Read the book Blue Angels online. Chingiz Abdullayev - blue angels Blue angels

Masterfully written detective novels capture the reader's attention for a long time. And if they are written based on real events, then fans of the detective genre simply do not have a chance to pass by such books. Chingiz Abdullayev wrote the novel “Blue Angels” back in the late 80s, but due to the fact that it revealed important political information, it did not immediately become available to the masses. The writer conveys well the atmosphere of that time, the criminal environment, and the work of secret agents. There will be a lot of shootouts, chases, and threats to life in the book. The constant atmosphere of danger will not let you get bored, and you will want to immediately start reading the next book.

The novel takes place in different parts of the planet, constantly moving: in Europe, Southeast Asia, the USA and other places. Secret agents of a special committee work all over the world; they skillfully hide, doing their work without anyone noticing anything. They seem invulnerable. But they only seem to. When an entire group of agents stops communicating, it becomes clear that something is wrong. It later turns out that they were all killed. This means there is a traitor among our own.

Three intelligence officers are selected to investigate this case, including an expert known as Drongo. And it was not given to him in vain. He knows that any criminal will leave traces, no matter how skilled he is. But these three don’t even suspect what awaits them ahead.

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Chingiz Abdullayev

Blue Angels

From the report of the Standing Committee of Experts on Crime Prevention and Control of the UN Economic and Social Council

Belgrade. The first day

The plane headed for Belgrade. The engines hummed as usual, drowning out other noises. The passengers were dozing in their seats. Friendly flight attendants served tea, coffee, and juices.

Coffee, monsieur? - one of them addressed the passenger sitting in the third row.

Yes please. - He nodded his head, smiling. Strong, scalding coffee is now drunk not only in his homeland, and he saw no reason to refuse it here, far from hometown. Charles Dupre - that's his name now. And this name will be with him throughout his entire duty. As a matter of fact, regional inspectors are replaced twice a year - their work is so exhausting and incredibly hard. “Almost no one can stand it anymore, unless, of course, they make it to the end of their sentence,” thought Dupre. - Of the five regional inspectors who were on duty before me, only two returned home. What a damned S-14 sector!” And now he is flying to the place ahead of time. Dupre remembered - the encryption especially drew attention to: the regional inspector sent before him with two assistants disappeared and still has not given any news, which is strictly prohibited by the charter.

He took out his passport. The face of a young man of about thirty to thirty-five looked back at him from the photograph. A rounded chin, good-natured brown eyes, and a fashionable hairstyle made him look least like the superspy he was; in fact, he never considered himself.

People like him always avoided loud phrases, just as they did not like to talk much at all, because the work itself was not conducive to verbiage, but when they returned home, the phenomenon of “reanimation” set in, as the inspectors jokingly called it. Dupre had already been on duty twice, though in other squares, but each time, returning home tired and happy, he, like the others, did not want to be alone. The need for simple human communication, when you don’t have to lie and dodge, cheat and adapt, be extremely attentive and warily monitor your interlocutors, was so great that even a huge feeling of fatigue could not drown it out.

Charles remembered his first duty. As a rule, novices were not sent to difficult areas, understanding how difficult such work would be even for professionals who found themselves in an unfamiliar environment. Typically, inspectors were given two or three assistants to conduct their affairs more successfully. But then, on his first duty, Dupre had no assistants - the area was considered calm and quiet. Apart from two or three “minor incidents,” one could report that the first duty went smoothly. In any case, he indicated so in his report, “forgetting” that during these “minor incidents” he was wounded in the left hand. Dupre preferred not to remember the details of his injury, but the regional commissioner, who found out about this (Charles still did not know how), reprimanded him for being too hot. The second duty was much more difficult, but this time everything went well, although these six months were not the best in Dupre's life. And here is the third duty. Sector "C-14". When he found out about this, after reading the encryption, he felt proud. Only the most prepared, the most experienced were sent there. One of the two who returned from this hell was Siegfried Melzer himself, now regional commissioner in North America. And now it's his turn.

So, we’ll work, Charles thought habitually. People who devoted themselves to this dangerous task, like Dupre, did not think about rewards; life itself without adventure seemed insipid and boring to them. Having barely returned from the mission and not having had time to really rest, they were again drawn to where dangers forced them to squeeze their nerves into a bundle, where life throbbed so furiously and was not very expensive. This was not a paradox. Like drug addicts who have once tasted the “charm” of non-existence, like climbers who have once conquered the peak, they set off again and again into the unknown, because they felt that they could no longer live otherwise. A person who has truly fallen in love at least once in his life cannot live without love. A person who has once breathed deeply will not be able to breathe half-heartedly. A person who has experienced the power of life on the edge of an abyss must constantly walk along this edge, establishing himself in his own strength and captivating others with his example.

