Rimanoa

"Silent Dialogue."

August 21, 17:48

Covering the three hundred kilometers from Boston to New York is no problem at all, but figuring out what's going on is the real challenge. First of all, what is there to ask Bob? Secondly, this monstrous question — why did the Boss suddenly decide to attach Brosman to me and, finally, from whom did Pierce find out about that guy? Oh, come on. We'll get there. We'll find out.

There was a muffled knock on the door, and ten seconds later a questioning voice came from behind it: "What else?"

"Our own," Brosman knew my voice, so I didn't have to come up with anything witty. The door opened abruptly, revealing the muzzle of a silencer screwed onto an MP5 Kurtz (a compact German submachine gun with a rate of fire of 900 rounds per minute, 9 millimeter caliber) with a bent 30-round clip. "Lightning" instantly pulled out his "Jericho" (a bulky Israeli-made pistol with a significant muzzle energy of 450 joules, 357 caliber, 9 rounds in the clip). They almost started shooting, but the two "paranoids", not being too nervous, managed not to pull the triggers of their monsters too hard. "Phooey," Brosman was resting after a not-so-rare incident in crime, when "guys from the same team" could easily finish each other off, and me, too….

I brazenly stepped in between the 'dogfighting', "You guys would fuss a little less." Brosman put the gun away and gestured with his hand to invite the guests into the room. Lonje settled down a little and followed me inside before the lights in his eyes could go out.

The apartment was not presidential, but still, living in a three-room suite alone was more luxury than convenience.

The innkeeper ushered us into the next room and seated us in chairs, opening a laptop computer that stood in the middle of a table that was extremely close to the piece of furniture where we had settled. He himself pulled up a small lacquered chair and leaned a finger to his lips, pressing a couple of buttons on the keyboard. On the monitor came up, "This place is full of bugs. Speak only through the computer."

My next move was, "Explain yourself about Brown. What kind of guy is he? And what else happened in my absence?"

"The thing is, of all the documents on the Cosa Nostra case, yours turned out to be the vast majority, and even too much. There was only a little general information and a couple of videos about the other 'managers' and above, so I thought you were in on it. But after I found out there was no Albert Cave, your alleged client, it all made sense. Your real client…"

I pulled his hands away from the keyboard and typed back, "I know who. And now we've temporarily gotten rid of them. By the way, I haven't heard anything about the 'mysterious explosions in Lyon'."

"No, there's nothing wrong there, but you see… You didn't just get one customer, you got several…"

"Yeah, the FBI is involved in this too…" — it hit me. Damn them all!!! Since the FBI is an equal ally of Interpol, they also have documents on the Cosa Nostra case. I can see why Lyon hasn't been bombed yet. Because if they had, the documents would have multiplied again from overseas friends, so they must be destroyed at the same time. And the organization figured it out. Good for them. That's why Richard on the phone said, "A guy who might know something about your case," that's why Brosman decided to help me. They all guessed, as I did, that Albert Cave and Interpol's alliance with the FBI and the CIA. It was this alliance that was the ordering agency, not some double-agent Albert Cave they made up and shoved into our archives!

I continued, poking at the keys: "Anyway, I got it, Pierce, where's Brown?" "Paladin Motel, #32."

"Is he alone in there?" "It's not known."

"His picture?"

Brosman with a slight movement of his hand on the "not the most recent miracle of technology" displayed a picture on the monitor: at the big jeep (which one, from this angle, you can't recognize) one man was shaking hands with another.

"Which one is it?"

The finger of the "technician" pointed to a tiny spot at the edge of the photo. I moved closer, straining my eyesight, and saw a frail "dystrophic" who could barely stand on his feet.

"What's that?"

{ "object".

"I sense this is going to be fun… Any personality traits?"

"None."

"When are we leaving?" "Now."