ryan thought, it must have been nailed to death. Ryan took a few steps back, surveying the house and considering what to do.It is impossible to forcefully enter without leaving any traces, so why are you so timid?

He took out his Walther pistol and slammed the butt at the window, and the shards of glass cut through the newspaper inside and fell into the room.He cleaned the remaining glass and newspaper from the window frame with the barrel of the pistol and put the gun back in its holster. Ryan grabbed the window frame and climbed in.The kitchen floor is tiled.The kitchen area is small, and there is a smell of spoiled food.Something must have been sitting around for too long.Several pots of different sizes were placed on the stove, several plates were piled up in a mess on a small dining table, and there was a cardboard box on the ground, which contained vegetables such as potatoes, onions, cabbage and carrots. Although there are nails on the wall, there are no pictures on it.Someone swept the floor and it was clean, but there were cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling, and the area was covered with dust.This kind of cleaning can't satisfy a woman. Ryan opened the cupboard one by one, opened the drawer, and found that there was nothing in it except a few tableware and a few bottles of canned food. He walked towards the door from the kitchen to the living room. After opening it, he stood down and looked at the layout of the living room. Blankets hang from the living room windows, and the first thing Ryan notices, by the light coming in where the blankets aren't fully covered, is the cork bulletin board above the fireplace, with pictures pinned to it.From where he stood he could make out that they were black and white photographs of Otto Skorzeny, two were portraits and the rest were taken from a distance, some in the city and some on his farm superior. Ryan walked into the living room, toward the cork bulletin board.He quickly glanced at the other photos, some of whom he knew and some of whom he didn't, but they all had people's names written on them: Haakon Foss, Celestin Laine, Catherine Beauchamp, John.Hambro, Alex Lenders. Everyone was dead except Skorzeny and Leyne. A hand-drawn map was nailed to the top of the bulletin board, showing the terrain around Skorzeny's house. The red color indicated the attack route, and each route had a name, namely Carter, Wallis, and Grace. and McAuliffe. There are four names in total. But he only saw three people coming in and out of the house.Where is the fourth person? Ryan held his breath and listened intently. Nothing moved in the house.If anyone was inside, they must have been alarmed by the noise Ryan made when he smashed the glass, and would come to see what was going on. He breathed a sigh of relief and continued to study the bulletin board. On the lower right side of the bulletin board, there are several note papers pinned, one of which reads: Below the bank account number, there is a phone number written in thick pencil.Ryan figured the number was Swiss. It is the same bank where the funds are deposited in Scholz. Ryan thought of Wes.He really is Mossad as he said?Or, what else is he hiding?Could Howie be right?Is Mossad also involved? He walked up and down the living room.The floor was bare and uncarpeted.Opposite the cork bulletin board was a couch with mismatched armchairs on either side, and in the middle of the living room was an upside-down wooden crate that served as a table, with an old typewriter on it.A transistor radio sits on the floor in a corner of the living room.No telephone set was seen. Ryan was in the aisle again.It's only one square in size, a square between the gate and the stairs going up.He went up the stairs, walking slowly up.There are three doors on the second floor.A door was open, revealing two cots with low metal bedsteads topped with thin mattresses—the kind Ryan has slept in for most of his career. Ryan walked in.There was no carpet on the floor either.The room was as tidy as downstairs, but it smelled like a man.The quilts on each cot were neatly folded and placed at the foot of the bed, and there was a wash bag on top of the quilts.On the wall above one bed was a nude picture of a girl, probably cut out of a magazine.Between the two cots, a wooden crate also served as a table.There are two large canvas bags in the corner of the room. This place smells like a military camp and feels like a military camp.Ryan hoped his feeling was wrong.Seeing this, he began to miss Gormanston Barracks. He left this room and walked towards the first room with a closed door.The door opened outwards, and after opening it, he saw a drying cabinet with some towels and sheets in it—— —and four automatic rifles, one Smith & Wesson revolver, two Browning semi-automatics.Browning pistols were modified to be ready to be fitted with suppressors that were set aside. "My God," Ryan said. He closed the oven, turned and walked towards the last door.He opened the door, which creaked.This bedroom was much like the other, except that a man lay on a cot.Because there is a lot of sweat on the body, the man's skin has a layer of shiny luster.He had a splint on his right hand and dark red blood on his finger. The man stared at Ryan.In order to see clearly who was coming, his eyes seemed to be trying to focus.He opened his mouth. Ryan saw a first-aid kit, a small brown bottle, and a syringe on the wooden crate next to his bed. It's morphine. "Hello," the man said.The sound is as soft as cotton. The man was not wearing any clothes on his upper body.He was thin, hadn't shaved in two days, and looked about thirty-five.There is a small red spot on the inside of his left arm, which is the mark left by the injection. Ryan pulled out his Walther pistol. The man laughed, drooling down his lips. "What are you doing?" The man spoke with a Scottish accent, probably from Glasgow.Not sure since he's had morphine injections. "Just in case it comes in handy," Ryan said. "Are you Grace or McAuliffe?" The man frowned. "What's going on? Are you...? Where is my...?" Ryan walked into the room and sat down on the bed opposite him. "What's your name?" "Tommy," he said. "My mum wanted to name me James, but my dad said no, just Tommy. I was thirsty." A glass of water stands on a wooden crate.Ryan picked up the glass and held it to Tommy's mouth for him to drink.Tommy gulped and spilled water on his chest. Ryan