So is Dupre. He saw the meaning of his existence in this life, full of unknown charm and charm. He, who had been risking his life for twelve years, first in the counterintelligence agencies of his country, then in the ranks of the “blues,” could not even imagine what he would have done if it had not suddenly been for this work.

There are not many of them. Not much at all. But they always go and win. One is replaced by a second, a third, a fourth... Even at the cost of their lives, they triumph in the dispute with their killers because they are replaced by others. They defend a just cause and therefore always win. But victory is not easy for them. Too often, in the country where they live, in the city where they are expected, a short note arrives: “Please accept condolences,” the “blue angels” and Interpol employees pay too high a price. And the too expensive payment - their own lives - becomes an infinitesimal value in comparison with the safety of all humanity.

“But still the S-14,” Dupre recalled. “Pride is pride,” he sighed, “but life, whatever you say, is not a bad thing at all, and you don’t really want to give it away just like that.”

“Our plane is landing. We wish you all the best,” the flight attendant announced in several languages, and a friendly revival immediately set in in the cabin. The passengers began to smile, move around, click their seat belts, and began to put newspapers, magazines, and books into their bags. The bright sun beat through the windows, and soft yellow-blue sunlight spilled throughout the cabin of the plane. Dupre snapped the straps. The plane, gradually descending, began to land.

Belgrade. Second day

Sometimes you can smell a tart smell human body. But if every house has its own special, unique aroma, then here, in the hotel, it seems that people smell the same.

Blue Angels

PART I
MEETING

Criminal organizations organizing drug trade and smuggling have the most modern technical means, a well-established network of agents and a large, extensive staff of performers. The fight against them in modern conditions is becoming even more difficult than before.
From the report of the Standing Committee of Experts on Crime Prevention and Control of the UN Economic and Social Council

Belgrade. The first day

The plane headed for Belgrade. The engines hummed as usual, drowning out other noises. The passengers were dozing in their seats. Friendly flight attendants served tea, coffee, and juices.
- Coffee, monsieur? - one of them addressed the passenger sitting in the third row.
- Yes please. - He nodded his head, smiling. Strong, scalding coffee is now drunk not only in his homeland, and he saw no reason to refuse it here, far from his hometown. Charles Dupre - that's his name now. And this name will be with him throughout his entire duty. As a matter of fact, regional inspectors are replaced twice a year - their work is so exhausting and incredibly difficult. “Almost no one can stand it anymore, unless, of course, they make it to the end of their sentence,” thought Dupre. - Of the five regional inspectors who were on duty before me, only two returned home. What a damned S-14 sector!” And now he is flying to the place ahead of time. Dupre remembered - the encryption especially drew attention to: the regional inspector sent before him with two assistants disappeared and still has not given any news, which is strictly prohibited by the charter.
He took out his passport. The face of a young man of about thirty to thirty-five looked back at him from the photograph. A rounded chin, good-natured brown eyes, and a fashionable hairstyle made him look least like the superspy he was; in fact, he never considered himself.
People like him always avoided loud phrases, just as they did not like to talk much at all, because the work itself was not conducive to verbiage, but when they returned home, the phenomenon of “reanimation” set in, as the inspectors jokingly called it. Dupre had already been on duty twice, though in other squares, but each time, returning home tired and happy, he, like the others, did not want to be alone. The need for simple human communication, when you don’t have to lie and dodge, cheat and adapt, be extremely attentive and warily monitor your interlocutors, was so great that even a huge feeling of fatigue could not drown it out.
Charles remembered his first duty. As a rule, novices were not sent to difficult areas, understanding how difficult such work would be even for professionals who found themselves in an unfamiliar environment. Typically, inspectors were given two or three assistants to conduct their affairs more successfully. But then, on his first duty, Dupre had no assistants - the area was considered calm and quiet. Apart from two or three “minor incidents,” one could report that the first duty went smoothly. In any case, he indicated so in his report, “forgetting” that during these “minor incidents” he was wounded in the left hand. Dupre preferred not to remember the details of his injury, but the regional commissioner, who found out about this (Charles still did not know how), reprimanded him for being too hot. The second duty was much more difficult, but this time everything went well, although these six months were not the best in Dupre's life. And here is the third duty. Sector "C-14". When he found out about this, after reading the encryption, he felt proud. Only the most prepared, the most experienced were sent there. One of the two who returned from this hell was Siegfried Melzer himself, now Regional Commissioner for North America. And now it's his turn.
So, we’ll work, Charles thought habitually. People who devoted themselves to this dangerous task, like Dupre, did not think about rewards; life itself without adventure seemed insipid and boring to them. Having barely returned from the mission and not having had time to really rest, they were again drawn to where dangers forced them to squeeze their nerves into a bundle, where life throbbed so furiously and was not very expensive. This was not a paradox. Like drug addicts who have once tasted the “charm” of non-existence, like climbers who have once conquered the peak, they set off again and again into the unknown, because they felt that they could no longer live otherwise. A person who has truly fallen in love at least once in his life cannot live without love. A person who has once breathed deeply will not be able to breathe half-heartedly. A person who has experienced the power of life on the edge of an abyss must constantly walk along this edge, establishing himself in his own strength and captivating others with his example.
So is Dupre. He saw the meaning of his existence in this life, full of unknown charm and charm. He, who had been risking his life for twelve years, first in the counterintelligence agencies of his country, then in the ranks of the “blues,” could not even imagine what he would have done if it had not suddenly been for this work.
There are not many of them. Not much at all. But they always go and win. One is replaced by a second, a third, a fourth... Even at the cost of their lives, they triumph in the dispute with their killers because they are replaced by others. They defend a just cause and therefore always win. But victory is not easy for them. Too often, in the country where they live, in the city where they are expected, a short note arrives: “Please accept condolences,” the “blue angels” and Interpol employees pay too high a price. And the too expensive payment - their own lives - becomes an infinitesimal value in comparison with the safety of all humanity.
“But still the S-14,” Dupre recalled. “Pride is pride,” he sighed, “but life, whatever you say, is not a bad thing at all, and you don’t really want to give it away just like that.”
“Our plane is landing. We wish you all the best,” the flight attendant announced in several languages, and a friendly revival immediately set in in the cabin. The passengers began to smile, move around, click their seat belts, and began to put newspapers, magazines, and books into their bags. The bright sun beat through the windows, and soft yellow-blue sunlight spilled throughout the cabin of the plane. Dupre snapped the straps. The plane, gradually descending, began to land.

