The next morning, Deng Shiyang was awakened by a knocking sound that served as a substitute for the "Morning Call." He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

It was exactly 8 a.m.

He sat up, stretched, threw off the covers, and got out of bed. He then took a toiletries bag and a towel from the wardrobe and left the room.

The hallway outside the bathroom was already lined up with people. There were only two bathrooms with showers on the second floor, and since one was in Harrowby's room, it was inconvenient for the other six people, who were staying on the first floor, to share just one.

As he reached the end of the line, Jansen greeted him, "Good morning."

"Good morning," Deng Shiyang answered with a yawn.

Per Jansen was an unusual character among the contractors. Born into a German immigrant family with Saxon roots, he had joined the U.S. Army after university because he couldn't afford the high tuition fees to continue his studies. He served with the 82nd Airborne Division and the 3rd Special Operations Group at Fort Bragg, North Carolina.

Unlike most of his peers who only knew how to fight, Jansen had earned a master's degree in radio engineering during his service, thanks to the military’s sponsorship. After leaving the military, he joined the communications giant L-3. Half a year later, on a bright sunny morning, he left a resignation letter and drove his Volvo from New York to Columbia, Maryland, to become a contractor for MPRI.

Due to the nature of their work, contractors spent their days surrounded by danger, making it difficult to form relationships beyond the job. Brotherhood was rare. However, Jansen was different; he was kind, friendly, rarely used profanity, and lacked the arrogance and indifference that Europeans often showed toward Asians. As a result, Deng Shiyang had a good impression of him.

By the time everyone had finished freshening up and sat down in the kitchen for breakfast, it was already 8:30.

Today's breakfast was lighter: white bread with butter or jam, cereal with fruit and milk, along with coffee and tea. It was a well-balanced combination of nutrition and calories, perfect for removing the heaviness from last night's dinner.

However, Deng Shiyang’s mind was not on breakfast. He glanced at the briefcase beside Harrowby’s chair, absentmindedly stuffing food into his mouth and swallowing after barely chewing. He managed to fill himself halfway.

After the servants cleared the table, Harrowby took out four stacks of documents from his briefcase, each accompanied by a pen, and placed them in front of Deng Shiyang, Mark, Du Preez, and Rodin.

"Gentlemen, the contracts have been modified as agreed last night. If you have no issues after reviewing them, please sign." As if to bolster their confidence, he pulled four checks from his briefcase and laid them on the table, "Here are your advance payments."

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Deng Shiyang opened the contract and pretended to read it, though he couldn’t process a single word. Even though he had made his decision last night, he hesitated at the final moment before signing. A sudden urge to "withdraw" sprang up, and various chaotic thoughts flashed through his mind.

At that moment, a faint rustling sound reached his ears. Looking up, he saw Mark quickly scribbling his name on the contract, then tossing the clipped A4 paper like a bat, which landed squarely in front of Harrowby.

Deng Shiyang clenched his teeth as if trying to crush some intangible hesitation. He picked up the pen, signed the contract, took his check, and left the kitchen.

The signing didn’t take long, and once Harrowby collected the signed contracts, he immediately gathered everyone in the meeting room to brief them on the mission.

The folding table in the middle of the meeting room had been moved to the wall, with a projector connected to a laptop placed on top of it. The chairs previously around the table were now arranged in two rows in front of the projection screen, each with a small notebook and pen on the seat.

Once everyone was seated, Harrowby activated the projector and displayed a color photograph.

The image on the screen showed a balding Latino man who appeared to be in his early fifties. He had a sharp, gaunt face, sparse eyebrows over narrow triangular eyes, and a neatly trimmed mustache under a prominent hooked nose.

Harrowby’s voice filled the room, "This man is Ernesto Serna, a local businessman with considerable influence. He knows something we very much want to know, so you’ll need to bring him here."

"Are we going in hard?" Rodin asked.

Harrowby didn’t respond directly and continued, "We have no clues about Peter Bowman’s whereabouts yet, but Jansen's radio surveillance equipment picked up that this guy is acting as an intermediary in the negotiations. So, we plan to get the information out of him directly. Of course, I doubt he'll come here willingly."

The people in the room chuckled.

Keith stood up, walked over to the screen, and gestured to Harrowby. The photo on the screen disappeared, replaced by a Google Earth satellite image of Camiri.

He pointed to a clearing in the forest on the outskirts of the city, "This guy goes to his villa in the suburbs every Tuesday and Friday evening to negotiate via radio with Bowman’s company, using them to pressure the Bolivian government. We’ll act tonight." He paused, then pointed to the forest road connecting the villa to Camiri, "The plan is an ambush. The four of you will hide in the forest and strike on his way home. Jansen and I will stay here for communications support."

"Now it's time for questions."

Rodin was the first to speak, "Why not hit him on the way to the villa?"

"Because we’re understaffed and can’t track his precise movements. Also, moving around Camiri during daylight makes you too conspicuous."

Rodin fell silent. Mark followed up with another question, "Why not go into the villa and grab him? That would have a higher success rate."

"I considered that, but there are several other vacation houses near the villa. Today is Friday, so there could be other people around for the weekend."

Mark nodded and said no more.

Keith waited a moment to ensure there were no more questions before saying, "If no one has objections, we’ll proceed as planned. Be ready to move as soon as we get the notification from Santa Cruz that negotiations have started."

He gestured to Harrowby again, and the image on the screen changed to a dark blue Mercedes G-Class SUV.

"Memorize this vehicle; it belongs to the target."

Everyone immediately noted the license plate number in their notebooks.