The station seemed to be in another reality. The darkness hid details, but a faint light reflected off the old concrete, giving the whole place a mysterious aura. Jerome walked behind the others, his footsteps bouncing off the walls, lost in the emptiness of the night. It seemed to him that this place existed outside of time: the noise of the cars and the distant voices from the city sounded as if they were coming from another dimension. But none of that mattered to him. His thoughts were focused on what was to come.
Delia walked first. Her silhouette, dimly illuminated by the few street lamps, seemed determined but tense. Harvey, as usual, walked beside her, occasionally glancing back at Jerome with an expression of mild irritation. No one spoke. Only their footsteps broke the oppressive silence.
"It's like no one ever comes here," Jerome muttered, breaking the silence, his voice surprisingly loud in the empty space.
Delia didn't answer. She stopped, looking around as if searching for something. There was a concentration in her eyes. Harvey snorted softly.
"An ideal meeting place for those who don't want to be noticed," he said, looking at the abandoned trains lined up along the platform.
"Or something worse," Delia added, and there was an odd tension in her voice.
They approached one of the old carriages. Its windows were dusty and its doors were slightly open. Jerome felt a strange uneasiness growing inside him. It all seemed wrong, as if they were part of some sinister production.
"It's here," Delia whispered, pointing to the carriage. "If the information is correct, he should be inside."
"Hastings?" Jerome asked.
Delia just nodded. Harvey moved closer, his face serious. He gestured for Jerome to stay behind.
"You're the watcher, remember?" he said sharply, not giving Jerome time to respond. "Delia, lead the way."
They entered the carriage. It smelled of damp and old paint. The walls were covered in peeling paint and the floor creaked underfoot. Jerome walked last, feeling his heart begin to beat faster. He saw movement in the shadows, but when he looked closer, it was gone.
"It's quiet here, too quiet," Delia said, stopping in the center of the carriage, her hand ready in case of danger.
Harvey looked around, his eyes darting from corner to corner.
"We may have been set up," he said. "This place is... empty. No Hastings, no..."
His words were interrupted by a noise. Something fell at the end of the carriage, and all three instinctively turned in that direction. A shadow slid behind a shabby partition. Jerome felt a cold sweat run down his back.
"Who's there?" Delia asked loudly, her voice firm but with a hint of caution.
There was no answer. Instead, a soft, barely audible laugh pierced the silence. It was deep, piercing, as if someone was enjoying their confusion.
"Baselard?" Jerome blurted out before he could stop himself.
Delia and Harvey turned to look at him, their expressions both surprised and wary. The laughter stopped, but the silence became even more oppressive.
"Whoever it is," Delia said, moving closer to the source of the sound, "he's here. And we're going to find out what he knows."
Jerome followed them, unable to shake the feeling that they were being watched. The creaking of the carriage left behind a sense of an unsolved mystery, but Delia, Jerome and Jo decided not to waste any more time on empty guesses. Delia glanced briefly at her watch and waved her hand towards the illuminated platform.
"We have a ticket to Rome. We have to go," she said, her voice businesslike and sharp.
Harvey stood at the exit of the train, his hands in his pockets. He didn't look disappointed, in fact, he seemed glad that he didn't have to continue this story.
"Well, guys," he said, smiling lazily, "let's go on without me. I have a couple more things to do in Civitavecchia, and Rome is no longer my zone. Delia, I hope everything works out for you there. Jerome..." he looked at him with a barely noticeable mocking squint, "try not to get under her feet."
Jerome snorted, but said nothing. He rather liked that Harvey was staying. The atmosphere would be much less tense without him.
"Good luck, Harvey," Delia replied shortly. "Try not to get too comfortable. Who knows what's waiting for you out here."
"Me?" Harvey laughed. "I'm getting coffee, fresh pasta, and no whispering in empty carriages. Good luck out there. I hope your demons aren't too mean."
He waved his hand and headed out of the station. Jerome felt a strange sense of relief as he watched him go. Harvey, with his caustic tone and constant criticism, had been a thorn in his concentration. Now he felt like he could breathe more freely.
"Come on," Delia said without turning around. She headed toward the platform where their train stood quietly.
Silence reigned in the compartment. The train rocked rhythmically, leaving behind the windows a thick night, illuminated only by the rare lights of distant villages. The compartment, filled with the weak light of a dim lamp, seemed to be in another dimension itself - outside of time and space.
