I miss the stiff and old-fashioned gentleman Edgar in Cambridge, and I can't equate the nineteen-year-old boy when I first met with the young eagle often mentioned in the cipher text. I tried to recall the information about the young eagle that I first came across, and found that it was the cipher code Thirty, a modified Bacon cipher, given to me by Anderson in my second grade at Cambridge, full of pictures of stars and moons:
"Your Excellency should go to London as soon as possible, obtain the five-day British military exercise from General F, and hand it over to Young Eagle."
This way of encrypting with pictures is youthful and romantic. I suddenly discovered that this really fit Edgar's aesthetics.
Looking back now, General F should refer to Linna's father, General Selman. At that time, Young Eagle was only a liaison, and I suspect that he was only responsible for reporting the situation of the British Nazi organization to Berlin at all times.
I have read a lot of information about the young eagle, and know that this German spy is growing up step by step-he is placed around important people, has access to valuable information, and is highly praised by Berlin. But who would have thought that this important person was Anderson, and the core secret was Plimpton Manor.
I asked him directly.
Edgar sits by my bed and tunes the radio, nostalgic songs unfurl across the airwaves. He didn't avoid my question.
"Alan, I was young and immature, good grades in espionage school, inexperienced..." he told me, "I think that's why the headquarters named me 'Eagle'. I think I mentioned my parents They are all from the Intelligence Agency? My mother asked me to stay in Germany, and my father forced me to come to England. He said that espionage work is the most dangerous job. If you don’t learn more skills, you will only die when you encounter real danger. My mission It was disguised as a student in charge of intelligence transmission in the area around London. Cambridge is far safer than London, with fewer government agents, and it is more convenient to operate with a fixed identity. I have received an order—if there is a chance, try to get close to Andrew Garrett Sia. You know his alias as Andrea Werson, a Fellow of the Royal Mathematical Academy, who is often invited to give lectures in the Department of Mathematics at King's College, Cambridge. Oh, Alan, of course you don't know about these lectures. Most of your classes are I helped you get there, didn't I?"
I can't deny it.
"The first time I saw you was in the library. You leaned against the window and flirted with a pretty girl. I still remember the way the sunlight dyed your hair light blonde through the window glass , they looked soft and beautiful. Ellen, you were too pretty for a girl, so the girl quickly walked away from you with the book in her arms—your gray-blue eyes dimmed. I was Going to approach a well-informed math guy, guess you'd be a good fit. It's a joke - Andrew Garcia gave three lectures in his first year of college and you didn't even know about one of them... Luckily he came sophomore year I am a visiting professor in the Department of Mathematics. I will attend his class instead of you, but I have no talent for mathematics. I almost gave up at that time. My task is just to pass on information. If there is an opportunity, I will only consider approaching him. Berlin only I know that Andy Garcia is an important figure in the Intelligence Bureau, and no one knows what he is responsible for." Edgar looked at me intently, his gaze could almost be called tenderness: "At that time, I almost completely gave up Already. I feel like an ordinary student, taking art classes, painting oil paintings, and being with people I like. I always look at you, and you always look at others. I even think that if one day the empire takes over Britain , I can use some means—such as now—to keep you by my side forever.”
The warm past was narrated from Edgar's point of view, which made my heart tighten for no reason.
"But I actually chased Andymond." I said regretfully.
"Yes, the most surprising thing is that he responded to you." Edgar's eyes became a little painful: "I don't know whether to be grateful that he responded to you, or to destroy the relationship between you. So I chose to remain silent .You may not remember, I reminded you once, it's better to stay away from Andymond."
"I don't remember." I admitted.
He sighed: "I even warned you that homosexuality is against the law."
Edgar seemed to be a little emotional: "Oh, my Allen. You are not vigilant at all. You write everything down in your notebook."
I remembered Edgar taking me to the bar when I broke up with Andymond. He watched me drink, then silently carried me home in a mess, took out the key from my trousers pocket to open the door, and then lay on the couch waiting for me to wake up.
Now it dawns on me that I don't know what he did before I woke up—maybe he found my locked notebook with all the codes I was trying to decipher and my next date with Andymond. time.
This horror gradually surfaced, and I began to think about what kind of mistake I had made. Andermond was probably right to deny me access to Plimpton Manor, as I lacked a basic sense of secrecy at the time.
Anderson didn't even trust me, but I actually trusted Edgar.
"You're not in the RAF at all, you're back in Germany." I said slowly, "The thing about those air bases is all bullshit. Believe me, I'm a stupid pig."
Edgar smiled: "Oh, Alan, that's because I didn't want to hurt you. I did go back to Germany, but I have friends in the Royal Air Force... I asked him to get me some Air Force letterhead, but I didn't expect him to give me I have a bunch of obsolete stuff. I won't make this mistake again."
"I only stayed in Germany for half a year, and then I went to Poland and South Africa. Alan, you don't want to know about these experiences. It's a life like hell. The devil can't hold on... When I am sent back to the UK, it will already be The head of London." He shook his head: "War can change a person from the bottom of his soul."
However, Edgar was a little restless in the next few days. He went out frequently, and every time he came back, he had a gloomy face, and the doctor who promised to give him LSD had never been contacted.
He complained: "I don't know what Berlin is thinking!"
He started to pack the things in the room, and moved the useless things outside the door to burn them. I asked him if he was going on a long trip, and he nodded, "I'm in contact with the headquarters every day. The old guys in Berlin insist on killing you. They don't believe in the efficacy of LSD."
He came over and kissed my forehead: "Allen, you never know what I have paid for you."
I was in deep despair then. I chose myself before Edgar chose for me.
I started a hunger strike.
Rather than waiting desperately to be injected with LSD and become a ignorant idiot, I'd rather choose a slightly more dignified path.
Edgar began to feed me patiently. He brought liquid porridge, handcuffed me by the bedside, took a sip by himself, and poured my chin into it. I refused to swallow, and the water trickled down the corner of my mouth onto the sheets. Finally he put his gun to my forehead and asked me if I would like to eat or would I like to see God.
He pressed me on the bed, with the barrel of the gun against my forehead, like an angry leopard.
I think this is the real Edgar after tearing off the gentleman's appearance.
After three days of hunger strike, I told him weakly: "My dear, since God let me into this world, I have no plan to go back to see him alive."
We were in a stalemate for a long time, and finally he threw the gun away in frustration, took another handcuff, and handcuffed my right hand as well.
He decided to give me nutritional injections.
During the injection, he sat on my waist and suppressed my lower body with his body weight. Instead of getting out of bed after the injection, he unbuttoned my shirt and began to run his hands down the waistline and into his trousers.
"Oh, Ellen." He kisses my brow.
"I'm not in the mood." I said, "You'd better go out and figure it out yourself."
Edgar didn't answer, he tried to kiss my lips, I bit his tongue, he lowered his head and kissed again fiercely. I kept resisting, and then our mouths were full of blood, and we couldn't tell whether I bit him more or he bit my lip more.
In the end he forcibly took off my trousers, I struggled, he stuffed the pillow under my waist, firmly pulled my legs apart, put them on my shoulders, and formed a humiliating posture.
I almost begged him not to do it.
I begged him to let me go, cursed him to death, and used all the vulgar and vicious words. He just knelt on the bed, stretched my legs, and looked down at me: "Alan, you are so beautiful."
He asked me, "Do you like this pose when you do it with Andrémon Garcia?"