Belgrade. Second day

All hotels have their own specific smell, which remains in the mind for a lifetime. The smell of starch, which smells like sheets and pillowcases, the smell of old faded carpets and something subtly reminiscent of the smell of moths and old wood.
Sometimes you can smell the tart smell of the human body. But if every house has its own special, unique aroma, then here, in the hotel, it seems that people smell the same.
Dupre occupied room 1409 at the Serbia Hotel. He had liked this hotel for a long time. Firstly, it stood somewhat away from the busy center; Secondly, bus stops were near the hotel; thirdly, there were always tourist groups here, which changed almost daily, and one’s face could not be immediately remembered; fourthly, Dupre also had personal pleasant memories associated with this hotel.
However, now was not the time for memories. He has been living here for the second day and has not yet received any instructions. Last night he visited the People's Museum again, but to no avail. Today he will go for the third time and again, like yesterday, at eight in the evening he will wait for his contact. This was another difficult part of their job - learning to wait. A lot often depended on her, and Dupre never rushed time. A phone call brought him out of his thoughts.
- Mister Dupre? - was heard in the receiver.
“Yes,” he confirmed after a moment.
- The receptionist is bothering you. Please come downstairs. One person is waiting for you here.
- Me? - Charles asked in surprise.
- Yes, Mr. Dupre.
- Ah... I’ll come down now... - “Strange, very strange. Who else could be waiting for me here? - thought Charles, getting out of bed. Tightening the tie and putting on the jacket was a matter of one minute. Dupre had already grabbed the doorknob when he thought he heard some rustling and someone's quick steps in the corridor. He silently stepped back, quietly took the shoes and, silently placing a chair against the edge of the door, climbed onto it, trying to stand so that in any case he would be able to jump back into the room.
There was a glass partition above the door. Almost all the hotel rooms were like this. Dupre silently clung to the window, managing to look around the corridor in just a split second. Literally three meters from him, two men raised their pistols and aimed at his face. His reaction was impeccable. He was already on the floor when shards of glass rained down on his head. “These are bastards,” Charles smiled sadly, “professionals. They shoot with silencers so that nothing can be heard.” There were several more dry clicks, apparently this time they decided to riddled the door.
“I wonder what I'll do if they try to come in,” Dupre thought. “I don’t have any weapons.”
But it was quiet outside the door. “So,” Charles thought, “it means they don’t know yet that I don’t have a weapon, and they’re afraid to enter. Or maybe they left. Hardly. They won't leave until they see the corpse. - He raised his head. - Well, it's a great start. It seems that this is only breakfast, and I still have lunch.” Dupre crawled to the phone and dialed the number.
“Yes,” a voice was heard.
Having already heard the voice, Charles could have hung up the phone with a clear conscience - it was clearly not the voice of the first “receptionist,” but he decided to check everything to the end, just in case.
- They are talking to you from room 1409. My last name is Dupre. Did you call me in my room about five minutes ago?
- From 1409? Let's check it now. No, Mr. Dupre, no one called you.
- Thank you. Please send me a maid. - He hung up. Well, that's to be expected. When they see a stranger, they will leave. It's not in their best interest.
But who are they and how did they know his name and place of residence? There is an obvious leak of information. Explicit. Be that as it may, today he definitely needs to be at the People's Museum. Or maybe use a backup communication channel? Dupree's hand reached for the phone. No. We need to figure out the first option completely, and use the backup option as a last resort.
Someone's footsteps in the corridor. It seems like women's. It's going calmly. She stopped at the door. So, it seems like he’s swearing. She probably thinks that I broke the partition and tore the door out of nothing to do. Now you need to calmly open it. Surely those two had already left. He grabbed the door handle and listened. Silence, only the grumbling of the old maid. Dupre jerked the door open, retreating deeper into the room. The woman, who clearly did not expect this, fell silent for a second, staring at Dupre. It's nothing you can do. Charles jerked the woman towards him. She tried to scream, but after a moment Dupre’s handkerchief made this attempt completely futile.