Delia sat by the window, her hands folded in her lap. Her gaze was far away, as if she were looking not at what was outside, but somewhere inside herself. Jo sat opposite her, leafing through papers with a concentrated expression on her face. Her lips moved slightly, as if she was silently repeating key points to remember.
Jerome, who had settled down next to Delia, couldn't stand the silence.
"You know, I'm glad that this Samara hacker Khariton Danilov, aka Harvey Dean, has finally left us," he said, trying to add a touch of irony to his voice. "I don't know about you, but his constant comments are getting on my nerves."
Delia didn't react, continuing to stare out the window. Jo just turned the page, her concentration unwavering.
Jerome coughed, feeling his attempt to defuse the situation fail.
"Seriously," he continued, determined not to give in. "This guy is brilliant, of course, but his sarcasm... Do you hear me?"
"We hear you," Jo finally said, not taking her eyes off the document. "We just don't see the point in discussing someone who's no longer here."
Delia, without changing her position, suddenly spoke, her voice was quiet but firm.
"Harvey left because his part of the job was over. Yours wasn't. So maybe you could focus on what's really important?"
Jerome felt his palms grow sweaty and leaned back in his chair to hide his growing irritation.
"Sorry for trying to liven up the atmosphere," he muttered, looking at his boots.
"This isn't theater, Jerome," Delia said, finally turning to face him. Her eyes were steely. "Or a lesson in humor. This is a mission. Every word, every action matters. If you can't understand that, then just... shut up."
Jo raised her head, her gaze meeting Jerome's for a moment. It was a look without judgment, but also without support. Then she returned to her papers.
Jerome felt his heart tighten. This distance and coldness, especially from Delia, weighed on him more than he had expected. He turned to the window, where the blurred silhouettes of trees flashed by, and tried to convince himself that his words had really been unnecessary.
Jo continued to leaf through the papers, her gaze lingering on individual pages. They contained a lot of useful information, from the address of the house where they were to live to photographs of their neighbors on the street, among whom Louis Hastings stood out.
"Look," Jo said suddenly, holding up one of the pages so that Delia and Jerome could see it. The photograph showed a short man with a thin face and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes looked into the camera with a kind of cold attention. "There he is. Our Hastings."
Delia turned her head slightly, glancing at the image, but said nothing. Jerome leaned forward, examining the photo.
"He doesn't look crazy," he muttered, but then stopped short when he met Jo's gaze.
"Did you expect him to have a sign on his forehead?" she asked sarcastically, but her voice was devoid of edge. "People like him don't stand out. They live among us like normal people until something... unusual happens."
"It sounds like you've already decided he's guilty," Jerome said, leaning back in his chair.
Jo tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the paper.
"I don't know yet. But there's something about him that's... odd. Not his appearance, but his behavior. You see these reports?" She showed another page filled with text. "It says that he avoids close contact with his neighbors, but regularly holds "informal meetings" at his home. And he never mentioned any friends, or relatives, or anyone else who might be close to him."
"Maybe he's just an introvert," Jerome suggested.
"Or he's hiding something," Delia added quietly, her voice almost a whisper, but there was a sense of firmness in it.
Jerome looked at the photograph again. Hastings looked ordinary, if not boring. But Jo and Delia's words had crept into his thoughts, and he couldn't shake the feeling that this man might actually be more than he seemed.
"What about the neighbors?" he asked, changing the subject. "What do we have on them?"
Jo flipped through the pages, her voice calm and focused as she read out the information:
"The Thorn family. Richard and Ann Thorn - both work in IT, with above-average incomes. They have two children, both boys. According to the dossier, the children often play outside."
"Quite ordinary," Jerome remarked, though his tone sounded rather languid.
"Then," Jo continued, ignoring his comment, "Mrs. Willa Baylock. Widow, seventy-two years old. Lives alone, although her home is often visited by adults and children. Enjoys gardening, actively participates in the life of the local community.
Delia nodded briefly, as if she had noted something important to herself.
"And the last one is Mr. Bill Etherton," Jo held up another photograph. It showed a man in his fifties with a stern expression and a strong build. "Ex-military. Lives across the street from Hastings' house. Judging by the records, he rarely leaves his plot, but is quite sociable. He has a hobby - collecting antiques.
