crows of strasbourg

Chapter 13 Epi.13

13.

The Meridian Hotel in Istanbul would have had no objection to claiming to be the best in the region a decade ago.The manager swears they've hosted every dignitary imaginable and they all rave about the penthouse rooms.After changing hands three times and a renovation, the Meridian Hotel still looks delightful today, but it's an old blanket of delight that those who are used to it don't want to part with, and others don't want to give it a second look.This kind of hotel—with its sprawling, worn-out ballroom, outdated chandeliers, and gray ceiling paintings—has one thing in common, whether it's in Rwanda, Beirut, Prague, or Istanbul, and intelligence agencies Epiphytes congregate in the lobby bar like winter birds congregate on electrical wires, in bright plumage: foreign correspondents, trade envoys, and other awkward titles.

The doorman was new, and it was the first time he had seen a grand banquet held in a hotel, but in order not to be ridiculed by his more senior colleagues, he pretended not to care, and was even a little bored, as if he had seen [-] occasions that were much more grand than this .In another four hours, when the police come to ask questions, the doorman will wring his hands and whisper that he really doesn't know when the suspect came in, there are too many people coming and going, sir, you can't expect me to remember Every face.He was telling the truth. All night, he was just doing his job diligently, opening and closing the car door, carrying the luggage of the guests, picking up the keys, lipstick, dolls and boutonnieres that had been accidentally dropped on the ground.

To be fair, no one at the Meridian had noticed when the suspect entered, and if they had, they didn't think much of it.On a busy night like this, the hotel often hires hourly temporary staff to cover shifts, and many doors are kept open to allow for a more rapid flow of food and drinks.Police quickly concluded that the suspect had come in through the laundry room, where they found the laundryman knocked out and a suit missing, which belonged to an Austrian ophthalmologist who lived on the eighth floor. But the suit was nothing compared to the rest of the property stolen tonight.The police naturally went on to deduce that the suspect, who had worn the booty, mingled with the banquet between about nine o'clock and 09:30, when the speaker's tirade was over, the champagne was flowing, and the social animals began to interact with each other. sniff.Around ten o'clock, the manager made the first anxious call to the police station, and the second less than five minutes later.The wrath of bureaucracy fell on the police as at least nine frustrated guests demanded that the police recover their lost wallets and jewels "as quickly as possible" or find this or that government official.They all admitted to talking to an unfamiliar banker and not seeing anything unusual, at least not at the time.

The banker, asked the beleaguered police officer, does he have a name?

Six victims said they did not remember, and three others said Alex.

After several rounds of exhausting interrogation, the police managed to gather a handful of fragments. This Alex, who has no surname, is likely to be Swiss, with dark hair, which should be brown or black. If he recalls carefully, he may also be It is very dark gold.The heights are "don't remember", "don't know" and "probably taller than me".Green eyes, this is one point that the guests can agree on.He spoke a kind of German with a French accent, or Russian with a German accent, and no, officer, he didn't speak Turkish.

Such a person, the police continued to question the doorman, have you seen it?

By Allah, the doorman sat up a little more and rubbed his sweaty palms together, he had indeed seen this man, this Alex came out of the revolving door, and the doorman thought he was a man in need of fresh air The guest, so he stepped forward and asked him if he was looking for the famous garden of the Meridian Hotel. If so, turn left in front and pass by the small path.But Alex shook his head, handed him the parking ticket, and asked him to bring the car over.

Do you trust him?The policeman asked impatiently, didn't he think for a second that the parking ticket might be stolen?

Of course not, the doorman raised his voice, his ears burning with sudden anger, how dare we question a resident, especially when he's still wearing an expensive suit?

In any case, the damage was done, and the speaker's beloved car was driven away in plain sight by a despicable thief.The hotel is like a beehive that has been kicked over, and the manager has a serious face, attending an imaginary funeral, and the deceased is his own career.The actual shareholders of the hotel were also quarreled from their beds and rushed to douse the intermittent outbursts of anger of the dinner guests.The doorman returned to his post after midnight, straightened his back, and stood beside the revolving door of the Meridian Hotel, guarding its last dignity.

-

Around the time the first police arrived at the Meridian Hotel, Alex, or as he preferred it, Hines, parked the stolen Jaguar behind a darkened synagogue.

