Никита Т

Перевёл пролог и первую главу своей книги "Дары богов" на английский язык с помощью нейролингвинистичекой программы

 

Вопрос к знатокам на сколько качественно сделан перевод?

 

Prologue

 

It was a sunny morning. The sun's rays streamed through the window screens and reflected on the papers in front of Stephen. He loved his office and his job. That was why he came to work early. It was a ritual of sorts. The sun was shining outside the window and it seemed that the next day would be a little better than the last. Usually he drank black scalding coffee or tea, which he made himself until his secretary came in. Then he would start sorting through his correspondence. After that, he would usually browse social media and look for messages from his family, acquaintances and friends or call them on the phone. Not many people knew that on the twentieth floor of this high-rise was a satellite office of the Central Intelligence Agency, where he had worked for over a decade. This office dealt with those investigations which might cause moral damage to state authorities or leading U.S. industrial corporations, or put a damper on the reputation of certain high-ranking officials who played an important role in the political life of the country.

 

Only those closest to him or his workmates knew about this office. Not many people knew where Stephen worked. Even his cronies lied that he worked for a major telecommunications company as a top manager or commercial director. All the more so because once, in another life, he had actually worked as an IT guy and knew the field well

 

 

 

In addition, he liked to tinker with new gadgets, and in his office he installed his own biometric system of collection and access control. Stephen made good money, and when he was on business trips he liked to buy himself a new electronic toy with an internal and external video camera. He always set up all new gadgets on his own. Even the office equipment in his office he programmed by himself, not trusting this task even to their system administrator. He liked to read the instructions, and he followed them strictly.

 

He trusted no one and could only rely on himself in some cases. During his tenure, Stephen had been in all sorts of situations. What not. And shootings in troubled neighborhoods and raids to apprehend drug addicts carrying large quantities of drugs. Sometimes law enforcement agencies also caught the eye of public officials. There had also been set-ups. What could be done, people really liked money. Not everyone had the strength to remain honest and pure, untainted by facts of corrupt relations, when some of the leaders were stealing around. It often happened that you had to catch people who Stephen used to know well. It was very sad. He was used to trusting people, and it hurt him when he was disappointed in them. But his instincts never failed him, and he always got away with it, and CIA officials and executives were proud of his work and the work of his subordinates, and he always handled particularly important work. And those who knew him well were always confident that he would not let them down. But Stephen had never been in the situation he was in this time. And as he looked at the briefcase on his desk, he wondered how he had managed to get himself into the kind of trouble he now had to deal with. And how well it had started out.

 

Steven was going on another vacation to the Maldives. He hadn't been on vacation very often. And it wasn't because he wasn't given one. No. He wasn't on vacation because he didn't have anyone to go on vacation with or for. Work became his life and his faithful wife. It replaced the people closest to him, and he solved his own life problems. He was a workaholic and introvert. At work he felt like a fish in water. Everyone knew him, and he knew high society. Stephen knew its vices and, of course, knew those who knew how to talk about them, those vices. He had access to high offices.He always had informers who reported to him on everything that was going on in the metropolis and beyond, as well as everything that concerned the security of the United States. Nothing escaped his inquisitive eye. He always had the most up-to-date information on the most important issues related to the areas in which his department was engaged. And this helped him in his work. He knew in advance where riots might break out, or where another mob meeting was about to take place. It kept him out of trouble and made him the right and informed person to listen to. Everyone knew from whom to get up-to-date information on this or that matter, or to whom to come and consult about their affairs. He was not forgotten. Stephen looked at the wall above his desk, decorated with certificates of merit from congressmen and senators, and a beautifully framed letter from the President of the United States himself, thanking him for his help in solving one complicated and very confusing international situation, which had been written about in his time by all the central newspapers of the United States of America.