"This one might be interesting," Delia said thoughtfully. "Military men don't usually like it when something disturbs their order. He might have noticed something the others didn't."
"Or he might not have noticed," Jerome interjected. "If he always sits at home, what good are his observations?"
"The file shows that Etherton likes to drink at the local bar on Fridays," Jo added. "Perhaps we should start there."
Delia turned to Jo, as if weighing her offer.
"Maybe. But first we need to know more about Hastings. He's at the center of this whole story. The other neighbors may be the keys, but he's the main door."
Jerome, watching the conversation, suddenly felt his internal tension growing.
"That's all well and good, but we don't even know what to look for," he interjected. "What do we want? To find his connection to this mysterious Baselard? Or to prove that he's innocent?"
"We are looking for the truth," Delia answered shortly, and her words sounded like a final verdict.
Jo nodded, closing the folder.
"In any case, we have a lot of work ahead of us tomorrow. We need to act quickly before we attract unnecessary attention."
Jerome stared out the window thoughtfully, watching the occasional lights of the towns flash past, dissolving into the darkness of the night. His thoughts were in disarray. Just a week ago, he had been an ordinary boy from New York, dreaming of adventure. And now he was sitting in a first-class carriage, heading to Rome on a mission that seemed more suited to a spy novel.
He stole a glance at Delia. Her profile was sharply outlined in the lamplight, and her eyes were fixed on the window. She seemed completely unaware of him. Delia was different. Strong, self-assured, as if from another world where decisions were made quickly and feelings were hidden deep inside.
"What are you thinking about?" she suddenly asked, without taking her eyes off the window.
Jerome flinched, not expecting her to speak.
"Oh, just," he muttered. "About how strange it all is. Not long ago, I couldn't even imagine that I would be riding a train at night, on a mission that could change everything.
Delia finally turned her head to look at him, her eyes tired, but there was something else, too, as if she were trying to figure out what was going on in his head.
"It's not that unusual once you get used to it," she said quietly. "You start to see things like that as work. You just have to learn to separate your feelings from the task."
"Can you do it?" Jerome asked cautiously.
Delia smiled, but her smile was more like a mask.
"I have to. And you will have to."
Jo, who had been sitting silently opposite, leafing through papers, intervened:
"If that's what you mean, then I advise you to forget about "unusualness". It's just part of the game. And you're not the main player in it. Just play your role, that's all."
Jerome felt her words sting him. They reminded him that he was, in essence, superfluous here. An insurance agent who was supposed to just "observe."
"You know," he said, leaning back in his seat, "I may not be the main player, but still... this is my chance. Maybe I can prove to you that I'm capable of more."
Delia looked at him, something like respect flashing in her eyes, but she didn't say a word.
"We'll see," Jo answered dryly, closing the folder. "The main thing is that you don't interfere."
Night gradually enveloped the train, lulling the passengers to sleep. Jerome sighed heavily and decided to try to sleep, despite the excitement that did not leave him. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, listening to the measured clatter of the wheels on the rails.
"I guess it's time," Jo muttered, tucking the folders back into her bag. She moved toward the armrest and pulled her hood up, settling herself in. Delia, for her part, simply leaned against the glass and closed her eyes, her breathing deep and even.
Jerome tried not to think about his surroundings, but sleep wouldn't come. He glanced cautiously at his companions: Jo was already fast asleep, sometimes snoring so loudly that the sound reverberated through the walls of the compartment. Delia, despite her usually impeccable appearance, had also begun to snore quietly, which, frankly, amused him a little.
But soon the laughter turned awkward: the snores resembled the roar of an airplane turbine, and together with the rumble of the train, it felt as if the carriage was turning into a small rocket taking off. Jerome sighed quietly, pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up and hugged himself, hoping that at least he could maintain silence.
But, as it turned out, his body was a traitor. As soon as he began to fall asleep, he made a hoarse, loud sound that immediately gave away his condition. Jo's eyes immediately opened, and she raised her head, wincing.
"Are you serious?" she snapped, giving him a sleepy but displeased look.
"And you think you're no better?" Jerome snapped in a whisper, feeling guilty.
"Calm down, both of you," came Delia's voice, without even opening her eyes. "Neither of us are masters of silence. Let's just sleep. Tomorrow will be a difficult day."