“I’m sorry,” Dupre said in Yugoslavian, terribly confusing his words, tying the maid’s hands with a torn sheet. “It’s a good thing she’s old, otherwise she’d think I’m trying to rape her,” Charles thought sadly. But in any case, he will now have more than enough trouble with the Yugoslav police.
He looked around the room, carefully carried the woman onto the bed, apologized again and quietly left the room. Several fragments fell on the other side of the door. He carefully kicked them into the room and slammed the door. He only took a small suitcase with him. “The ability to quickly part with your things is also an agent’s privilege,” I remembered one of the commandments of their school. There's not a soul in the corridor. Dupre, looking around cautiously, headed towards the hall. Suddenly, someone appeared at the end of the corridor. One, no, two, three, five. Charles took a breath. Tourist group. Women, children. Now down the stairs, and as quickly as possible. You have to leave, of course, from the emergency exit - he knows all the moves and exits here.
It seems he came out. Everything is fine. Let's take it a little to the right. There's a kiosk here. Calm down. We buy a newspaper. Nothing unusual yet. Looks like a taxi there. Somehow it appeared at the right time. Let's skip him. Here's the second one. No, no, it literally follows the first one. There is no time, but there is no need to rush. So this is already ours. Let's stop.
-Where are we going? - asked an elderly Belgrade man.
“To Chukaritsa,” said Charles, putting the wrong emphasis.
The driver sighed and turned on the ignition. The car moved through the streets quite leisurely. Dupre had already managed to free himself from most of his pieces of paper, and he transferred some of the most important ones to a suitcase, setting it up for “destruction.” The suitcase was cleverly designed. If someone else tries to open it without knowing the digital code, it will instantly ignite and all documents contained in it will be destroyed.
The car smoothly slowed down near a large gray building.
“Chukaritsa,” the driver said indifferently, without turning around.
“Thank you,” Dupre thanked him in German and, having paid the meter, quickly got out of the car. “It seems that the Yugoslav police will lose track of me, at least for a while,” he thought. “There should be a passage yard here.” Here he is. Fine. Quickly in that direction. Luck. Someone's passing car appeared around the corner. The driver brakes sharply.
- Terazije Square? - Dupre says quite clearly, pointing to the side.
“Sit down,” the car enthusiast readily offers.
Charles plops down on the seat.
- Faster Faster. - These are the only words he can pronounce without an accent. If this motorist turns out to be a chatterbox, all is lost. No, he seems to be silent. What if he speaks? Dupre began looking for a handkerchief. I'll have to pretend that I have a runny nose. Damn it. The handkerchief was left in the room. Well, it’s okay, there are still a few of my dirty shirts and an old brush left there. It’s a pity, of course, for the brushes, but when your life is on one side of the scale, and a brush with dirty laundry is on the other, you don’t have to choose. Not a single scale in the world will maintain balance with such an uneven distribution.
The car turns past the main station towards Terazije Square. From here it is very close to the People's Museum. Having paid the driver generously, Dupre goes out to the square.
There doesn't seem to be any surveillance. There are still two minutes until eight. The caller will wait five minutes and not a minute more. With a bouquet of red carnations. But it can attract attention. There are still a few minutes left.
Already approaching the museum, Dupre saw a small crowd standing in the Place de la République. "What's there?" - he asked a bearded guy with notebooks under his arm, obviously a student. It’s good that this bearded man turned out to be an intellectual and willingly explained everything. Although no, he rather showed it. The man stood peacefully, not bothering anyone, and suddenly the car, bang-ta-ra-rah, and... there was no man. Some kind of crazy people, the bearded man twisted his head, and then they ran away. This is necessary, they shot down a man and ran away.
Dupre turned his gaze to the sidewalk. The body was already covered with a sheet, but the scattered bouquet of bright red carnations stood out as bloody stains on the white pavement. Charles realized that he was late.