 

He recalled how he had recently received an assignment from his boss. He was also sitting in his chair, drinking his favorite coffee drink. Just as he was now - he was sad. Stephen was then immersed in memories. A phone call interrupted him from his sad thoughts. As always, on mornings, he was summoned to his office by his boss. When Stephen entered his boss's office, he looked at him intently. They had known each other for years, and they did not need to explain the intricacies and some of the nuances of the job. They understood each other half-heartedly. Ken Warren was a heavy, middle-aged man who had done operational work in his day. The pictures in his office showed a lean young man who looked something like him. A lot has changed since then. The sedentary job had aged the former athlete and combat champion, the role his fellow officers used to look up to. It wasn't good for anyone. Even for men like Warren, who were athletic and active in life, it was disastrous.

 

Warren had worked his way up from the ground up and knew the ins and outs of the profession. He had made a pretty good career, and in the near future was going to retire, suggesting that Stephen in the future would take his high executive position. There were not many such specialists in the CIA and they were valued by management. It was a pity, but they could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Stephen respected this experienced man, who on some issues was even more informed than he was. Ken looked intently at Stephen and offered to smoke Cuban cigars. Cuban cigars were now a rarity because of the complicated relationship between the countries. But Ken always managed to get a pack or two of expensive cigars. They must have been brought to him by Cuban political immigrants or smuggled into the United States from Liberty Island. No one knew how they ended up on this man's table. But from the smoke coming from his office, the staff knew that the chief was at work and busy sorting out another important case. At this time, they preferred not to disturb him, knowing his explosive nature. Ken looked at Stephen and offered him a cigarette, even though he knew Stephen didn't smoke. But such were the laws of hospitality and respect between employees of the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency.

 

- But I'll smoke," said Warren, cutting off the tip of his cigarette and looking piercingly at his interlocutor. He put the cigar to his lips and lit it spectacularly with a lighter. It was an old habit of his. It was something he used to do when he was a young man and did serious investigative and operational work himself. He had changed, but some of his old habits remained.

 

- I hear you're going on vacation. I'm willing to sign the papers, but you have to do one little errand for me.

 

Stephen tensed up. When Warren offered to run a small errand, such errands sometimes stretched over several months. And one of his little errands had even stretched over several years and had most recently culminated in the capture of a group of Latin American criminals transporting a large shipment of drugs to the United States from Mexico. And that meant a vacation trip to the Maldives was once again postponed. And a vacation at least once every five years was a must. When Stephen got tired, he began to make minor mistakes, and those mistakes were of no use to anyone. They cost him and the agency he worked for dearly. And that's why Stephen was counting on this vacation after all. Especially since all his relatives already knew he was going to the sea, and they often joked about it. Their jokes concerned Stephen's lifestyle and his refusal to look for a second half. They joked that in the Maldives he would finally find a cute Hispanic girl on the beach, or at least an immigrant from Asia or Africa. His mother had long ago packed his luggage and had already bought new sports trunks and a short-sleeved shirt, and his neighbor Michael jokingly gave him a set of vanilla condoms, hinting that Steven still did not have a steady life partner. In response, Stephen quoted them a famous American aphorism.

 

There are a lot of shameless women,

 

They are beautiful and intelligent,

 

# But on my doorstep

 

"I don't need them, I don't want them...

 

The neighbor, of course, ignored his answer, and the jokes continued. They didn't bother Stephen much, though. He was used to it, the constant pressure from his parents and childhood friends, and paid no attention to these jokes. Especially since his friends and relatives wished him nothing but good.

 

Stephen looked at his superior. Warren continued his dialogue, tearing Stephen away from fresh memories of his relatives and their silly jokes about a trip to the azure seashore. The trip was now postponed indefinitely

 

- Have you ever heard of Operation Isis, the operation the Soviets ran in Egypt? Warren continued to ask questions. Stephen was no ordinary Cold War soldier, and of course he knew nothing about the operation. Which he hastened to report to Warren, hoping to avoid the assignment and escape on vacation to the Maldives after all, especially since he really didn't know about Soviet agents' games abroad and didn't want to get involved. He had a completely different sphere of activity, and he never interfered in someone else's diocese. By the way, he was also appreciated by the leadership for this. He didn't make any unnecessary moves, so he never got into trouble.

