Chapter 8

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At twenty-two-thirty, Phil stopped the jeep on a deserted country road.

"I think we're on time." He said, and we jumped to the ground. "It's five kilometers to the target."

We quickly removed the tent and peeled off the black squares of self-adhesive tape from the doors, then changed clothes, helping each other.

"Respect... For being completely crazy." Says Hotey, adjusting my shoulder strap. "I couldn't... Break into places, shoot, that's fine but just go alone. Kronos!"

"I knew a guy in high school..." Now helping him, I say.

"A friend?"

"More like an enemy, but that doesn't matter. He was always repeating the same saying. The meaning of which I only understood today..."

"Which one?"

"Insolence is a blessing in disguise!"

"And this "acquaintance" of yours wasn't stupid, he wasn't stupid..." commented my statement Phil, who heard everything...

"Time?" After we've dressed and thrown our weapons into the cabin, I ask.

"It's ten minutes to the cutoff."

"Anton?"

"Eleven minutes and forty seconds."

"Let's go..."

The stony desert, the night sky full of stars, and only the dust from under the wheels of our old jeep, which had seen a lot, disturbs the silence and idyll of the local, almost pristine nature. But it was impossible to enjoy the view for a long time, we almost arrived and I closed the visor of my helmet. The visibility dropped to a couple of meters almost immediately. And I realized that I had made a mistake by not thinking about the night vision equipment. But if everything went smoothly, I wouldn't need it, and if I was wrong, it wouldn't save me anyway.

Unlike the fence on the Flesa farm, this ranch was enclosed by a two-meter, brick fence all around the perimeter.

Phil stopped the jeep a dozen yards from the gate and I jumped to the ground without opening the door. I adjusted my AUG-907, a bullpup automatic rifle, a favorite weapon of the Typhoon specialists, and walked calmly to the massive, steel gate. I'm sure we're being led about two kilometers, so there's no need to fidget.

When I got to the gate, I stood up so that I could be clearly seen on the video camera and pushed the doorbell.

"What do you want?" It came over the speaker. The voice was rude, but I couldn't help but notice that whoever was answering the call was itchy and nervous.

"Talk."

"There are three of you, so talk among yourselves!"

For some reason, I have the feeling that the speaker is now clutching a gun in one hand and putting his fingers in his mouth, and biting his nails.

"Look out the window and look west... And not into the desert, but into the sky. Such beautiful stars today..."

*Knock, knock, knock...*

I heard the slight sound in the background, just in time. It's true, once you've heard the engines of the T-14, you can't mistake them for anything else.

For about thirty seconds no one answered, and then the speaker came back on. Only it was a different person, obviously with more authority.

"Do you have a warrant?"

I didn't say anything, just wagged my finger at my temple on the camera, and with my left pointed to the chevron adorning my armor.

"We are law-abiding citizens..." Yeah, yeah, was there anyone who would believe

"So am I going in or are we leaving?"

"What's the trick?"

"You don't want to talk to me, you'll talk to him." My finger is pointing to the sky.

*Knock, knock, knock...* It echoes me from on high.

One, two, three...

Before I can mentally say four I hear the click of the lock being opened.

"Come in."

With a shrug of my shoulders, as if I didn't doubt the answer, I stepped onto the ranch grounds.

There was an excellent paved road leading to the villa. I walked along it, whistling a cheerful tune.

Strangely enough, I wasn't nervous at all; on the contrary, I was literally bursting with energy and a sense of a strange exuberance. The energy was seething in every cell of my body, and it seemed that if I pushed off the pavement a little harder, I would take off into that clear, starry sky.

From the house, four brutes come running toward me. They are sweating, shaking, and holding shotguns. Since the road is perfectly lit, the visor does not prevent me from seeing these details.

Kronos! I can't believe I've changed so much. A month ago, I would have stood still, unable to move with fear, as soon as I noticed such types, and even with weapons. But now... Now I was calm.

"You can't go in the house with a gun." The first runner declares to me, pointing his gun at the AUG.

Without slowing my stride, like a drop of morning dew falling from a petal, I literally stream around the shotgun aimed at my chest. My palm goes down smoothly but very quickly and strikes the barrel of someone else's gun, and my right foot hooks into the ankle of this idiot. With a jolt of the shoulder and the local gunman bounces off me like a small truck off a dump truck, with his legs drawing a very entertaining curve in the night air.