Paris. Day three

Paris in the morning is completely different from night time. He had already heard this phrase, but only now was he able to convince himself of its truth. Tired, dissatisfied faces, everyone is in a hurry, in a hurry, no laughter is heard, no joyful, animated faces are seen. Most bars are closed. In these morning hours, Paris lives the life of a city of millions, busy with its problems and anxieties. In some ways, he resembles a beauty who woke up in the morning after a night of revelry. She is surprised to discover that it is already the second hour of the day, that today she slept alone and that, finally, it is high time to get up. The beauty jumps out of bed and approaches the mirror. A face swollen after carousing and devoid of any makeup, a carelessly thrown robe, disheveled hair - no, this is not the woman who charmed men yesterday. But in a few hours she will put herself in order and will shine in society. The hair will be styled in an elegant hairstyle, the outfits will be gorgeous, the cosmetics will be just right - men will again go wild and go crazy because of her. But that will happen later, in the evening. And now - now she stands in front of the mirror and notices wrinkles under her eyes, slightly sagging cheeks, a double chin that is already beginning to appear, and breasts that have lost their elasticity. So is Paris. He will charm his guests at night, he will make them fall in love and commit madness, but during the day he lives the life of a typical city with a population of millions, and a guest who accidentally finds himself on its streets at this early hour may look around in bewilderment and not immediately understand where Paris is. But Paris still remains Paris, and a beauty, even without any makeup, is still a beauty. And morning Paris, deprived of some of its cosmetics, is still the same Paris that enchants, delights, pleases and amazes.
He looked around. “And yet I breathe the air of Paris,” he thought for some reason and laughed. Rare passers-by, turning to look at him, also smiled. “Paris,” he thought again, “I walk along its streets and touch these stones, touching something unknown and beautiful that excites the soul and excites the blood. Great poets and writers walked along these streets. Great painters and architects breathed this air. Here they rejoiced and grieved, fell in love and despaired, lived and died. The very word “Paris” has such a magical sound, such an inexplicable charm that it makes even gray-haired men smile dreamily and twitches the eyes of young girls with a romantic haze.”
He stood on De Gaulle Square. To the right, near the very banks of the Seine, the Eiffel Tower was visible, no less famous than the city where it was built. In front of him was the glorified Arc de Triomphe and the famous Champs Elysees. And there! It was enough to walk straight, without turning, and you could see the Grand and Petit Palaces, and go out to the Place de la Concorde, and visit the famous Rue de Rivoli, see the Louvre, the Palais Royal, the Saint-Germain Church, the Comédie Française and the Tuileries Garden.
He smiled sadly. He has only three hours at his disposal. Arriving this morning, for the first time in his life, he is forced to content himself with only a cursory examination of the city. The most annoying thing, he thought, was that you would never tell anyone about your trip to Paris. Or maybe that's for the best. There will be practically nothing to tell. He didn’t even have time to cross to the other side of the Seine and visit the Latin Quarter and Montmartre areas and see the Luxembourg Gardens. Can you really see Paris in one day? “To know Paris, a lifetime is not enough,” he remembered someone’s phrase, raising his hand. The taxi stopped smoothly at the curb.
“Montmartre,” he said, pointing to the driver. He still has a little time, and he simply could not resist without at least driving around Montmartre.
- Montmartre, monsieur? - asked the smiling Frenchman. He nodded his head, because he still managed to get a map of Paris. This is the clear advantage of our work, he sighed. You don’t have time to transfer from one plane to another and you see the whole city from the windows of a car that rushes you directly between two airports.
“And as slowly as possible to the Montfermeil area,” he asked the driver in English. The Frenchman, realizing that in front of him was a foreigner admiring his city, smiled contentedly and turned right.
Outside the windows flashed the districts of Paris - Aubervilliers, Bobigny, Le Pavignon. The car drove into Montfermeil. Miguel didn't take his eyes off the windows. This was his first independent trip abroad, and he, terribly pleased, a little crazy with happiness and stress, from time to time felt his pocket with sweaty hands, checking whether his wallet with documents was in place. The pistol, given to him two hours ago by the messenger, was the subject of his special pride. Of course - now he is an assistant to the regional inspector. And this is at his age. Before that, he had only been abroad twice, and only then to participate in technical operations. And now - independent work. He managed to pass an incredible selection and become one of the “angels”. Only a few people in his homeland and the regional commissar knew his real name.
