latelenovela Chapter 949 Somado
Chapter 949 Somado
[Time]: Autumn 1956, four hours after the approval of the "Silent Ones" program.
Location: Plaza in front of the Lincoln Memorial, Washington, D.C.
Jerry slowly parked the green engineering pickup truck, painted with the words "Urban Sanitation Maintenance," on the lawn next to the reflecting pool.
He didn't turn it off; the diesel engine made a rhythmic, hoarse sputtering sound.
He pushed open the car door and slammed it shut.
The commotion went unnoticed at the edge of the already crowded square, which possessed a peculiar solemnity.
He subconsciously tightened his oversized work jacket. The jacket wasn't quite the right size; the sleeves were a bit long, forcing him to roll them up several times.
Moreover, it wasn't because of the cold, but because the icy metal can inside his coat was pressed tightly against his ribs, causing him pain.
"Hey guy!"
The man sitting in the passenger seat, known as Lao Li, leaned out with a half-smoked, cheap cigarette dangling from his mouth.
His eyes were hidden under the brim of a baseball cap pulled low, obscuring his gaze; all that could be seen were the thin lips, pursed into a line, typical of secret agents.
"Check the pressure valve. Don't leave that thing in your pants."
Old Li's voice was very low, mixed in with the noise of the surrounding crowd, like a muffled whisper.
"If we mess this up, we won't even be able to get one of those hospital beds that can be used for intubation."
Jerry didn't answer, but instead checked the small valve switch with his hand through the fabric.
His fingers were a little stiff, not only because of the damn low temperature, but also because he knew what was in the jar.
Or rather, they were told what it was from above.
— "A mixture of a potent hypnotic and a strong influenza inducer."
At most, they'd keep someone in bed for three to five days, like those hippies who often got too high on drugs.
The officer, dressed in a sharp suit and smelling of cologne, said it so casually.
Jerry believed it.
He really tried desperately to believe this claim.
Only when he believes will the steps he takes now not feel like he's walking on stilts.
He carried the cleaning tool bucket containing a broom and dustpan, which he used to conceal his identity, and squeezed his way towards the most crowded area.
A mixed smell filled the air: the grease of hot dogs, the earthy odor after the rain, the smell of a soaked wool sweater, and a faint hint of tobacco.
It's too crowded here.
He could only turn sideways, like a fish struggling against the current.
Every time I pass by a crowd, I can even feel the heat emanating from countless bodies pressed together.
"Excuse me... excuse me, just a moment..."
He kept his head down, his gaze fixed on the trampled grass and cigarette butts on the ground. His voice sounded somewhat hoarse from trying to suppress it.
"Watch out, buddy!"
A strong, large hand helped him up; it belonged to a burly white man with a thick beard.
He was wearing a faded miner's jacket and was munching on half a loaf of bread.
Those hands, covered in coal dust and even with black grime under their fingernails, steadily supported Jerry's slightly swaying shoulders.
"It's not easy to work in this awful weather."
The burly man smiled, revealing a set of not-so-perfect but very white teeth.
"If those government bastards had even a tiny bit of their diligence, we wouldn't be here freezing."
As he spoke, he stuffed the other half of the bread he had torn off into Jerry's hand.
It was the cheapest kind of rye bread, as hard as a rock, and still warm from the man's hands.
"Here you go. I can tell you haven't eaten. This is some good stuff I brought from Pennsylvania; it'll keep you full."
Jerry froze. He held the slightly prickly piece of bread in his hand, the rough texture traveling along the lines of his palm all the way to his rapidly beating heart.
He looked up at the burly man. In the man's eyes, there was none of the suspicion and indifference he was used to seeing at the CIA base, but only the kind of unreserved kindness he had only seen in the eyes of his grandmother in the countryside.
This rioter, described by intelligence as "extremely dangerous and potentially capable of instigating unrest," had just shared his rations with a sanitation worker.
And the cleaner was hiding poison in his arms, poison meant to kill them.
In that instant, the metal can hidden inside the coat seemed to suddenly become scalding hot, so hot that Jerry almost screamed and threw it away on the spot.
"Thank you... thank you..."
Jerry felt as if a handful of scalding sand had been stuffed into his throat. He squeezed out the words through clenched teeth, not daring to look at the man's face. He lowered his head in a panic and practically fled into the crowd beside him.
He hid behind a makeshift tent made of waterproof tarpaulin, where hot soup was served, leaning against a few loose wooden stakes, breathing heavily.
His palms were covered in cold sweat, and he had already deformed the half-bread.
"Damn...damn!"
He cursed inwardly. He wasn't just cursing the task, but also cursing his own damned conscience.
He's a secret agent. He's professionally trained.
He should do this step like a machine, not like a woman whose hands tremble over half a loaf of bread.
—Think about your bill. Jerry.
Think about your retirement savings. Think about that oceanfront house in Miami that your boss promised you.
—Besides, it's just the flu...it'll only make them feel unwell for a few days at most.
That's it.
Correct.
The officer has no reason to lie to me.
The U.S. government never lies to its own people.
—That photo of Kowalski…that’s Chinese special effects! Definitely!
He took a deep breath of the cool air mixed with the aroma of soup and forced himself to stuff the half-bread into his pocket.
Then, he shakily reached into his pocket and touched the timer knob on the valve.
"Click, click, click."
Three extremely faint mechanical turning sounds.
It's like the sound of an old-fashioned watch being wound up.
But to Jerry, the sound was like a death knell.
three minutes.