Her calm tone brought a slight peace to the compartment. Jo settled back into her seat, muttering something unintelligible, and Jerome chuckled, but said nothing. The silence of the compartment became a cradle for tired minds. The boy closed his eyes, and his consciousness carried him far away from the train, the night and the dark carriages. He found himself on the bright sunny lawn in front of Delia's house in New York. The house stood snow-white, surrounded by green bushes and flowers. Jerome felt the fresh smell of grass and a light breeze playing with his hair.
Delia stood opposite him, wearing a light summer dress that showed off her natural beauty. Her eyes sparkled like they did when they laughed together at something silly, and a smile lit up her face.
"You're always such a dreamer, Jerome," she said softly, with a hint of mischief.
He didn't answer, just held out his hand, and she took it. Her fingers were warm, familiar, and the contact made his heart stop for a moment. They were closer together. It was as if the whole world had disappeared, leaving only the two of them.
"I always dream about you," he admitted, looking straight into her eyes.
Delia smiled, but her eyes were serious. She took a step forward, so that they were now standing close together. Her voice was quiet, barely audible, but there was a firmness in it:
"You know that this is impossible."
Jerome wanted to protest, but he didn't have time. Delia leaned towards him, and their lips met. It was the sweetest, warmest moment he had ever experienced. But there was sadness in this kiss, as if she were saying goodbye.
And suddenly the world around him began to blur. The lawn was gone, her house dissolved, and the warm sunlight was replaced by the cold flickering of the compartment light. Jerome jerked awake, his heart pounding. He blinked, coming back to reality. His gaze slowly moved from Delia's face to Jo, who, still sleepy, stretched like a cat. Her smile was brief but warm, like a glimpse of morning sun. However, her mood quickly changed to one of concentration.
"I hope we didn't oversleep," Jo muttered, sitting up and looking around. She reached for her jacket and began to pull it on quickly.
"We're still on our way," Jerome replied, his voice quiet, as if he was afraid to disturb the morning peace.
Jo glanced at him quickly, frowning.
"It's still better to be prepared. The train may arrive at the station ahead of schedule. I wouldn't want to look like a tourist rushing with suitcases when we have work waiting for us."
Her words sounded harsh, but Jerome knew there was professional responsibility behind them. He stood up, slowly, and began to pack. Delia was still sleeping, her breathing even and calm. He didn't want to wake her, but Jo seemed to think otherwise.
"Delia, wake up," she said, shaking her shoulder gently.
Delia winced, slowly opening her eyes. Her gaze lingered on Jerome for a moment, but then shifted to Jo.
"Are we there yet?" Her voice was hoarse from sleep.
"Almost," Jo replied, brushing a strand of hair from Delia's face. "We need to prepare. Walking out onto the platform without a plan would be a mistake."
Delia nodded and sat up, running a hand over her face to wake herself up. The compartment was now a little bustling, with Jo checking her papers, Delia changing into more formal clothes, and Jerome just standing there, watching in silence.
The carriage doors swung open with a dull thud, and thick clouds of steam hung in the air, filled with the smell of old iron and smoke. Jo, standing at the exit, squinted warily, trying to peer into the dim light that poured from behind the doors. The entire station seemed to be plunged into silence. Not a single sound - no footsteps, no voices. The platform was empty, as if the city itself had disappeared, leaving only an empty space filled with echoes.
"What is it?" Delia asked quietly, walking up to Jo and listening. She noticed Jo checking his phone several times, nervously reading something on the screen.
"This isn't going according to plan," Jo said, clearly worried. She checked the schedule and pulled out a map, consulting it. "We were supposed to be here at one of the busiest stations. Why is there no one here?"
Jerome, standing behind him, narrowed his eyes slightly. He felt an unpleasant chill in the air, as if the whole place was abandoned and forgotten. He looked at the empty platform and suddenly felt something heavy and threatening pressing on his chest. He couldn't explain why, but at that moment he felt uneasy.
"It's strange," he said, trying to remain calm, although a sense of unease was growing inside him. "Perhaps the train's delay was no accident?"
"That's what we need to find out," Jo replied, taking Delia's arm and heading for the exit. "We'll be careful. Let's not jump to conclusions."
