Chapter 2023 - 838: Chaotic Frontlines

Albania's winter was cold and wet, with rain pouring endlessly. He had been hiding in this rundown house for three days, waiting for Hendrick's next instructions.

The phone rang.

It was Hendrick.

"The boss says you should go to Costa Rica."

"Scorpion" paused.

"Costa Rica? Isn't it—"

"There's trouble over there. Mexicans have gone in and killed seventeen of our people. The boss needs someone to check out the situation."

"Scorpion" remained silent for a few seconds.

"How do I get there?"

"The boat is ready. Tonight at ten, outside Durres Port, that fast boat. Someone will pick you up when you arrive."

The call ended.

"Scorpion" looked out at the rain.

Costa Rica.

A place he'd never been to.

Athens, outskirts.

When Maria woke up, she found herself lying in a small room.

The room was dark, with only one lamp casting the silhouette of a man.

The man sat opposite her, in his forties, wearing a black jacket, holding a cigarette.

"Ms. Maria," the man began, speaking standard English, "I am Ellis, from MI6."

Maria said nothing.

"We want to ask you a few questions. About your husband."

Maria's hands were trembling.

"He… he's already dead."

"We know." Ellis extinguished the cigarette, "So we want to ask you. Before he died, who did he meet? What calls did he receive? Where did that fifty thousand euros in his account come from?"

Maria was silent for a long time.

"I don't know."

Ellis looked at her.

"Fifty thousand euros were added to your husband's account, and you don't know?"

"He never told me about these things."

Ellis stood up, walked in front of her.

"Ms. Maria, your husband's death was not an accident. Someone killed him. Because of that fifty thousand euros. Now the fifty thousand euros has been transferred to your account. Do you know what that means?"

Maria raised her head, eyes wide open.

"Does it mean… they'll kill me too?"

Ellis nodded.

"So you'd better tell everything you know."

Maria was silent for a long time.

Then she spoke, her voice very soft:

"Before he died, he received a call. From Switzerland. The person was named Turner. An American."

London.

Graham looked at the report just sent from Athens, his fingers tapping on the table.

"Turner. An American."

Ellis stood in front of him.

"The hotel manager answered the call; it was from a private number in Switzerland. The registered owner of that number—Malcolm Turner."

Graham put down the report.

"Is this evidence?"

Ellis shook his head.

"Not enough. A call proves nothing. But if we continue investigating, we can find more."

Graham was silent for a few seconds.

"What about that woman?"

"In the safe house. The Greek police won't find her."

Graham nodded.

"Keep her alive. She'll be useful later."

Washington D.C.

Turner had stayed in that safe house for a whole day.

Things in Kosovo were getting worse. Cheku's forces took two more villages, and the Serbs' counterattacks were repelled three times. Belgrade was cursing the United States, Moscow was cursing the United States, even Paris and Berlin were cursing the United States.

But despite the curses, no one acted.

Because no one knew what to do.

"Sir."

The assistant stood at the door.

"There's trouble in Athens. That woman is missing."

Turner turned around.

"Missing?"

"The Greek police went looking for her, but she's gone. The hotel owner said she went out in the morning and never returned."

Turner was silent for a few seconds.

"Who did it?"

The assistant shook his head.

"Don't know. Could be our people, could be others."

Turner's fingers tapped on the table.

He thought of Graham.

The old man in the London basement, waiting for the Empire to collapse.

"Have the Black Sea Wolf people check if the British have any operations there."

The assistant nodded and turned to leave.

Turner looked back out the window.

The ice on the Potomac River's surface was starting to melt, revealing the dark water underneath.

He recalled Black Mamba's words.

"I'll come to Washington to find you myself."

Black Mamba hadn't come. But Graham was coming soon.

San Costa Rica, San Miguel.

Colonel Garcia stood on top of the abandoned church, looking at the grayish-blue sea below.

Reinforcements had arrived. Two hundred men, with new equipment, plus two helicopters.