 

- No, I don't want to involve you in my games," Warren hastened to reassure him. It's just that you're going to have to meet a defector from a former Communist camp and take a fresh look at the materials he brought back from Egypt. He told me about them on the phone, and I found them interesting. I think you'll take a look at them, too.

 

-I don't think it's going to take long. Of course I think it's a load of crap," Warren went on to say, "but you should always check the information. Especially since this information came from an agent who has been helping our country for several years. And our successes in the Middle East and Latin America are largely to his personal credit.

 

- As soon as you've completed this assignment you can go to the sea, and I'll try not to bother you anymore," Warren assured him. Apparently, there was no one presently available to carry out the assignment, and he wanted a close friend and work partner to do the job. That's why he gave the assignment to the person in whom he could have full confidence. And there were not many such people in the office.

 

And that's when Stephen made the fatal mistake that he later regretted. He decided to help the chief carry out what he then thought was a simple assignment. And that led to a series of accidental and unintentional events, which he was now reflecting on in his office. Stephen looked once more at the Nile crocodile leather briefcase, hesitating to open it, as if there was something in it that might do him and the agency for which he worked.Then he poured a shot of cognac and thought.

 

He remembered sitting in a cafe waiting for a defector to meet him at his chief's request. This cafe was under the patronage of the CIA and all conversations at the table were recorded. It was very convenient. He never trusted anyone. Stephen had long kept records of all his phone conversations and conversations with his interlocutors. He always carried a tape recorder with him. The only person he didn't do so was his boss, Ken Warren, in whom he had complete confidence. With everyone else, he always turned on the gadget while he was talking, secretly from his interlocutors. Very often it helped his work and kept him out of trouble. Stephen looked once more at the briefcase and, with a sigh, reached for it to open it. After that, he intended to listen to the recordings he had made on the recorder.

 

Chapter I

 

Daria Kholod belonged to those girls who loved sports and their jobs. She had an athletic physique and differed from her peers by the fact that she constantly did exercises in the morning or jogged along the embankment of the Moscow River. She was a lark, and while her peers and contemporaries slept in bed, she could do a lot of useful things: get a new haircut, go to the store or read a fashionable youth magazine. She was a very active girl and was always on the go. In addition, she exercised with the help of numerous fitness equipment installed in her apartment. So her physique was trim, like that of a swimmer or an athlete who had done long hours of gymnastics or pentathlon. Sometimes she caught admiring glances from men, but she did not pay much attention to it. She followed the principles of life that her father had once spoken of.

 

Oh sport, you are life, you are adventure,

 

You are the stress, the error of an evil genius,

 

But in spite of all the suffering,

 

You give people longevity.

 

But I didn't feel like getting up today. The bright sunlight was beating through the window, and she lounged under the blanket. She was only a week into another well-deserved vacation. She didn't have to rush or run anywhere, and she didn't even know what to do. She didn't have a date. It wasn't that she didn't like men. Sure, she liked men sometimes. But she always compared them to her father, and that comparison was usually not in favor of the men who complimented her. Some didn't suit her because they didn't play sports, and others because they didn't want to develop their intelligence. And those men she really liked always ended up married for some reason. Her immediate superior, whom she secretly sympathized with, was one of those men.

 

The boss was a little over fifty-eight, but he looked thirty-three and also had an athletic build, loved sports and his work and was close to her in his strong willed spirit. And of course he was also married. His wife, in Daria's opinion, was not suitable for him. She was an ordinary housewife who loved to stand at the stove and, unlike Daria, cooked well. Sometimes the chief treated his coworkers, including Daria, to homemade warm pies, and sometimes he told them how they spent their leisure time together, going to the theater or the movies. At that, all the men of the department of course envied him, but they did not touch Daria. Such conversations irritated the girl, and she tried to sneak out of her manager's office under some plausible pretext. So, on her vacation, Daria planned to go to St. Petersburg alone. She wanted to enjoy hiking in the museums and parks of North Palmyra, and she didn't need anyone to do it. Daria dreamed of walking around this beautiful city and experiencing its unforgettable atmosphere. And if Moscow - seemed to her one big and noisy office, which was always full of people, then Peter seemed like a fabulous quiet place, where only artists and poets live. She had visited the northern capital before. But those brief trips were work-related and left little time for sightseeing. And how she wanted to go again and take a closer look at it.