Jerome followed them, feeling his anxiety grow with each step. He looked at his reflection in the glass, which flickered as the train continued to stop. He noticed that his face, like the others, reflected something more than just weariness-it was a sense of foreboding.
There was no sign of movement on the platform - no people, no train signals, none of the usual noise that always accompanies such places. Just this strange, heavy air, saturated with the smell of steam and dampness.
"Where is everyone?" Delia asked quietly, noting that there wasn't a soul within a radius of several dozen meters.
"I don't know," Jo said, her voice firm but her eyes worried. She checked her phone and wiped the screen. "Either something went wrong, or we're not alone."
"Over there," Jerome said, pointing to a corner of the platform where several lamps were burning dimly. Something moved in the darkness near the wall. Jo and Delia turned toward it warily. There was no fear on their faces, but it was clear that they were prepared for any turn of events.
Without waiting, Jo took the first step toward the corner. Delia walked beside her, and Jerome, reluctantly and with inner tension, walked behind. Each of their steps echoed in the darkness of the platform. Gradually, the light from the lamps grew dimmer and dimmer, and they sank into shadow, as if the entire world beyond the platform had ceased to exist.
As they got closer, it became clear to Jereme: this was not a person. On the ground in front of them lay a strange metal box, the lid of which had apparently just been removed. It was covered in a strange, unnatural coating that resembled something like rust, but was still different in some way.
"What is this?" Delia asked, leaning in to take a closer look.
"It looks like something military," Jo said, approaching cautiously, holding her mobile phone close at hand, as if in case.
"Or cosmic," Jerome suddenly muttered, his voice sounding as if he himself did not know what he had just said. He peered at the strange object on the ground, which now seemed even more mysterious and ominous.
Delia turned to face him, her gaze dark and intense.
"Space?" she repeated with a hint of sarcasm, but her face didn't show a hint of humor. "What are you talking about?"
Jo, meanwhile, slowly knelt down to examine the object more closely. She carefully pushed aside a few grains of sand and dust, trying to figure out what this strange device was. The surface was smooth, almost mirror-like, with barely noticeable cracks, as if it had survived a collision.
"It could be some kind of military hardware," Jo added, but there was uncertainty in her voice. She even took a few steps back to take a photo, hiding her concern behind her businesslike manner. "But it looks too... alien."
Jerome looked up at the dark sky, as if that would explain anything. He continued to insist on his own, although he knew that his words sounded strange. Images of the same dream that had haunted him since the morning still flickered in his head. Baselard's words, his strange promises, they seemed to wrap themselves around his thoughts, preventing him from focusing on reality.
"It might not just be military hardware," Jerome added, trying to collect his thoughts. "This is all too... wrong. It's something that clearly shouldn't have been here."
Delia came closer to him, her face serious, her eyes full of tired determination.
"What are you trying to say, Jerome?" Her voice was quiet, but there was a threat in it, as if she wanted to understand where he was leading.
Jerome glanced at her, but his gaze did not meet hers. He turned it back to the strange device. And then back to the empty platform. Everything was too quiet, too dark.
"I don't know what it is, but... I think it's connected to Hastings. Or to something much bigger than we can imagine. It's no accident that we're here.
Jo raised her head and seemed to agree with his conclusion, although there was a wary look in her eyes.
"Do you think someone left this here on purpose? For us?" she asked, slowly getting up from her knees and starting to look around.
Delia also stepped away from the device, her face remaining tense.
"That's obvious," she said. "But who? And why?"
The noise grew louder, filling the platform with a heavy, almost tangible tension. Jerome exhaled with difficulty as a large black car emerged from the darkness, almost silently. It was too sudden and out of place, as if another, hidden face of the city had appeared for a moment. In the light of the street lamps, the car looked like a shadow, sharply cut out against the night sky.
When the car stopped, a man in a black coat got out. He was tall, with dark glasses that hid his eyes, and with a determined step he walked straight to the edge of the platform. His movements were quick but deliberate, and his appearance suddenly added even more mystery to the whole situation.
"Greetings," he said, approaching the group with a cold, but hostilely curious look.
It took Jerome a few seconds to realize that this was not just a random person, but someone important. This was the one they were supposed to meet.
"You must be Robert?" Jo asked, tilting her head. She recognized him immediately by his distinctive demeanor and the way he looked. This was the guy from the CIA station in Rome they were expecting, at least according to the plan.