Slap...

"Take the guns away. Quickly." While the rest of the three watched their comrade fall, I wasted no time, and the AUG, raised to a fighting stance, unequivocally hinted at what would happen to those who would not hear my words.

"My apologies." On the porch of the castle, a new character of this late-night comedy appears.

A tall, thin man of indeterminate age in a well-made suit, who was beginning to go bald, bowed respectfully. I wish he hadn't done that because I could clearly see the drops of sweat on his bald head, and it was chilly outside, to say the least.

"You didn't announce your visit." With a gesture, this man orders the hogs out of sight. "That is why our guards behaved inappropriately."

At first glance, this is neither a fighter nor a soldier but a well-trained butler. A butler these days. The local landlord has apparently long played the all-powerful baron to whom the whole county is subject.

"Please come into the house."

"I won't take my shoes off." As I pass by, I grin. "And my hat, too."

"As the guest pleases." Not a shadow of a smile flashed across his face. "Mr. Smith had an important meeting but he canceled it and will see you immediately."

Yeah, you betcha! When you're a local mobster, and you get visitors like the Special Forces Unit of the League of Nations Council, and there's clearly an attack helicopter making noise over your house, you'll cancel even your funeral to find out, What the Kronos is going on?!

It's not like it's the local, well-fed police, who can be sent away. It's not even the feds, Smith must have backup and someone to call in such a case. But where to call, and who to call, if you've been run over by a Typhoon?

To the sheriff?

That's how I imagine this conversation: I've got a Typhoon at my gate!

And?

Do something!

Are you an idiot? You have to clean this shit up yourself!

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Neither the Sheriff nor the Police Commissioner would mess with the League of Nations, they would rather forget that such a character as Bill Smith lived anywhere, they never knew him! And where else can a local businessman and mobster call? His man in the government? Well, let's say he did. So what? As soon as the official hears the magic word "Typhoon", he just hangs up and runs to the local prosecutor's office, if he's smart. Because everyone knows THEY never just send them for petty reasons! "Typhoon" is the last argument in all negotiations with terrorists or those who are insolent. Last and final.

As he walked down the posh corridors thinking, what more could he do?

Dial the phone number of the League secretariat.

Waste of time...

At best, if they don't hang up right away, they will say that they don't comment on the actions of the special unit. And ask him to wait until tomorrow.

A call to Legrand's security service? That could put a stone on his whole business because then they would be so interested in it that no bribes would do any good. Why does he have such visitors?! But even if the scare is so great that he calls...

Waste of time...

Because recently Lägrande signed a security charter that allows White Berets to operate in the country, without prior notification to the authorities. That is, even if he gets a very sympathetic operative on the phone, he will ask him to wait for tomorrow's report. But the report will be tomorrow, and the guest is already in the house...

It's a good thing I'm wearing a helmet and they can't see my full-face smile.

Yes, if I'm caught, we'll all go to jail. For life and without the right to amnesty. But whether we'll be exposed or not depends on one thing...

How well I'll play it?

And I'll play like Apollo!

I have no doubt.

"Come in." Opening the door, the butler invites me in. "Have a seat, Mr. Smith, he'll be right with you."

A spacious study, antique and obviously very expensive furniture. A mahogany desk, velvet-covered cloth, comfortable even to the eye. And all the walls are covered with hunting trophies. And on the table, as if inadvertently, a photograph is turned toward the entrance, in which the local owner is embracing the present Prime Minister of Lägrande...

The door closed, but of course, I didn't sit down, so I adjusted my AUG and took a free position. The wait dragged on for five minutes. I was beginning to wonder if I was right. Maybe my whole game is so obvious to outsiders that the one who is watching me now, not holding back, is laughing at me, and the guys left in the jeep, long dead ...

The thought made my heart ache.

But then the door opened, and I could barely keep from exhaling a sigh of relief.

Bill Smith looked as if he had stepped out of the pages of Italian Mafia novels. Fat, heavy, with a double chin, not even a perfectly tailored suit could hide his excess body fat. And his eyes, ugly as piggies, small as beads. Whenever you see one, you want to wash your hands, because you feel dirty just for looking at him.