Miguel Gonzalez, office worker, 25 years old. An employee of one of the Paraguayan companies. Single. These meager data were reported to the French customs service, where this modest traveling salesman arrived as a guest.
“Montfermeil,” the driver repeated for the third time. Miguel woke up from his thoughts and, having paid the meter, got out of the car. Now just don't get confused. There, it seems, at that house, they should be waiting for him. This is true. The car is parked near the house.
Blue Ford. Miguel cursed. That's something, he still had little understanding of car brands, although, of course, he could tell a truck from a car. The number seems to match. She. Miguel comes up from the left side and sits behind the driver. He silently, only looking in the rear mirror, starts moving.
For the first five minutes, Miguel is still trying to figure out where they are going, but by the sixth minute he realizes the senselessness of his observation. The places are completely unfamiliar. The car makes so many turns that it’s hard to keep track. Finally they stop at a house.
“Get out,” the driver points with his hand.
“Thank you, monsieur,” Gonzalez says in French, entering the house.
It's dark in the front room, you can see absolutely nothing.
“Now they will hit me on the head, and my cold corpse will be found in the Seine,” Miguel manages to think, smiling, when the light comes on and a voice is heard: “Go upstairs.”
Gonzalez goes up to the second floor. Big brown door. Let's go in, Miguel decides and enters the room.
A smiling, rosy-cheeked man of about fifty sits at the table. He is wearing a gray striped suit and a bright red tie. The round eyes on his face are constantly moving, he seems to radiate energy, his movements are so restless and nervous.
“Mr. Gonzalez, finally,” he waves his hands, standing up. - Come in, come in, we've been waiting for you for a long time. - Miguel, carefully stepping on the soft carpet, manages to note the luxurious surroundings and answers the handshake.
- Please sit down. “Smoke,” suggests the pink one.
“Here is an old bastard,” thought Miguel. - He knows very well that I don’t smoke. And he probably knows my favorite dreams.”
“I don’t smoke,” he answers monosyllabically. The conversation is in English, and Miguel is forced to answer briefly.
“Yes, I know,” the pink-cheeked one switches to Spanish and nods his head with a smile, “I completely forgot.” “You’re probably lying,” Miguel smiles, this is also included in the test, we know you, “forgetful.” Try to take a cigarette - they will say, there is no willpower, the interlocutor is imposing his own on him.
- Mr. Gonzalez, let's not waste time. Your regional commissioner,” the rosy-cheeked one begins, “has recommended you as an assistant regional inspector in sector C-14.” This area is not yet familiar to you. I warn you, the sector is of high complexity, but your selection criteria give us the opportunity to believe in you. You are quite good at wielding weapons, you even have some intelligence superior to the average mass of our workers, but, unfortunately, the physical side still leaves much to be desired. You need to pay close attention to her, Gonzalez, very close attention. Here your preparation is somewhat lame.
Gonzalez tilts his head, agreeing with his interlocutor and cursing to himself: “What, this guy is a physical education teacher, or what?”
- . And yet the choice fell on you. You have one more, final test, especially different from the others. I emphasize, the latter and special.
- I'm ready. - Miguel tries to get up, but the fat man waves his arms.
- Sit, sit. This is the last test, but the most serious. Now you will be replaced with blank cartridges and given three hours. During this short period of time you are obliged to bring here more than a million new francs.
- Where to bring it from? - Miguel is extremely focused. The rosy-cheeked one smiles like a good old dad.
- That’s the point: you will get this million yourself. I warn you: you do not have the right to kill anyone, you do not have the right to cause physical or mental harm. The whole task is precisely that you will bring money here, relying solely on your... intellect. Well, the gun is only for your protection. I warn you: if you commit illegal acts during your operation and are arrested by the French police, you will be punished in accordance with the laws of this country and should not count on our help. I emphasize: you are obliged to remain silent about your task, no matter what happens to you. The money will be returned to its rightful owners. I warn you again: no damage - not even moral. Do you understand everything?
- Understood nothing. - Gonzalez rose from his chair. - Bring a million new francs in three hours without killing, robbing, stealing or even scaring anyone. So?
- So.
- Well, how is this possible?
- That's your business, Mr. Gonzalez. My advice to you: don't make rash decisions. This test determines whether you fly to the S-14 area or not. Take action. And our man will accompany you. You know him, he brought you here. He is French and will help you find your way around the city. In addition, it will keep you from acting rashly. Bon Voyage.
Miguel shook the little hand and said goodbye and left. His head was in complete fog.