 

Suddenly the phone rang, but Daria did not want to get up and pick it up. She wanted to lie back and enjoy the warmth of the heated bed, to bask in the sunlight reflecting off the windows of her Moscow apartment. Now she was catching these bright sunbeams beating from the window, and this call did not bode well, and she did not want to take it. It seemed to her that as soon as she picked up the phone, something bad would happen that would affect her future fate. But the call didn't want to hang up. Daria threw back the curtain of the blanket and slipped into the room, like a mermaid from a cartoon she loved to watch as a child.

 

She picked up the phone. As she had expected, on the other end of the "telephone receiver" was her boss, who was calling her urgently to work. Apparently vacation was coming to an end. She put on her uniform. She did it quickly and accurately, like in the army. It was the way her father, who was a military man, had taught her. He had no son, so he paid all his attention to his daughter. He brought her up not as a blushing young lady or a model of a fashion magazine, but as an athlete whose routine resembled that of an officer in the Russian army. That is what she later became. Apparently, the upbringing she received in a military family was not in vain. More recently she was promoted to the rank of Second Lieutenant and served in the Russian security services. She was very proud of it.

 

The chief met her right at the threshold of the Moscow residence. He smoked expensive cigarettes. Which greatly puzzled Daria. Usually he met her in his office and burdened her with unnecessary paperwork or some red tape that he did not want to do himself. He never met her at the doorstep of the office, much less smoked. At least, Daria had never seen him with a cigarette in his teeth before. But this time it was different, and the girl realized that something very important and urgent had happened. And it suggested that the trip to St. Petersburg, which she had hoped for, was cancelled. And she became very sad. Apparently it was time to forget about the vacation.

 

- Sorry I called you, - said the chief. But the case can't wait. Two hours ago, with the help of foreign secret services, Viktor Ivanovich Makovsky left our country, who has a classification. You will have to handle this difficult case under my supervision through Interpol and under its umbrella. We will officially place you there for the next six months. You're good at English, aren't you? He asked.

 

Daria nodded her head. English was her favorite subject at school, in contrast to mathematics and physics, which she understood rather poorly. She was fluent in that foreign language, and acquaintances who often went abroad told her that she spoke with almost no accent. The language was taught to her by her beloved grandmother, who was a bourgeois, had a cafe in the area of Tverskaya Street and knew a foreign language from her childhood. Later, Daria studied English at a foreign language course at MGIMO, where she easily enrolled due to her father's protégé. And in general, Daria loved to read grammar books in the evening, before going to bed. She also had her own weaknesses and hobbies. She was a pronounced humanitarian and loved those subjects that were related to the language of people and the transmission of information through it. It was her high score in foreign language that helped Daria in her time to enter the Higher School of Economics and later become a secret service agent, and of course the chief knew about it.

 

- Well, fine," said the chief. So it's decided. I give you a couple of days off, and after that you will start your new assignment on the Interpol line. I've already called my contacts, who will assign you a new office in the agency. You'll be in touch with me through a closed channel of video conferencing. The chief spoke fast, and it took extra effort to remember everything well. He accustomed his subordinates to memorize everything he said, and even in some cases to learn iconic phrases by heart. At the same time, they came to his office during meetings without notebooks. "It develops memory and keeps unnecessary information from leaking out," he often told his subordinates. But memorizing information - did not feel like it. Officially, Daria was still on vacation.

 

Daria took a breath. She had two more days of vacation, and how much there was to do. First, she had to meet her high school friends and go to the graduation party of the high school she had graduated from a few years ago. And secondly, no one cancelled her trip to St. Petersburg, and she had to have time to go to the Hermitage and the Kazan Cathedral, and to wander along the Neva embankment, and, of course, to see the drawbridges and how they worked.

 

Daria jumped out of the office and ran toward the house. The chief saw her off with a sad look. How he loved youth after all. How he did not want to grow old. But it was time to get to work, and he opened the door to go back into his office.