The road home
Aug. 21, 8:03 a.m.
Every killer, even the worst one, has a home (professionals have severaclass="underline" one main home and several reserve homes). So my home was in Berlin. The keys to the apartment were buried at the entrance. Good thing that I had enough money to get to Germany (I had 100 dollars and 100 euros in cash + a MasterCard credit card with my 500 euros).
My apartment is something between a Batman cave and the laboratory of a weapons- crazed designer. The stuffing of the apartment is so expensive that it more than took up my two "fees" of 250,000 euros. What only there was not: from pistol "TK" (Tula Korovin; old Russian pistol caliber 6.35) to RPG-29 "Vampire" (the best Russian grenade launcher caliber 105.2 millimeters), from "Pentium 4" to a portable computer "Omni book 6000" and, of course, several copies of floppy disks containing such information that even the Goat-Nostra will not be sweet. But in the meantime, I have one very important thing to complete, so I logged on to the Internet and contacted a very important person: "This is Faust".
"I figured out what you asked."
{ "info".
The data I've been looking for for five whole years now came across my monitor. "Are the terms agreed upon?"
"Yes, fifty million dollars."
"Thank you, now we're even," — the connection stopped.
A master with greedy hands
Aug. 21, 11:06 a.m.
Strangely enough, what I was looking for was actually right under my nose, that is, in the city of Hamburg, Fridrihstrasse 17, square 243.
I made one short and one long ring at the door. After a minute, the door was opened by a swarthy old man with a nasty look (obviously Turkish): "What do you want?"
"I'm on the record," I replied and nodded toward the briefcase in my left hand (50 million (in jewelry, since in bills it would be several containers; I had to explain this to the "salesman" who spent a full ten minutes "chiming in" on the fact that he had seen such sums and even more transported in small light-colored aluminum suitcases in movies) from a Swiss bank from my now 116-million-dollar account).
"Okay, come on in."
He walked me down a hallway shared with the neighboring apartment to his front door, stopped me at the threshold and said, "Everything in place?"
Before I could make a sound, the door swung open, and the big Rottweiler behind it growled at me like a madman.
"Don't worry, he doesn't bite… So, what about payment?"
"It's all right. Let's go in and make sure, but in the meantime, put the dog away…" "He doesn't bite…"
"I said put the dog away."
"The Professor" took the dog by the collar and led him away, and I weaved in…
"Here's everything-" I opened the case on the table. — It's your turn. Where's the medicine?"
"Oooooh… No way…" "Where's the cure?"
"The Professor" took out some glass from behind his sinus and held it up, "Give me the diplomat or I'll break it!"
I closed the case and threw it to the floor, "Don't be fooled Professor, let's do this the easy way…"
The one in turn tossed the vial over to me and began examining the pile of jewelry. "Where do you need to put it in?"
"Intravenously… By the way, you're not leaving yet… You only have one part of the medicine in your hands, capable of only suspending the tumor, but if you don't take the second… This one! — he grabbed the second vial. — The disease will worsen, and the patient will be dead in a few days. So bring more of this."
"Let's not complicate things. Just think about it, where do you need this much?" "Science is priceless…"
I took out a Beretta 93R (actually the same as 92F, but with automatic firing mode, which, by the way, was on) with a 20-round clip and a big silencer screwed on the muzzle, after which it was impossible to hear anything at all, pulled the trigger and continued: "Anyway, if you don't want to do it the hard way, you can do it the hard way (if he demands money for the second time, it's not certain that he won't demand it for the third time, and so you can go on and on)".
"Suit yourself…" — The asshole threw the glass on the floor, and I fired wildly at the white coat. A black dog jumped out from around the corner and ran in my direction. Bullets kept whistling here and there….
Hello, son
Aug. 21, 3:13 p.m.
As I have already mentioned "my son is at home with a terrible disease", this disease is called Cancer of the brain (not all of it of course). Of course, there's no cure for cancer, except for that schizo in Hamburg. He said the drug had to be administered intravenously. Maybe he was lying, but in any case, there is no other cure. It was time to try it.
My son lived very close to my main apartment — just a block away. He had lived there alone for six years, after a car accident that killed his mother (but not my wife; there was no time for a wife), and the last time we met was four years ago….
I opened the door with my key and stepped inside, covering the metal barrier. A long hallway opened up in front of me, turning in two directions (one into the kitchen and bathroom, the other into another bathroom and the living area of the five-room apartment).
The atmosphere was very quiet, but tense (my son was rarely in silence and in peace in general, so, most likely, the dead hum could be only without him, but not this time) — it felt something creepy, wild and very dangerous, as if in the lair of an ogre.
I took out the "CZ-85" (Czech pistol with good reviews, for example, good penetration ability with 500–518 J. of muzzle energy, CZ — Czech zbrojovka; "Beretta 93R" "lay" next to the mad scientist, and the new barrel again from home) and headed slowly and carefully towards the kitchen. After taking a couple steps and hiding around the corner, there was a loud and nasty creaking sound around the same corner. I turned around, knowing for sure that there was someone around the corner and, obviously, that someone was armed as well (I remember a similar case, when I had to stand in that position for two hours without twitching or even breathing deeply — it's not hard to guess who won then, but five years had passed since then, and at my age only a month has a big impact).
I heard the sound of movement, sharp, lightning-fast. I responded in kind, sticking the barrel out and preparing to pull the trigger, and saw… a sly, calm "wolf" face, like my own twenty years ago.
"What, you want to put a hole in your father?"
It was my son, poking at his submachine gun "VIKHR" (a shortened version of the special automatic rifle "Val"; caliber 9 mm with the use of special (SP-5 and SP-6) cartridges, not to mention the penetrating ability — at a distance of 150 meters this thing penetrates the engine block of the car, so that if a bullet hits my head from such a distance, the brains would fly in all directions; By the way, for those who do not know — made in Russia). This is the life we have, when two close people almost killed each other out of joy.
After the tension created, there was a quick release: we simultaneously, as if off the chain and hugged each other, patting each other on the back and almost shouting at mutual speech lines: "Long time no see!"
"Four whole years!"
"Why don't you come, you ask?" "Dog work…"
"So dump her to hell!"
"Already quit…" — after I said the phrase, my son pulled away from me and looked straight into my eyes with complete bewilderment, not believing his ears, and then asked again: "Dumped?"
"Yeah, I quit. I'm bored."
"I don't understand anything… Did he run away or something?" "Well, yeah."
"We both know perfectly well that you will be found…"