This is a gloomy little corner in Galatia. The broken street lamps were not repaired in time, leaving many pit-like shadows.Turkey's Jewish population has been slowly and steadily losing 40 years ago, and the trickle turned into a flood after the war, pouring into the nascent Israel, and the empty houses with locked doors on the streets are what is left after the tide has receded Driftwood and shells.Hines opened the small glove box next to the dashboard. Inside were a pair of gloves, a flashlight, and a few mints.He got out of the car, opened the trunk, and looked for the tool bag by the light of the flashlight.

He chose a small red car parked next to the church's back door railing. It looked like it hadn't been moved for a long time. One front wheel was leaking. Create a layered texture.He removed the license plate and replaced it with a Jaguar, he really should have stolen a less conspicuous one, but this botch should be enough against the Istanbul police.He wondered how his father would feel if he saw what he was doing.The father wanted a politician and got a mediocre diplomat and amateur car thief.Hines got back in the car, untied his tie, and sat there for a while.He now has the right to quit the game, go northwest, disappear into restless Czechoslovakia, change his name, and no more the CIA, no CIA, no Anton Sokolov.

He allowed himself to immerse himself in the scene for a few seconds before starting the car.There are more than [-] kilometers of mountains, plains and long and narrow seas between him and Genoa.

-

In the eyes of the two day agents in charge of the surveillance, the Soviet consulate employee was perhaps the most uninteresting target ever, surpassing even the sociology professor they had been stalking in Ankara the previous summer. AA Sokolov, so the file says, was employed by the USSR State Security Council.A few lines down, skipping the useless excerpts from the diplomatic correspondence, and someone smugly marking a sentence of extreme danger in green ink.

However, Sokolov does not seem to be "extremely dangerous". From the experience of these two agents, "extremely dangerous" targets are often ordinary, as if this is their natural camouflage.Both agents agreed that Sokolov looked much more haggard than in the photo, and the file must have not been updated in a long time.His life is so regular that it's like tracking a pendulum: coming out of the apartment at 06:30, wearing an old creased trench coat, rain or shine, and never opening an umbrella.Arrived at the consulate between 45:06 and 30, greeted the doorman, disappeared, did not reappear until [-]:[-] pm, and returned to the apartment.The agents' van was parked on a street corner, its doors and cargo compartment painted with the Turkish Post logo, and it moved every hour, slowly making an irregular circular trajectory around the consulate.Another car would take over at night, huddling breathlessly in the shadows by the side of the road, like some kind of compound-eyed insect, staring at the brown-curtained window.

There were only three exceptions, the first time was to participate in a small symphony concert held by the embassy, ​​the agents followed him closely, stayed in Ankara for two days, and found nothing unusual, Sokolov's attitude towards the concert and other diplomatic personnel the same, without looking bored or overly interested; the second was the smokehouse, and one of the agents changed from the postman's baggy coat for greasy overalls and shirt, and followed like any Well, I ordered apple juice like that.There are only two chairs between him and Sokolov. If there is a connector, the detective can see the person's face clearly. However, Sokolov just bought a glass of vodka and had nothing to do with the bartender. In a pinch, finish your drink and leave this smoky prehistoric cave.The third time was at the port, the day agents watched him walk into the customs office, came out in less than 10 minutes, went straight back to the consulate, they dutifully took some pictures, not so much that they found any clues It was to pay Prescott.

The day when things took a turn for the worse was no different than any other day, at least at first. The day agents drove the postal van across from Sokolov's apartment as usual, and the night agents' car was still there. Department, motionless, this is not right, they should leave immediately.The two day shift agents looked at each other and decided to wait another 2 minutes.

Ten minutes later, Sokolov did not emerge from the apartment as usual, and the car remained frozen in place.The day agents got out of the car and approached the little Alfa Romeo cautiously.

The car was empty, with blood on the steering wheel and leather seats, as well as on the fenders and pavement.Following the blood like spaniels, the two agents found their unfortunate colleague in an alley, both unconscious, with their hands tied behind their backs.

No one wanted to recall the ensuing chaos, the head of the local CIA liaison station was called, and a coded telegram was delivered to the ambassador calling a friend at the police station, who called some other friends, These friends then called their friends in customs, who were transferred to their friends at the airport.Ask about all the outbound flights between midnight yesterday and six o'clock this morning, about possible witnesses, about the impatient control tower dispatcher.

"A plane registered in Poland," the dispatcher replied, mingled with electrical noise, "departed at two o'clock in the morning with one passenger."

"Destination?" the agents demanded.

"Genoa."

"An Italian Genoa?" asked one of the agents, almost shouting, as if secretly hoping that there was a Genoa lurking in Turkey.

"Genoa in Italy, of course, sir."

The agents hung up and began a heated debate over who should face Prescott's wrath.