put the cup back on the crate. "what happened to your hand?" Tommy looked down at the splint, the bruised skin, the blood on his arm.His eyes widened, as if he hadn't known he was hurt the whole time. "I fell." "Where did you fall?" "In the woods. I was running. I fell and it hurt like hell." "Is it at Otto Skorzeny's estate?" Tommy smiled. "We scared him a lot." Ryan smiled at him too. "yes." "We're going to be rich soon, man." Ryan felt his lips move, and he couldn't help but smile again. "Yes, we're going to get rich." He remembered the bank account number written on the piece of paper downstairs. Tommy struggled to sit up and asked, "Did you post the letter?" "yes." "How did he answer you?" Ryan wondered if he should take advantage of Tommy's insanity and keep talking to him.He said: "He hasn't replied yet. What does our letter say?" Tommy smiled.He nodded to Ryan with the index finger of his left hand and said, "Ah, you know." Then he pressed that finger to his nose again. "You know, buddy." "No, I don't know. Tell me." "Gold." Tommy looked sad, as if he was talking to a child who was as stupid as he could be. "gold." "How much gold?" "Millions of gold, man. We're gonna be rich." Ryan stood up, his mind racing.Shouts from the stadium echoed in the street. The other three will find the window broken when they return, and then they will know that their lair has been found.They'll definitely clean up all traces and move on to another location.The van should be able to hold these few things for them.They simply pack up and run away.Ryan reckoned they could clean it up in five minutes. Where will they go? They were not going to abandon the mission and flee Ireland, Ryan was sure of that.Enough dead people already, they won't drop out. Just think about it. If Ryan organizes this mission, he will find a backup location in advance, just in case something happens.This location should be in another area of ​​the city.If the first location is discovered, he will go there as soon as possible. A wave of fear came over him, and he felt a little dizzy.Things are getting a little out of hand.He should tell Wes what he knows and let the Mossad people take over the matter. Ryan knew exactly what the Israeli would do if he were here.He would surely have killed the wounded man on the spot, then quietly waited for the others to return before killing them all.Then, that's how it ended.Ryan could tell Skorzeny and Howie that the threat was gone. Everything went back to calm like this. Can Ryan do something like this?He had killed people before, more than he could count.However, that was during the war.Can he kill a man just because he is greedy? No, he can't. Yes, he can do that. Ryan drew his Walther pistol and aimed it between Tommy's eyebrows. Tommy looked up at him, his eyes suddenly clear. "No, don't," he said.His voice was dry, like someone was rubbing a piece of paper. Ryan's finger was on the trigger, and he felt the resistance of the trigger. "No, please." Ryan just felt dizzy.He blinked, regaining his composure.He inhales through his nostrils and exhales through his mouth.At this time, there was another burst of cheers from the stadium. "God, no." Ryan thought of Celia, of her warm body. "My God," he said. He lowered his gun.His hands were shaking. Tommy's chest heaved violently and his eyes were fixed on Ryan's. "Thank you," he said. Ryan was about to answer him—although he didn't know what to say to this man, but at this moment, the sound of a key opening the door came from downstairs.He sucked it into his lungs in one breath, but dared not exhale it. The downstairs door opened and slammed on the wall. I don't know who said something in a low voice, and everyone downstairs fell silent. Ryan looked back at Tommy and put his finger to his lips in a hushed gesture. He moved toward the bedroom door, taking care not to make any noise under his feet.He went to the landing of the stairs and peered downstairs, listening for movement below, but he heard nothing except the noise from the gymnasium. At this time, he saw a shadow moving on the floor of the living room. Ryan retreated into the bedroom. Tommy yelled, "Here! Here he is!" Ryan closed the bedroom door and bolted it. There were hurried footsteps on the stairs. Ryan smashed the window glass with the butt of the gun and stepped out of the window with one leg. The bedroom door creaked under the impact. Ryan quickly stretched out his other leg, and then his whole body went out of the window.Then he saw the door slam open inward, Carter rushed in, and Ryan let go of the ledge and fell to the floor. He hit the pavement hard, his ankle first, and his shoulder hit the ground as he fell sideways.Ryan cried out, arching in pain.At this time, he heard the sound of someone opening the door with a key, and hurriedly struggled to get up. He is running. The door opened, and then he heard a flurry of footsteps behind him.The direction of Ryan's running was left and right, and at the same time, he paid attention to shrinking his neck. "Over there!" he heard someone shout. "catch him!" Ryan's target is under the railway bridge. Across the railway bridge, there was the Avenue of the Holy Cross, and his car. He ran hard, and glanced back quickly—his pursuer was gone. The lush trees on both sides of the Avenue of the Holy Cross are already in sight.He kept running. At this time, he heard footsteps.He thought it was someone's footsteps.The man was right behind him.He didn't pay too much attention to that person, but continued to maintain his pace, crossing Cronleaf Road and onto Holy Cross Avenue.His car was just ahead, only a few meters away from him. Ryan ran to his car, the keys already in his hand.He opened the door and sat in.He put the key in the ignition and started the car.There was no exit on the road directly ahead of him, so he put the car in reverse and stepped on the accelerator. The man chasing him was Wallis.He swerved to the side, out of the way of Ryan's car, but in that split second, he grabbed the car's door.Ryan looked carefully at the rear view mirror and accelerated towards the intersection. When he was about to reach the intersection, Ryan instinctively stepped on the brakes.The car stopped. Wallis was just outside Ryan's cab door, a Browning pistol in his hand.Wallis slams the window, which shatters and splatters Ryan all over.The Browning was brought to Ryan's temple. "Don't fucking move!" Wallis said.