The manually examined bodies are pushed back into the freezer (with pulleys underneath the freezer so that they can be easily fed into and out of the elevator), the freezer is fed into the elevator, where several transporters stand next to the freezer, and the elevator door closes in front of Tom.

Tom had to put his hands in his trouser pockets and cling to the groin, hoping that the heat would bring some comfort to his hands - every finger and both palms were frozen and numb, corpses were a terrible thing, they lay quietly, but they could suck the heat and life of the living like something evil, and then spit out the cold death air, like a tree sucks carbon dioxide and exhales oxygen—Tom had seen dead people in hospitals and funeral homes before, but they had never made him so cold, Chill.

The elevator buzzed up in the dark, and the elevator was brightly lit, but as Tom felt, the living people in the elevator were both mentally and physically chilling at the same time.

"Next time, let them put less refrigerant," muttered one of the delivery personnel, who turned his head and spat a mouthful of gray, sticky phlegm into the corner of the elevator: "If it's colder, it's ice that comes out of my mouth." He looked at the others, trying to find a companion in the middle who had similar feelings: "How long do we have to stay here?" ”

An older man frowned at his words, pursed his lips and uttered a prayer akin to a curse, one hand behind his back, making a very old and rare gesture to ward off evil spirits.

"It's a low-speed elevator." Another person said: "It will take at least eight or nine minutes to get to the top, and you have to ......" The hum of the elevator suddenly stopped, and the people in the elevator clearly felt their bodies shaking.

"What happened?"

"Oh, there's nothing to be alarmed about," the man from before continued, "Like I said, it's eight or nine minutes if everything goes well, and if it's like this, I mean, there's a routine check-up, then I don't know how long it's going to take." Rest assured," he added, "just some scans to see if you have anything you brought that you haven't reported." He raised his head, and the entire elevator compartment was covered with stainless steel, with no handrails around, and the top was also cold metal, and the light came through the gap in the metal plate. As he had done before, he had not been able to find anything resembling a surveillance probe, except for a few faint wisps of smoke swirling down from the top. He couldn't tell for a moment whether the smoke came from the roof of the elevator or the condensation of the refrigerant, but after only a breath or two, he noticed that his companion's face was suddenly swollen and enlarged, and he wanted to speak and ask questions, but his tongue was completely numb.

He collapsed in the elevator with his co-workers.

The elevator was silent, and after a dozen seconds, it hummed again as it went up the two wide, sturdy rails.

***

"Is he really in there?" Martin asked, "Is it the transporter?" I didn't see him. Or a corpse? Can he really hold his breath for that long? Why didn't they notice his heartbeat and body temperature? ”

"Who knows, maybe he's really like the Lapagos Sea Eagle who can pause his breath for forty-five minutes by lowering his heart rate, and don't forget that we're never dealing with an ordinary person," Abel said with a slight sarcasm, his sharp eyes staring at the twenty-five-inch LCD screen: "Of course, it could be an 'empty pocket', we can't be sure that he will do what we want, he has never called our boss to pour out his heart- This possibility was based on his previous style, methods, hobbies, and information provided to him by the anesthesiologist, as well as the conversation between the two of them—this is the most likely...... But it's not 100 percent. ”

"To put it simply, could we have waited for six hours in this cute little computer room?" Martin interrupted him sourly: "Those poor transporters are really choked by this bad wind (the wind that makes everyone unlucky is the bad wind). ”

"A shot of neutralizer can solve the problem, and they have a bit of a headache at best." Abel said a little impatiently, he knew that this young man and Anthony. There is a deep hatred between Hopkins, and the former may prefer to monopolize the prize alone, especially when the prey has fallen into a trap and is within reach; That's where he wasn't satisfied — he wasn't really sympathizing with the unrelated people involved: "Okay, it's time for me to go." He turned and nodded to the members of the task force, as a greeting to his abilities, which were not suitable for use in such a place - there was not even a mouse here except for his colleagues, innocent people, and a criminal who also needed to appear.

If it weren't for this, he would have been bound to participate in this operation - the practice of the agency, when rounding up a criminal, the members of the previous operation team have the right and obligation to join first - they have "face-to-face" experience, which is a valuable and intangible asset.

Catherine? Oh, you all get the idea.

Abel strode out of the computer room, Martin rubbing his fingers gloomily behind him, blue-white electricity scurrying around the tips of his fingers.

