"What makes you think that?" — Brosman asked in a flash.
"You said the cops took notice of you right after you accelerated. Is that right?" "So."
"And then, obviously, when they had time to see the license plates — they started shooting. They wouldn't just shoot a daredevil. They knew who they were shooting at." "Well… Maybe."
"The license plates were probably set by the FBI… By the way, Longe, I think this Jeep is yours?"
"Yes, — " Lightning withdrew.
"Well, there you see, so what's all this complete followed by a collection of matting
on the subject for a full twenty-five seconds — But the only good thing is that at least you got here, and I don't know what to do next "
"We just need to " — Brosman began.
"Nothing is simple. So you just forget the word 'just'," Vychiko snapped at him with his favorite expression.
"Anyway, we need to get out of town."
"Yes you are the cleverest!" — Anastozzi nodded his head. He liked to say "simple," though he usually didn't realize it.
"Maybe by helicopter "
"Yeah, we'll do some more digging. — I intervened. — We should wait until things calm down and— By the way, no one's seen you, Pierce, so you can go on your way."
My phrase gave Brosman a slight shock. Afterward, he grinned with great satisfaction and breathed a sigh of relief: "You're right, yikes. You're damn right."
"Oh, it's all complete…" — Vychiko began his new statement, while the "lover of intricate things" headed for the exit.
Plus one village
August 19, 20:31 PM.
The heated conversation between the wanted men and the head of the organization in the largest city in the United States continued.
Suddenly, the phone on the desk of the "boss" rang.
"What?" he replied, and after a few seconds added. — Have her come into my office." Then he hung up the phone and announced to the world, "Farmer will be right in." "Who the hell is that?" — Amoramente and I asked at the same time.
The expression on Anastozzi's face changed dramatically for the worse, "Don't you know Farmer?"
"No, I'm just asking…" — our humble duo remained the same. "Well, I guess you'll find out."
The door to the room opened and an ambalistic-looking "kolkhoznik" in his proper clothes entered. As a matter of fact, I had never seen such people in such clothes before, nor did I expect to see them in the "embassy". When this pile of "communist labor" was shifting from foot to foot, one could think that a hole would "grow" in the floor and plaster would fly from the walls (which, by the way, did not exist — they were replaced by gorgeous wallpaper).
Upon reaching the middle of the room, the 20th century wonder unclenched his lips and said, "The boss has arrived."
"Okay. I just got a call from David (obviously Anastozzi's right-hand man). Said you have a plan."
"It is."
"Tell me about it."
"From what I understand, three subjects need to get out of the city, and as soon as possible."
"You got it right."
"Since the surface is blocked off by the police, I suggest we exit through the sewers…" Vychiko's pupils dilated sharply, "Your idea is a complete… (mate again)."
"But the boss…"
"The idea of your… (checkmate again)."
"The sewer goes out to the Brooklyn Bridge…" "Look, you're wha… (the mate got into a rhythm)."
"Hold on, Luciano. — I got into someone else's mat. — I think that's a pretty good suggestion."
Anastozzi calmed down a bit, but still continued to swear.
"So you're suggesting we go out through the sewers to the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge and then cross the East River?"
"Quite right."
"Oh, it's all fairy tales," — exceeded the voice of the Sicilian master of the mat. "I said, 'Wait a minute, Luciano. Suppose we cross the East River, what next?" "That I don't know…"
"Yeah, you don't know neither…" — Võchiko continued to blubber. "Okay, I've thought of something…" — I wondered.
"What else did you come up with in there?"
"No big deal… Anyway, tell your guys to expect us in three cars from 10pm tomorrow." "Why tomorrow?"
"I want to sleep."
"And why on three?" — Lightning intervened. "For me, you and colch…"
"I'm not crawling in piles of shit."
"It's dangerous on the surface. The cops and fedaras are probably staring at the bridges over the river with their eyes wide open."
"I'm going in a helicopter."
"I think they'll follow up on all the requests to order helicopters and do something about it, so don't think Brosman's idea is any safer."
"I know, but either way I'm not facing the death penalty."
"It's up to you…" I turned back to Farmer. — And you, while I sleep, prepare the blueprints for the tunnels… Yes, by the way, maybe there are some communications under the East River and we won't have to swim to…"
"They're there, I know that, but you'll have to climb up to your neck in shit."
"Well, okay, we'll see, but I need to get some sleep first, we crawl out tomorrow at 2100 hours."
A safe road through the shit
August 20, 20:34 PM.
"Here, we'll pass through here, then here and come out here. — the collective farmer explained to me. — Where we go next is up to you…"
"So you're saying there's a shitload of shit in the communications under the East River?" "Yes."
I looked up at him, he was a head taller than me, "Up to your neck?" "Yes."
"You mean I'm going to have to swim there?" "I guess."
"In that case, we'll have to swim over the top."
"Your business, but you know, even though I've been climbing sewers for a long time and I'm used to the stench, I don't get much pleasure from it…"
"Yeah my job isn't great either, so you do as you're told, now I'm going to go change and you wait by the hatch."
"Good."
I went to the designated room and began my transformation from a smartly dressed man to an ordinary gas worker. The first thing that went down was my raincoat, followed by my pants. After I had to remove the mechanism from the MSP "Groza" and put it in a waterproof bag, then all the attributes of my "inconspicuous" suitcase went there, except for my laptop and passports (I had only one passport with me, made immediately after my release, the rest exploded with another diplomat before I was caught). Then, taking off my shirt, I pulled on the suit prepared for me and shoved the former clothes into the same bag.
When Farmer saw me, he almost fell through his favorite hatch in the underground garage of our "embassy." "And I thought you were going in your suit, Mr. "
"Just call me Joe," — why I chose that particular name this time, I don't know myself. "Paul, it's a pleasure," — we shook hands and got in the shit.
Before I could get to the bottom, I smelled such a stench that I almost threw up.
It was very dark, but you could see banana skins, the remains of pads and diapers, blurry absorbent cotton, colorful pieces of paper and so on, as well as, of course, the shit itself, without much difficulty.
The collective farmer lit a flashlight, and so did I. After Farmer tied me with a rope to himself, waved me towards the big darkness ahead and "went into his own business," followed by comrade Faust.
We'd been walking for a few minutes when Paul turned right and for a moment the beam of his "firefly" disappeared completely around the corner (I was surprised that the light didn't spread a bit into the immediate area, so it felt like I was walking there alone) and the rope tightened and started to yank.