But he did not enter the office alone. A silhouette followed like a blowing wind, like a weightless shadow. It swung, and there he was, standing behind the boss's back. He was an ordinary, unremarkable man, about thirty, with a face the eye could not catch, and gray, dull, bored eyes. He is dressed in a simple canvas shirt and jeans. And even though his arms are crossed across his chest and away from the two pistols that are secured in their waist holsters, I have the feeling that before I can even move the barrel, I will fall with a shot to the forehead. An extra-class pro, his aura is inferior to that of Lance, much fewer Daas, not even close to Rick's energy. But his skill...

He's as far away from me as the moon.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Smith, catching his breath and hiding his fright well, says.

"The coincidence of circumstances." I shrugged. I had just caught the mobster's bodyguard in partial focus, and now I could literally feel the calm and confidence spreading through me, banishing all doubts and fears.

"May I help you?" My calmness makes Smith's eye start to twitch a little.

"That's why I'm here."

"And with what?" He's willing to give me everything just to get me out of his life, like a nightmare that melts in the morning light.

"I'll tell you right away, we're not interested in you." He may be a seasoned beast, an experienced negotiator, but now he couldn't contain himself not hiding an exhale of relief. "We are interested in this person." Gerhardt's photo portrait is placed on his desk.

"This is the first time I've seen him." He lies and he knows he's lying...

I was calculating a lot of options for this dialogue, but somehow I forgot about the most obvious one, that he would bluntly go into denial.

What to do!!!

What?

Time slips through my fingers like fine sand...

What to do!!!

Bluffing, I've already gone too far.

I tilt my head slightly to the left and say, turning to the void.

"The third one, we got the rejection." And now leaning already to the master of the office. "Our apologies for the inconvenience."

But no sooner had I turned around than I heard.

"Wait."

"Third, stand down. Stand by." Once again, my helmet stares at the mobster.

He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead with it. As soon as he called me, I knew he was hooked. I would have been glad if it hadn't been for the bodyguard's actions. He took a step back and opened the window, but instead of looking out, he listened to the night.

*Knock-knock-knock...*

The pro staggered away from the window like from a howitzer aimed at him and leaned toward his boss, whispering something quickly in his ear. I heard only a fragment: "...teenth..."

Bingo!

That's it!

Game played!

The only thing left to do is not screw up in the end.

"You see..." Smith stretches out this uncomplicated word, buying crumbs of time. "This... This man killed my assistant."

"It doesn't matter."

He clearly wasn't expecting such an answer and is now gasping for air, like a fish thrown out of a fishbowl.

"If I let him go, people won't understand me. They'll think I've lost my edge."

Kronos! As if the Typhoon officer cared about his petty problems! What's he babbling about? But to blow him off now? Send him away... No... He's an idiot, I can tell. A chronic one... He's got the job because he's stubborn and insolent and just a wagon of luck. He's a stubborn, empty-nester.

"So let everybody think you killed him. This guy's not going to pop up anywhere else anyway." I let him hear the sneer in my voice on purpose.

"Even so?!"

"Whatever." I nod.

"I'm a businessman." Something I missed, he suddenly stopped sweating and gained confidence. "You see..." Smith stretched this uncomplicated word, buying crumbs of time. "I give you... This person... But what do I get out of it?"

Oh, Gaia! He believes I'm a Typhoon, I can see that, and then he asks me that question, and he's so stupid, I have no words for it! Judging by the gnashing of the bodyguard's teeth, he is exactly the same opinion. But I have to answer something.

"In return for this courtesy..." I can hardly keep from putting my palm on the AUG. "We're still not going to be interested in you at all. Absolutely... How's that for payment?"

Smith, who had just thought he had caught Zeus by the beard, coughed and went pale as a forest toad.

"Y-yes..." I make it out through his cough. But he pulls himself together. "Did I get that right... He'll disappear?"

"Right." I nod slowly, which must look pretty ominous in a helmet. "No one will ever see him again."

Leaning forward, the master of the office pressed the selector button.

"Bring me that damned vigilante!" He barks, releasing his fear in that growl at his subordinates.

Three minutes of waiting passed in complete silence. Smith opened his mouth occasionally, apparently wanting to say something, but hesitating. I concentrated on keeping my focus on the bodyguard, mirroring the dangerous man who kept his calm eyes on me.