Three minutes later, the compressed gas will propel the liquid disguised as a spray.
It is colorless, odorless, and will even immediately mix into the surrounding water vapor.
It's as if it never existed.
"Hey! You there! Stop slacking off!"
A loud-voiced Black woman, probably the volunteer leader here, was hurrying past him carrying a box of disposable paper cups.
She glanced at Jerry, who was squatting in the corner, lost in thought.
"If you're not busy, come help distribute the spoons! The soup will be ready soon!"
"No... I'm sorry... I just... I just want to rest for a bit."
Jerry stood up in a panic and pretended to grab a broom and sweep it haphazardly on the ground.
"There's too much trash here."
The woman didn't think much of it, muttered something, and left.
Jerry saw this as an opportunity. The tent for the hot soup was located upwind of the entire square.
Moreover, those large stainless steel barrels that were boiling were constantly spewing out large amounts of water vapor.
Thermal airflow is a natural carrier. If released at this location...
What did that expert with glasses say again?
—"Utilizing the microclimate of densely populated areas. High heat, humidity, and the breathing of people. This is a perfect petri dish that doesn't require electricity."
Jerry swallowed hard. He pretended to trip over a stone on the ground, his body seemingly staggering forward a few steps, bumping right next to one of the pillars supporting the tent, where the spare soup buckets were stored.
The instant he fell, he reached his hand inside his clothes.
I pressed the red release button with my thumb.
Then, with an extremely discreet, almost magician-like skill, he slid the small canister, no bigger than a palm, that was hissing out deathly mist, out of his sleeve.
The jar slid less than ten centimeters along the ground before precisely wedging itself into the shadow between the two spare soup buckets and the canvas.
No one noticed.
Except for the stray dog dozing in the corner of the tent. That yellow mongrel dog with half a bald patch.
It seemed to have keenly heard that extremely faint hissing sound, or perhaps its animal instincts allowed it to smell something in the air that didn't belong there.
"Wang!"
It suddenly jumped up, arched its back, and barked wildly at that corner.
"Wang Wang Wang!"
The sudden commotion startled several people nearby, and a few young men in line turned around to look.
Jerry's heart nearly stopped for a moment. He felt like his scalp was about to explode.
If someone goes to look...
If someone finds that jar...
His hand groped on the ground and grabbed the empty cigarette box that Old Li had left in his bucket earlier.
"Ouch...this damn thing...it tripped me up."
He complained loudly, pretending to have just discovered the dog, and then threw the cigarette pack forcefully in the opposite direction.
"Go! Shut up! Go chase after this!"
The dog hadn't received much training. Seeing something fly out, it was instinctively drawn to its attention and turned to chase after the cigarette box.
"Alright, alright, it's nothing now." Jerry dusted off his pants and gave the people looking over an awkward smile. "It was just a stray dog. Probably starving."
People shrugged and turned back to continue their conversation—about democracy, about truth, about how to get that damn president off the throne.
no one knows.
What could truly "drive them away" was now rising like a ghost from that inconspicuous corner behind Jerry.
It mingled with the white steam rising from the steaming pot.
Then, a not-so-gentle breeze blowing from the Potomac River gently covered the heads of these tens of thousands of people.
……
Half an hour later.
Jerry and Lao Li's construction vehicle drove to the Virginia Avenue overpass, a few kilometers away.
Old Li stepped on the brakes and stopped at a spot overlooking the entire memorial square.
The rain started again sometime during the day.
It was fine and dense, like the sky spinning a huge gray net.
In the distant sea of lights, the sound of singing can still be faintly heard.
It was a new team led by Martin Luther King Jr. that had just arrived, and they were singing "We Shall Overcome".
The singing was so powerful that even through the car window, you could feel the resonant energy that sent shivers down your spine.
Old Li lit another cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled a smoke ring with some irritation.
"Mission accomplished."
His voice betrayed no joy. "Headquarters just sent the confirmation code. All four deployment points are operational. Coverage is expected to exceed 90%."
Jerry didn't look at him. His hand was still in his pocket, clutching the half-eaten, now hardened piece of black bread.
He looked at the crowd of people in the square, which looked like a swarm of ants.
In sight.
A young girl next to the first tent seemed to have choked on something; she bent over and coughed violently a few times. An older woman nearby quickly went to pat her back.
Then, from another direction, a student who was giving a speech through a megaphone also coughed, covering his mouth.
That action seemed to be contagious.
The third, the fourth, the fifth...
At first, it was just a faint noise, drowned out by the singing.
But slowly, this voice will grow louder and louder, until it drowns out all other cries for "freedom".
Jerry could picture that scene.
The ordinary people who shared the bread he used to eat in his hometown, the young girl who gave him directions, the Black man who smiled at him…
Their lungs will feel like they're on fire.
A high fever can burn their brains into mush.
Then, like dominoes, they fell one by one onto the land they were still standing on, swearing to protect.
"Old Li."
Jerry suddenly spoke up; he felt that the driver's cab, which was heated to a high level, was as cold as an icebox.
"Should we... go to church after we get home?"
Old Li's hand froze for a moment on the steering wheel, and he didn't even feel the cigarette ash falling on his pants.
After a long while, he finally spoke in a hoarse voice:
"That won't work, brother."
"What we did is something even God can't clean up."
"Let's go."
The green pickup truck, signaling its turn, merged into the main traffic flow, disappearing into the depths of the rain like a greenbottle fly fleeing a fire.
Only Washington, still unaware, is left behind, slowly fading into silence...