An hour and a half later, Gonzalez and his silent companion entered the same house. Again the dark front room, again the same voice: “Go upstairs.” Probably a tape recorder, Miguel thought. The pink one was sitting at the table.

Drongo - 1

To be human means to feel that you are responsible for everything.

Instead of an introduction

When you wait every minute for a phone call, and it rings at three in the morning, then, probably, there is an incomprehensible pattern in this. Siegfried extended his hand to the receiver. For the fourth month now, the phone has been on the table next to the bed.

— Is this the Bergstrasse-Odenwald park?

“No, you have the wrong number,” he tried to answer as calmly as possible, but felt that his voice trembled treacherously.

“It’s strange, I’ve been calling this phone for seven years now and I’ve never made a mistake.” “Sorry,” an unfamiliar voice said clearly, and long beeps were heard in the receiver.

Meltzer slowly lowered his hand. Apparently, something very important happened if permission was given for such a conversation. Recalling events last days, he mechanically began to get dressed, not paying attention to the telephone receiver, which remained lying on the bed.

Three hours ago, a West German airline Lufthansa Boeing 737 was stolen in Mallorca. The plane headed for Italy. According to received information, there is a woman among the terrorists. Local observers directly indicate that the hijacking of the plane may be a continuation of the Schleyer case. As you know, on September 6 this year, the Chairman of the Federal Association of German Employers, Hans Martin Schleyer, was kidnapped from his car. All four of Schleyer's bodyguards were killed. In connection with these events, the visit of British Prime Minister Callaghan to Bonn was postponed. Chancellor Schmidt personally headed the headquarters for the search for Schleyer.

As already reported, the hijacked Boeing 737 plane landed in Rome yesterday. After a short stop, the liner headed for Egypt. The representative of the Palestine Liberation Organization categorically denied any rumors about the involvement of his organization in this abduction. According to reports coming from Bonn, the German government is analyzing the situation.

The plane of the German airline Lufthansa, stolen two days ago, arrived today on the island of Crete, landing at a NATO military base. Despite all attempts by representatives of the Egyptian authorities to persuade the terrorists to surrender, the plane took off. As our correspondent reports from Cairo, Yasser Arafat's special envoy took part in negotiations with the terrorists, but he also failed to solve the problems of the hostages. According to reports from Bonn, the CDU-CSU opposition bloc has demanded the introduction of new laws providing for the death penalty for terrorists.

Meltzer looked around with interest. It's been two years since he's been here. Built at the beginning of the 17th century, the church was located not far from the Gothic Cathedral of St. Remigius, built four hundred years earlier.

Someone's footsteps were heard. On this Saturday, Bonn lived his usual measured life.

Students were hurrying past to the Friedrich Wilhelm University, which was very close by. He heard English spoken. Siegfried instinctively tensed. No. This group English tourists, heading to Beethoven's house.

- Excuse me, aren't you Mr. Reinhart?

Siegfried turned around.

In front of him stood a smiling fat man of about fifty. Meltzer didn’t even notice where he came from, and this already testified to the high professionalism of the newcomer. The fat man was sweating all the time, despite the rather cool weather, and was holding a large blue handkerchief in his hand, with which he constantly wiped his face. His eyes showed sly wrinkles, he was all sparkling with merriment, his mouth was stretched in a smile, but his eyes... his eyes, warily examining his interlocutor, were attentive and cold.

