Chapter 1852 - 1394: Milosh's Unyielding Spirit (Part 2)

Ryan's expression didn't change at all, but Lemont's fingers flipping the notebook paused for half a second.

The interrogation room plunged into dead silence.

The "performance" in the next room continued, but it had lost all its deterrent power.

Ryan was silent for three seconds, then gently applauded. The applause sounded particularly piercing in the enclosed space.

"Very good, Mr. Kovac. You passed the first test."

He turned off the transparency function on the one-way mirror, and the mirror returned to a dark color.

"Now we know you really are Song Heping's confidant."

Lemont quickly took notes in the notebook, then looked up: "So, where is Song Heping now? Perhaps you can tell me his possible hideouts."

"I don't know the boss's exact location." Milosh's voice turned icy again: "Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

Ryan nodded as if he'd already anticipated this.

He stood up, walked to the wall, and pressed another button.

This time, the one-way mirror showed another room.

Inside were six separated detained members of the "Thunder" company, each bearing injuries to varying degrees.

"These people," Ryan said, "they're your comrades, your fellow soldiers. Some are willing to cooperate, some are still holding on. But with every passing hour, my patience wears thinner."

He turned around and looked at Milosh.

"Now, the last chance. Tell me Song Heping's coordinates. Speak up, and you and these people can leave alive. Refuse…"

He paused for two seconds, then pointed his finger at one amongst them.

"Then starting from the first one on the left, every thirty minutes, I will execute one person. Until you speak."

Lemont timely presented a document.

The handwritten agreement, the handwriting neat.

"This is a temporary memorandum of understanding," Lemont said. "You can read it first. If agreed, the formal document will be issued within forty-eight hours by the Ministry of Defense Legal Advisory Office."

Milosh looked at the document.

The white paper, the succinct terms, promised him all needed safe routes.

5 million dollars was enough for him to buy a small estate in the mountains of Black Mountain or Serbia and live quietly for the rest of his life.

He closed his eyes.

He recalled that night in April 1999, the exploding anti-aircraft shells above Belgrade like festive fireworks, while the people on the ground shivered in air raid shelters.

He remembered his father's last words: "Milosh, remember: Serbian knees are hard, not easy to bend."

He opened his eyes and stared at Ryan.

"Go ahead, shoot." Milosh's voice was terrifyingly calm: "Kill them all. Then kill me. But you will never get the coordinates."

He paused: "Even if I knew, I wouldn't say. Although we are mercenaries…"

He raised his handcuffed hands.

"But some things weigh heavier than money and life. The first lesson we Serbians learn is: Rather die standing than live on our knees."

The interrogation room fell into a prolonged silence.

Ryan's expression didn't change at all, but Lemont sighed softly and recorded something in the notebook.

"I admire your principles, Mr. Kovac."

Ryan finally spoke, then slowly stood up.

"But principles often crumble in the face of reality."

He walked towards the door, paused at the door, not looking back, speaking while walking:

"Lemont, proceed with the second phase. I'll be back in forty minutes, hoping to see some progress."

The door closed.

Lemont closed the notebook, placed the pen on the table, and leaned back.

"Second phase." Lemont's voice remained gentle: "Usually involves more direct physical pressure testing. I don't like that part, but it... works."

He took a small syringe out of his pocket.

"This is a nerve sensitivity enhancer, won't cause permanent harm, but will make the ensuing experience... particularly vivid. You have one last chance to change your mind."

Milosh stared at the syringe, then lifted his eyes, and stared directly at Lemont.

"Scum," he said. "Do you know why Serbia's Special Forces' anti-interrogation training uses real torture? Because only after true experiences, you find out where your limits lie. I've been through it."

He gritted his teeth: "You won't make me speak either."

Lemont looked at him for a few seconds, then nodded, and pressed the call bell.

The door opened, but this time, it wasn't ordinary soldiers who came in, but two professional interrogators wearing masks.

They carried a metal toolbox, which gave a heavy muffled sound when put down.

5:10 AM.

Milosh was fixed again.

This time, not just handcuffs.

His wrists and ankles were firmly bound with wide leather restraints to the specially designed interrogation chair, with straps added on his chest, abdomen, and thighs.

The chair's angle was adjustable; now, he was adjusted to a semi-reclined position.

"Start with the part he's most confident in first."

Lemont said to the interrogators: "Let him know that past experience doesn't apply here."

The first interrogator opened the toolbox.

Inside weren't traditional torture devices, but sophisticated medical and electronic equipment.

There were syringes, electrode pads, nerve stimulators, physiological monitors.

They first hooked Milosh up to the monitor, checking ECG, blood pressure, blood oxygen, skin resistance.

On the screen, Milosh's heartbeat stabilized at 68 beats per minute, blood pressure at 120/80, completely normal.

"Very good physiological control." Lemont nodded towards the two interrogators: "Start."

The interrogators didn't use traditional wet cloth and buckets.

They used a transparent mask, tightly clasped to Milosh's face.