- زمان مطالعه 6 دقیقه
- سطح خیلی سخت
دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»
این فصل را میتوانید به بهترین شکل و با امکانات عالی در اپلیکیشن «زیبوک» بخوانید
متن انگلیسی فصل
Death of a Killer
Later that night, while Russell was playing cards in the apartment across from Silvia’s home, Tobin looked at some photos. There were photos of Philippe, dead in the bathroom, and Jamal, dead in the closet. There were police photos of the African mask and the bomb-factory kitchen. He looked closely at a list of telephone numbers on the kitchen wall and copied them onto a piece of paper. He read a police report: the hair in the mask was Jamal’s. There were photos of the people from the Matoban Ambassador’s office. He looked at Philippe’s pictures from Africa: a small town, Ajene Xola and Simon Broome walking into a stadium. The next photo showed a large black car and three soldiers. Then there was a picture of a well-dressed African man. He was climbing out of the car and walking toward the stadium. It was Gamba!
“Xola’s dead…” Tobin said quietly.
Russell looked up from his card game. “Did you say something?” he asked.
Tobin didn’t reply. He moved to the window and looked at Silvia’s apartment. There was a black car outside the building and a man in Silvia’s living room.
“There’s somebody in there!” he shouted to Russell. He ran to the door and down into the street.
Gamba walked quietly through Silvia’s apartment. The living room was empty, so he went into the bedroom. The bathroom door was closed, but he could hear the shower. He shot three times through the door, then kicked it down. The shower was empty.
Tobin ran into the room. Both men stopped, and then Tobin pointed his gun at Gamba’s head.
“Drop your gun and lie face-down on the floor. Now!” he shouted.
Gamba said something in French and lifted up his gun. Tobin shot him. Then he ran into the bathroom and looked into the shower. Where was Silvia? He turned to the window; it was open and the street below was empty.
Tobin called the police and his boss, Jay Pettigrew. Russell joined them and they stood in the street outside Silvia’s apartment.
“Who is she?” Pettigrew asked. “Does somebody want to kill her? Or is she the killer?”
“I don’t know,” Tobin said.
“Well, where is she?” Pettigrew asked angrily. “Maybe you can ask her!”
“I don’t know,” Tobin said again. “She’s scared, but that doesn’t tell us anything. Russell, check these numbers.” He gave Russell the list of telephone numbers from Jamal’s kitchen wall.
“What’s happening, Tobin?” Pettigrew said.
“I thought that two different men - Jamal and Philippe - were the killers. But they’re both dead. Somebody wants us to ink it’s one of them. It isn’t.”
‘What about Silvia?” Pettigrew asked. “When something happens, she’s always there. She was on the bus with Kuman -“
“I don’t think she’s a killer,” Tobin said.
“Then who are we looking for?” Pettigrew said. “Zuwanie will here tomorrow morning. We don’t have much time.” A police officer brought out Gamba’s body. Nils Lud arrived at the same time and looked at the dead man’s face.
“Who is he?” he asked.
“Jean Gamba,” Tobin said. He looked closely at Nils Lud, but Lud’s face was empty. “Our bomber,” Tobin continued. “I shot him.”
“Where is the interpreter?” Lud asked.
“She’s gone. He missed her,” Tobin said.
“Can I look upstairs?” Lud asked. Tobin sent an agent upstairs with him.
“Go home and get some sleep,” Pettigrew said to Tobin.
“I’m going to wait for her,” Tobin protested.
“No, you’re not,” Pettigrew said. “Russell and Dot can look at her. You need sleep. I want you to be awake tomorrow morning.” He looked at his watch. “This morning. We have seven hours.”
Dot drove him home. “Tobin,” she said quietly, “I’m worried about you. They’re not our family and they’re not our friends. They’re our job. You told me that.”
Tobin looked out the car window. “I know,” he said. “And it’s true”
“She’ll be OK,” Dot said.
He left the car and went into his apartment. There was a message on the answering machine and he turned it on. He heard Silvia’s voice, and street noises behind it.
“… I’m fine, but I don’t want to talk… Tobin, you were right. My brother was right. Words don’t stop the killing. I’ve had enough… I’m going home.”
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