Martin's bad mood lasted until the elevator that might be carrying a criminal entered the machine room, the emergency control system was opened, the elevator's steel cable outward descending drum was secured, the claw brake brake was activated, and the vertically raised elevator doors slowly rose...... Before the others could act according to plan, Martin suddenly dodged the two men in front of him, rushed forward, and pressed ten fingers on the elevator compartment.

A strong electric current slammed through the metal plate of the elevator, and through the metal plate it was transmitted to the unconscious human and the corpse in the freezer bag, the electric light flashed a few times before going out, and under the blue flash brought by the electric current, the members of the operation team waiting outside the door watched the transportation personnel who should have been unconscious screaming and raising their heads and necks, and the enormous, uncontrollable pain brought by the electric shock to every nerve, every muscle, every inch of skin made them cry out hoarsely, and the tongue stretched out— Martin smiled in the shadows of the elevator, his fingers leaving the elevator for a few seconds, just enough for the crew to grab the guys by the hair and drag them away from the dangerous place, and then he put his fingers back - a corpse wrapped in a silver bag suddenly trembled and straightened up at the sound of electricity!

Martin laughed, the current intensified in his laughter, and he felt so good that he didn't realize that the whole plan had been messed up by his own actions.

A minute or two later, everyone in the room smelled a strange smell.

Well, it's like roasted frozen meat, a dirty, greasy, cold burnt smell......

***

Sasha dreamed.

He saw his mother, alive, sitting on a wicker chair on the balcony, her eyes closed, her breathing steady, fixing herself into a sculpture with graceful lines, her blonde hair tied up in a smooth bun, wearing the kind of elastic black tights that dancers like, revealing only her face, hair, hands and feet, her head resting on one shoulder, her hands open on the armrests of the wicker, her legs curled together, her bare feet tucked side by side in the corners of the wicker, Her fingers and toenails were a healthy light red and she was not wearing nail polish.

Someone is playing the samba drum, with the left hand, the right hand, the left hand twice, and then the right hand......

Sasha was held by a person, peeking at her mother from a large white butterfly ginger flower, she was so beautiful. The pollen made him sneeze uncomfortably, and the sound was small, and he stared at himself as he unleashed his fist bound in the air, like a crumpled dough, so small, so fragile.

The man holding him let out a breath-like laugh from his throat, grabbed his little fist and stuffed it into the soft swaddling clothes, and Sasha saw a man's hand, a pair of hands that were easily reminiscent of those of a pianist or a surgeon, pale, elongated, and distinctly jointed, but very powerful, very powerful—white sleeves, cuffs with silver cufflinks inlaid with amethysts, simple in shape, and smooth lines, which Sasha had more than once taken from Anthony. Mr. Hopkins had seen these cufflinks on his cuffs—since Sasha was born, Anthony Hopkins had seen them. Mr. Hopkins was again interested in all sorts of purple things, "how good," he often said, "Sasha, I know you like purple." "—he hadn't liked purple since that happened twenty years ago.

Sasha tried to reach out to catch them, but the swaddling clothes were tightened, and he was restless inside.

"Shh......h Hush. The man said, rubbing his lips and cheeks against the baby's soft face: "It's going to be good soon, we're going to take the chance, we're going to hit it with one blow, and we can't make her feel pain." He straightened up, his chest pressed against the baby's cheek, his heartbeat mingling with the sound of the samba drum, knock...... Sasha was held tightly by one hand, and he smelled lavender, cypress, sandalwood, amber, and tobacco, and he became more and more uneasy, and his head, covered with soft fetal hair, moved on the man's hard ribs—the sheen of metal flickered in the corner of his eye, and Sasha saw the murder weapon—a fine crossbow, and the cluster of arrows mounted on it, thick and short, shining.

Sasha was sure he heard this particular stringed instrument playing, and with a bang, a D note under the center C.

The bolt passed through the white flowers, tearing the petals, and Sasha tried to turn his head to look, but the fragile little neck did not help at all, and at last the man picked him up and turned to the balcony - he saw his mother's head hanging down, and the bolt pierced the skull precisely above the ear, and stuck in the thick hair, like some kind of trendy hairpin, and the thin blood ran down the sideburns, and flowed down the jaw, and into the straitjacket. She's giving her last gasps, she's dying.

Sasha couldn't take his eyes off it, but he knew that none of this was true, because he was only twenty-six days old when his mother died, and a baby who had been in the world less than thirty days old could not have such a keen sense of hearing, smell, and sight, and he could not have witnessed her death with his own eyes.

His memories of his mother were not even enough to support him in creating a hazy image in the palace of memory.

(To be continued)