There was no one else in the room besides us, so even if he was a complete dimwit, could have realized I was saying that to him.

"Are you talking to me?" – he interjected. "Yes."

He threw the Kalashnikov with a tremendous crack about ten meters to his right. "Pick it up."

"You're giving it to me again?"

"Everything I'm about to say will be directed specifically to you, okay?" "Yes."

He raised the machine gun. "Put it down."

This time the AKM flew to the left and much farther away. "Pick it up."

After twenty attempts to understand that guns shouldn't be handled like that, I couldn't take it anymore: "Why don't you finally realize that you can't throw such things left and right!"

"Can only go back and forth or what?"

Now I understand why this job is worth 500,000,000 Euros in monetary terms. "He can't be thrown at all."

"I see."

"It has to be gently, affectionately, carefully placed." "I see."

"Demonstrate to me how it should be done."

He threw the object at his feet with such a dope that it messed up the floor. "And that's called putting it down?"

"He's lying…"

I moved closer, picked up the barrel and put it back down so quietly that I didn't even hear anything myself.

"That's the way it should be done." "I see."

He picked up the gun and tossed it back a little easier than last time, and I thought about the visible progress.

"Okay this exam you passed with a positive grade (I meant greater than zero), now let's see how you shoot… – I pointed to the leftmost target at the other end of the forty meter hall – Shoot."

He didn't get into any kind of stance, he just took the shot, one-handed. I was petrified: he hit the bull's-eye.

"Not bad, not bad. Now try lying down."

The apprentice did the same thing and hit the same spot, again shooting with only one hand – obvious talent was evident.

"Are you going to shoot with two hands after all?" "I'm more comfortable…"

"Try it though."

The sniper leaned his other hand against the barrel, which made the latter shake with such force that the bullet hit the "milk". It was clear that either he had only fired a pistol before, or there was something wrong with his hand.

"What's your name, kid?" "Michael Williams."

"Two, never tell me your name." "I see."

"Third, you must have at least five other names instead of your real name." "I see."

"Come up with some." "Michael Williams." "It has to be different." "I see."

"So that not even the initials match." "Uh…"

"Since you can't come up with one yourself, I'll come up with one." "I see."

"Your name is Amanda Last." "I see."

"Do you agree?" "Completely."

"Fourth, it has to match your gender."

"I see."

"So what?"

"It doesn't fit."

"That's right. You'll be James Last." "Good."

"So, James – I had already braced myself for another wave of misunderstandings, but nothing like this – Fifth, you need to stand out from the crowd as little as possible." "I see."

"So, what does that mean."

"I have to hide behind someone all the time…"

"No. If it's hot, you – walk in light clothes, if it's cold – in warm clothes, your gait is loose, your stride is not too big or small, you don't make eye contact or turn your head often and sharply. Things like that."

"I see."

"Sixth, you shouldn't drive around in a Ferrari either, but you should drive less. Use public transportation more often, and best of all, walk, that's for sure."

I remembered walking twenty kilometers once for safety reasons. "So, show me how to walk."

He strode through the hall as if he had been kicked out of the institute twenty minutes ago and was now facing the army.

"Now you walked too slowly, dragging your feet and hanging your head, and that always attracts some attention. You should walk freely, as if you were going for bread and nothing else interested you."

"I see." "Try again."

This time his gait meant that the chief was not in the mood today. "To hell with the gait," I thought.

"Okay, seventh, you need to be completely healthy, lest another firefight reveal you have a broken leg in four places."

"I see."

"That's why you should have your own personal doctor who can treat almost anything. I say practically, because you won't need a gynecologist."

"I see."

"This very doctor should not know who you are, what your name is, should always be available, he should only know your 'upper shell'."

"I see."

"Do you know what an 'upper shell' is?" "No."

"It's your body and fake first names, last names, IDs, etc.". "I see."

As the little fellow was not thinking clearly, I added: "Keep in mind that the doctor only has to know one name."

"I see."

"So what name are you going to tell him?" "Michael Williams."

"I said only falsity." "I see."

"So tell him James Last." "I see."

"Speaking of which, you can't get hung up on the same phrases." "I see."

"What are you doing?" "What?"

"You say it all the time – understandable, understandable, understandable." "I see."

"Here we go again… Say 'okay', 'clear', 'yes' and your favorite 'understandable' in a variety of ways."

"I see."

"As of this minute." "I see."

The guy had already realized something with his "understandable". "Yeah and, what's wrong with your arm?"

"No big deal…"

"Here, you take care of this nonsense with our 'local' doctor, and then we'll continue training. Call me when you've sorted out your affairs, ask for "Pierce Brosman" (our man, who does various "miracles" and is at that moment in Brno in that very training center, and therefore knows my cell phone number).

No questions followed.

What's old is what's not new, and what's not new is this – the assignment to find out from a certain Bill Garrison (code name – "tourist") where Joseph Gutgold is (that was the order, nothing to be done). I'd already received an advance of $500,000 in jewelry at the Hello Bar. "with a shabby reputation."

This case requires seven men (me, two of my family, and four mercenaries): Frank Polazzi (41 years old, worked with me for twelve years and has the nickname Marlboro, and he got it because he keeps a cigarette of this brand in his mouth all the time (except for very important operations), and rarely when he smokes it; knows how to control himself, is an excellent marksman – in some ways we are similar to him), Carlo Salvatore (34 years old, worked with me for seven years, nickname – Shock, for his instant understanding of what is going on and instant (although, unfortunately, not always the best) suggestion of a simple and quick way out of the situation), Emilien Rozh (31 years old, a good doctor and a safecracker, a very rare combination; a very sociable and pleasant-looking man; talks about anything (not counting his work as a