Читать книгу Fly Hunter: The Story of an Inquisitor онлайн

– Write in Farsi: "Flip a coin, or else these photos will end up with the Great Iosif Besarionis. One day to decide."

The henchman reached for the pen Sardar Kareem had been using, but Aman-Jalil slapped his forehead.

– Forgot about your own fingerprints, fool? – he reminded the henchman. – They're on file in many databases.

He handed him a pencil… Once the note was written, Aman-Jalil quietly opened the window, gave a signal, and two henchmen lifted Sardar Ali from the bed and threw him into the courtyard. The dull thud of impact was barely audible. Leaving the window open, Aman-Jalil quickly left the room, ensuring it was empty and left no traces. The henchmen followed him…

At the reception, Aman-Jalil lingered, took a bottle of French cognac from his briefcase, and demonstratively poured himself a drink using a small glass that screwed onto the bottle. The concierge and henchmen watched enviously.

– Want some too? – Aman-Jalil asked affectionately.

– Of course, yeah! – the henchmen mumbled, swallowing saliva, while the concierge promptly fetched three glasses from under the counter.

Aman-Jalil poured them full.

– Drink up, you've earned it!

They eagerly gulped down the cognac and… collapsed dead on the floor in unison. Aman-Jalil carefully poured the cognac from his glass back into the bottle, tightly closed it, stashed it in his briefcase, and left the hotel. His car was already waiting, and Ahmed's private plane awaited at the airfield… The newspapers, briefly reporting a mysterious poisoning in the hotel lobby, said nothing of Sardar Ali's death. Nadir had tried to protect his friend's name from slander. The naive man, believing in people's better qualities, had been asked to display their worst.

"Where did he stash his comrades?.. They flew to the capital together, but only one returns. He must've exposed his henchmen to gunfire, while he remains unscathed. Look at that nose, like a parrot's beak, all the growth must've gone into his nose… The inquisitors have it easy, see what cognac he drinks, French, and won't even share. No matter, our mountain 'Navesh' is just as good, one guy told me: the Saka chief only drinks that, two crates fly out every month, he drinks it all himself… And this tough chief enjoys Ahmed's complete trust, otherwise the plane wouldn't be at his disposal… But where did he stash his comrades?.. Maybe he left someone behind to keep watch? Ha! Watch! Even a child could figure out these henchmen, they're so obvious from a mile away. And why fly a plane to keep watch? Isn't there anyone in the capital to do that? More than enough. But if there's no one to watch, then why?.. Forget about others' business. Better keep an eye on the helm, avoid falling into a pit. Generally, the less you know, the longer you live… Gurg was talking about the annotations, where did he disappear to, who knows? Not even his wife knows… 'Without the right to correspondence'… For everyone else, the man is dead. Maybe he's alive somewhere, but is that living? No wine, no kebabs, no khachapuri, no Sudanese chicken, no women… A-ra, what is there?.. No one knows what there is or if there's anything. Like the afterlife: everyone knows it exists, but no one knows what's there. You won't know until you get there. And who wants to get there ahead of time? I swear, no one!.. The big-nosed one smiles, satisfied… Drinking such cognac, everyone would be satisfied… And not offering any to a fellow countryman… Not very comradely, eh!"