Blood Diamonds

Wine Talking

They ran out of money faster than John had expected. Mr. Taylor was supposed to be here by noon tomorrow, but John wanted breakfast right now. Deciding to look for a solution to his financial situation on the street, Smith offered to go with him to his three friends. Everyone agreed, except Guillaume, who, pleading a hangover headache, stayed at the hotel.

"It's not a bad town," John said as he and his friends walked out onto one of the city's central avenues. "You know, Bernie--"

Suddenly John, without finishing, ran after a young man, caught up with him ten paces later, and began to talk animatedly with him. Then he came back quickly and poked Bernard in the side.

"Do you know who it is?" He whispered quickly. "This is a rich American ex-bootlegger Mr. Adamson. We go to him. Now you, Bernie, will again, paradoxically, become my foreign agent, who is going to Berlin. Do not forget to inflate your cheeks and furrow your eyebrows menacingly on the bridge of your nose. Oh, damn it! Mary, congratulations, you are once again accepted as one of my wives. What a fortune! If I won't make now a hundred dollars, I allow you to spit in my eyes! Let's go! Let's go!"

Mary saw Bernie chuckled at Smith's last words. She knew that Bernie was ready to do it at any moment.

Indeed, standing at some distance from the concessionaires was Mr. Adamson, milky blue with fear, wearing an itchy suit and boater.

"Here he is," John said in a whisper, as the three of them approached him, "here is the man I told you about. Yes, yes, a foreign agent! He is going to Berlin to perform an important political task. Don't pay any attention to his costume. This is for conspiracy. And this is my wife, who is also involved in this operation. Take us somewhere immediately. We need to talk."

Mr. Adamson, who had come to Calais to take a break from the American turmoil of the Great Depression, was completely depressed. He hoped never to meet John Smith again on his way. Humming some nonsense about the New Roosevelt Deal, Mr. Adamson put the three of them in a taxi and drove them to a downtown restaurant.

Restaurant tables were set up next to a neat lawn planted with colorful petunias. The orchestra droned on, and the little waitress, under the happy eyes of the customers, deftly ran between the tables with a tray in her hands.

"Order something!" Smith is explaining to the half-dead Mr. Adamson.

At the experienced Mr. Adamson's command, several croissants were served with raspberry jam and coffee.

"And something real to eat," John said. "If you knew, my dear Mr. Adamson, what my friends and I have had to endure today, you would marvel at our courage. And what are we going to do--"

Mr. Adamson wondered desperately why he had come here in the first place. Hhe wished he had stayed in the States. But he meekly ordered three meat salads with white wine and turned his obliging face to John.

"Well," John said, looking around and lowering his voice, "in a nutshell. We've been followed for two months by German agents, so I had to take my dear little wife... By the way, this is Mary, my wife. Well, I had to take her with me, and we'll probably have an ambush waiting for us at the safe house tomorrow. We'll have to shoot back."

Sweat broke out on Mr. Adamson's brow.

"We'll be in Berlin the day after tomorrow," Smith continued, looking earnestly at the unfortunate man. "Do you know what Hitler is planning against America? Oh, no, don't say anything! Be silent! I was lucky enough to become one of the volunteers who will go to Germany for sabotage work. And this," he pointed a finger at Bernie, who was eating a salad, "is our best agent. It is he who will work among our potential enemy. Tomorrow is the most important day. We are afraid that there will be an ambush waiting for us at the safe house. But we are glad to meet in this unsettling environment a dedicated fighter for the motherland, my dear Mr. Adamson!"