Robert nodded briefly and got straight to the point, wasting no time on greetings.
"So who's with you?" His voice was calm, but there was a slight wariness in it. "I wasn't expecting anyone but you two," he pointed at Delia and Jo. "This guy," he waved his hand towards Jerome, "what is he doing here?"
The three of them froze in place, and Jerome felt as if time slowed down for a second. He felt the tension building, and several questions arose in his mind that he did not want to hear the answers to.
Delia immediately took a step forward, her face neutral, but there was a subtle threat in her voice.
"Jerome is with us," she said briefly. "He is with us because we said he was with us."
Robert didn't answer for a few seconds, studying them. Jo, meanwhile, was watching his every move, not taking her eyes off him.
"So this is the... unofficial employee?" Robert asked, speaking with a slight mockery, but there was already a wariness in his voice. He had clearly expected someone to sneak into their ranks, but he hadn't thought Jerome would be encountered so suddenly.
Delia responded sharply, but without raising her voice.
"He's with us. We're done with this."
Robert tried to read her face for a few more seconds, but realized that there was no point in arguing. His face was neutral as always, and his gaze remained sharp as a knife blade.
"Okay," he said finally, pressing his lips into a thin line. "But if he's with you, that means he's under your control. And if you're the one who set this up, I won't interfere. But remember, if he does anything bad, you'll be held responsible. We can't afford to take any more risks."
Jerome felt uneasy about the situation. He felt that his presence at this moment was not particularly welcome, but he could not understand what was really going on. It all reminded him of a game whose rules he did not know.
Robert, without another word, turned abruptly and headed for his car. His steps were sure and quick, as if he knew every corner and turn on this empty platform in advance. The car was parked a little to the side, against the dimly lit background of the station, its black gleam looking even more sinister in the night light.
"Get in the car," he said, without turning around, but only slightly waving his hand, as if expecting everyone to follow him.
Jerome felt uneasy with his certainty. He tried to feel even the slightest explanation for what was happening, but nothing worked. Everything he saw and heard seemed to dissolve into thin air. Delia was silent, but her gaze became a little more focused. Jo, without wasting time, quickly followed Robert.
"Like I was saying," Jo said, smiling faintly as she walked past Jerome and approached the car. "Guess we can't afford to stop, huh?"
Jerome didn't know what to say. He clenched his fists, feeling nervousness tightening in his chest. It was all so unfamiliar. He didn't yet understand what exactly was required of him, but now that they were so close to this house, he could only imagine what was waiting for him ahead.
Delia walked up to the car and without further ado climbed into the back seat. Jo settled in next to her, and Robert settled in behind the wheel. Jerome, after a moment's hesitation, sat down next to him, waiting to see what would happen next.
Robert started the engine and the car moved smoothly. Soon they were out of the dark streets of the station and into the light traffic of the night streets of Rome. The silence in the car seemed ominous, as each of them was absorbed in their own thoughts.
"We're going straight to the address," Robert said, breaking the silence again. His voice was as even as ever, but there was a detachment in it, as if the whole situation didn't concern him. "You'll have to settle in and start watching. We'll have to wait a bit until the right moment comes."
Jerome felt even more uneasy. He felt his mind returning to the image of Hastings and his mysterious entourage. What exactly were they supposed to be watching? And why did they have to live with this secret, as if they had no right to their own opinion?
"And what should we do if we encounter something suspicious?" Jo asked, not taking her eyes off the window, but her voice was completely calm.
Robert glanced at her through the rearview mirror.
"We'll work on the situation," he replied, not hiding his slight irritation. "But all you need to know is this: no deviations from the plan. You mustn't attract attention. And please, don't ask unnecessary questions."
At that moment, Jerome felt the air in the car become colder, as if something had suddenly happened that completely changed the atmosphere. He looked at Delia, who was sitting with her eyes closed, and at Jo, who was now looking ahead, at the road, with tension. Jerome didn't know what exactly they were looking for, but he already suspected that the answer to this question might not be so simple.
The car continued to move through the night streets, and more buildings and lights disappeared from view as they drove out of the city center. Soon they found themselves in a quieter area, where the houses were old and the streets were narrow and filled with greenery. Robert turned into one of these streets, and soon they arrived at a large old building standing on the corner.
"Here," Robert said, stopping the car.