To be human means to feel that you are responsible for everything.

A. de Saint-Exupéry

Instead of an introduction

Is this the Bergstrasse-Odenwald park?

No, you have the wrong number,” he tried to answer as calmly as possible, but felt that his voice trembled treacherously.

It’s strange, I’ve been calling this phone number for seven years now and I’ve never made a mistake. Sorry,” an unfamiliar voice said clearly, and long beeps were heard in the receiver.

Meltzer slowly lowered his hand. Apparently, something very important happened if permission was given for such a conversation. Recalling the events of the last few days, he mechanically began to get dressed, not paying attention to the telephone receiver, which remained lying on the bed.

...

France Press from Madrid. October 13, 1977

Three hours ago, a West German airline Lufthansa Boeing 737 was stolen in Mallorca. The plane headed for Italy. According to received information, there is a woman among the terrorists. Local observers directly indicate that the hijacking of the plane may be a continuation of the Schleyer case. As you know, on September 6 this year, the Chairman of the Federal Association of German Employers, Hans Martin Schleyer, was kidnapped from his car. All four of Schleyer's bodyguards were killed. In connection with these events, the visit of British Prime Minister Callaghan to Bonn was postponed. Chancellor Schmidt personally headed the headquarters for the search for Schleyer.

...

The Associated Press reported from Rome. October 14, 1977

As already reported, the hijacked Boeing 737 plane landed in Rome yesterday. After a short stop, the liner headed for Egypt. The representative of the Palestine Liberation Organization categorically denied any rumors about the involvement of his organization in this abduction. According to reports coming from Bonn, the German government is analyzing the situation.

...

United Press International. October 15, 1977

The plane of the German airline Lufthansa, stolen two days ago, arrived today on the island of Crete, landing at a NATO military base. Despite all attempts by representatives of the Egyptian authorities to persuade the terrorists to surrender, the plane took off. As our correspondent reports from Cairo, Yasser Arafat's special envoy participated in negotiations with the terrorists, but he also failed to solve the problems of the hostages. According to reports from Bonn, the CDU-CSU opposition bloc has demanded the introduction of new laws providing for the death penalty for terrorists.

Bonn. October 15, 1977. Jesuit Church

Someone's footsteps were heard. On this Saturday, Bonn lived his usual measured life.

Students were hurrying past to the Friedrich Wilhelm University, which was very close by. He heard English spoken. Siegfried instinctively tensed. No. This is a group of English tourists heading to Beethoven's house.

Excuse me, aren't you Mr. Reinhart?

Siegfried turned around.

No,” he replied, “but I am his close friend, and Mr. Reinhart asked me to come in his place.”

It seemed that the fat man was even happy.

Very kind of him. “Very,” he repeated and, without changing his tone, suggested: “Let’s go to the Town Hall.” “They took twenty steps in silence, looking sideways at each other. Siegfried waited patiently for the alien to finally speak. The fat man exhaled strangely and began quietly:

You are obviously already aware of why we needed this meeting?

Yes,” Meltzer answered honestly, “I’m aware of it.” True, before that I believed that it was possible to do without our participation in this operation. However, I was apparently mistaken, otherwise the federal government would not have had to resort to our help.

“You’re right,” the alien quickly agreed, “the situation is tense now.” After the events of September 6th, everyone was waiting for some kind of act. We took safety measures, but we could not foresee everything. The Chancellor personally addressed Mr. Regional Commissioner with a request for help. All surprises must be completely excluded, he emphasized in a conversation with me. The death of hostages can cause great consequences, and not only in our country.

Why is this operation not entrusted to Wegener's group? - Meltzer asked.

The GHA-9 group is already involved in this matter,” the interlocutor answered, stopping at the Town Hall, “however, our government would like to have guarantees.

Are the kidnappers known? - Siegfried asked gloomily, deciding that it was time to get down to business.

Yes. This is a red group of anarchist terrorists. RAF.

Are they really communists? - Meltzer chuckled incredulously.

“They are the same communists as Joseph Strauss,” his interlocutor joked, “although they call themselves “Reds”,” and, pleased with his joke, he laughed loudly.

However, this does not concern me,” Siegfried said coldly. - You know, we don’t interfere in politics.

Of course, of course,” his companion hastened to agree with him, abruptly ending his laughter, “we have been strictly warned about everything.

Did the kidnappers set conditions?

Yes, they demand the release of their leaders.