"Colonel," the deputy walked over, "the radar shows a suspicious fast boat approaching. It's moving fast."

Garcia raised his binoculars.

On the horizon, a small dot was getting bigger. It was a fast boat, moving at least forty knots, twice as fast as a regular fishing boat.

"Have the helicopters go over to check."

The helicopter took off, flying toward the fast boat.

The people on the boat saw the helicopter, immediately turned around, and sped toward the open sea.

"Chase it," Garcia said.

Twenty minutes later, the fast boat was intercepted.

There's only one person on the ship, tall and thin, with a scar on his face.

Garcia stood on the dock, watching the man being escorted down.

"What's your name?"

The man didn't speak.

Garcia stepped closer.

"I asked, what's your name?"

The man lifted his head, looking at him.

"Scorpion."

Kosovo, Podujevo.

Cheku stood at the entrance of the bombed military camp, looking toward the north.

The new weapons haven't arrived yet. But he can't wait any longer.

"General," the adjutant ran over, "Serbs reinforcements are coming again. This time with tanks."

Cheku turned around.

"How many?"

"Three."

Cheku was silent for a few seconds.

"Send the rocket launcher men up. One tank at a time."

The adjutant hesitated for a moment.

"Less than twenty rocket launchers left."

Cheku looked at him.

"Use them all."

The battle lasted two hours.

Two tanks were taken out, one escaped. Six of Cheku's rocket launcher men died, leaving less than ten launchers.

But he held the line again.

"General," the adjutant stood by him, covered in blood, "We're almost at our limit."

Cheku didn't speak.

He looked toward the north.

When will the weapons arrive?

San Costa Rica, San Miguel.

The interrogation room was a converted old warehouse, airy from all sides, with just one lamp hanging overhead.

"Scorpion" sat in the chair, hands tied behind him.

Garcia stood opposite him.

"'Scorpion.' West African, working for 'Black Mamba.' Been in Marseille, in Liverpool, in Greece. Now he's run to Costa Rica."

"Scorpion" didn't speak.

Garcia stepped closer.

"What are you doing here?"

"Scorpion" raised his head.

"Looking for you."

Garcia was taken aback.

"Looking for me?"

"Scorpion" looked at him.

"Boss wanted me to check things out here. He said Mexicans came in and killed seventeen of our people. He wants to know who did it."

Garcia was silent for a few seconds.

"Then you know now."

"Scorpion" nodded.

"I know."

Garcia looked at him.

"Anything else you want to say?"

"Scorpion" thought for a moment.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"Scorpion" lifted his head.

"You caught me, the boss will come."

Washington D.C.

Turner stood at the office window, looking out at the night.

The water surface of the Potomac River was completely dark, with only a few navigation lights flashing.

"Sir."

The assistant stood at the door.

"Something happened in Costa Rica. 'Scorpion' was caught by Mexicans."

Turner turned around.

"'Scorpion'? Who's that?"

The assistant handed over a document.

"A 'Black Mamba' guy. Specializing in Europe affairs. Somehow ended up in Costa Rica."

Turner took the document, glanced at it.

"Do the Mexicans know who he is?"

The assistant shook his head.

"No. But they will extract it."

Turner was silent for a few seconds.

"Tell 'Black Mamba', his man was captured. Let him handle it."

The assistant nodded, turned and left.

Turner looked back out the window.

He recalled 'Black Mamba's last words.

"I'll come find you in Washington myself."

Now 'Black Mamba' hasn't come. But his man was captured.

It's close.

Mexico City, National Palace.

Victor looked at the report sent from San Miguel.

"Scorpion." West African. "Black Mamba's man."

He raised his head.

"Tell Garcia, interrogate, see what comes out."

Bramo nodded.

"Also," Victor said, "have Gals prepare. Once 'Scorpion' opens his mouth, send him to Kosovo."

Bramo paused.

"Kosovo?"

Victor nodded.

"Someone over there is fighting. Using weapons sent by 'Black Mamba.' I want to know if he still wants more."

...