At last, the agonizing wait was over, and the two thugs, the twin brothers who had met me on the walkway to the house, dragged a barely-alive body into the office. The guy was badly beaten, barely able to keep his feet. His clothes were torn in many places, and his hands bore the burn marks of cigarettes burned on his skin. A thin stream of blood ran down his chest from under the black canvas bag draped over his head.

Smith immediately ordered them to get out and announced on the radio that everyone should lock themselves in their rooms and not wander around the building, and he also turned off the video surveillance. Probably really does not want anyone to know that his prisoner left the villa alive. This desire of his is good for me.

"Will someone help me with the delivery?" The guy obviously can't make it to the SUV by himself, and I don't want to drag him along, because then I would be completely defenseless.

"I wanted to escort you out anyway." A bodyguard comes out from behind the chair, his voice was as colorless as his appearance.

Waiting for his boss's confirmation, this gray man, in every sense of the word, hoisted the prisoner on his shoulder.

"Have a good day," I say goodbye and turn around to the door.

"What do you need him for?" Oh, Kronos! What kind of stupid question is that?!

Freezing on the threshold for less than a second, I shrugged and walked out of the office, ignoring the words. I'd never been cruel, and I tried my best to accept people with all their weaknesses and flaws. But at that moment, I had to make a great effort not to turn around and unleash a long line at the humanized pig.

Walking through empty corridors, following the bodyguard, who was dragging the Slider on his shoulders. I could hardly restrain myself from jumping for joy!

I did it!

Stop!

It's early, it's early to rejoice...

Nothing is over yet.

Don't relax...

Smith not only turned off the security systems but also de-energized the lights outside the house, so we walked down the path leading to the gate in the darkness of night. I was glad about that.

Only when the bodyguard manually opened the gate and threw off the prisoner's body, which was no longer on its feet, did I allow myself to relax a little.

As it turned out, it was for nothing...

As soon as I leaned over the body of the Slider, I heard.

"Freeze..."

Kronos!

I don't have eyes on my back, but I think I can clearly see the guns pointed at me.

Where did I screw up?!

And the fact that I have been exposed is already quite clear.

"From the beginning, I felt something was wrong..." The gray man said behind my back. "I don't know where you got T-14, but it convinced me... You know, you overdid it... For this swine..." He was talking about his boss. "It would have been enough to bring up five tinted jeeps, dressed in a black suit and make a badge, at least in appearance similar to the federal. That would have been enough. He would have shit himself just as much... But you're overreacting. When I wore a uniform like that..." Oh, Gaia. What was the chance of us running into a former Typhoon specialist, one in a million, one in a billion?! ThreeFace, why, I'm doing a good deed! "We've been sending interns into the thick of it, so your inexperience has only played to your plan's advantage... You wonder where the mistake is...? The two men waiting for you." He means Phil and Hot. But...

"When you send a trainee, you leave the most experienced to cover, and this pair ... Who is coverup like that? Their level, general special forces, at best, front-line intelligence... I don't care why you wanted to take this loser away and what you need him for, I don't give a shit about this fat critter and his problems. I enjoyed the way you smeared him on the fancy carpet of his own office. I'm only here because of his daughter, the purest, world-loving creature I've ever met in my life. As soon as such a miracle appeared, from this slimy and disgusting creature..." Such a confession. "You wonder why I'm so verbose..." My thoughts are so predictable. "Those two die quickly, but you... You have a choice, you tell me where you got the uniform and the T-14. Then you die easily. You play the hero, I'll shoot you in the knees and still beat the information out of you..."

Am I going to die now...?

Or not now, but I will die...

I'm not scared...

It's a shame...

To the gnashing of teeth...

Such a combination...

Such a bluff...

That was beautiful...

And it worked...

Almost...

"I count to three."

I won't make it, he's two heads better than me.

No chance.

"One."

He served in the Typhoon.

He's in his thirties, gives or take a couple of years, whatever.

"Two."

He has a conscience. I saw his fright when he made out the sound of the T-14, but he was afraid not for himself, but for the girl he was guarding.

He's obviously healthy and in great shape, so he didn't leave because he was wounded.

I'm sure there was a lot of dissent with Lance's firing in his special unit.

Which means I know the answer...

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