Chapter 2055 - 846: Desperados!!!

March 1, 1998, Mexico City, National Palace.

Victor stood by the window, watching the sparse traffic on Paseo de la Reforma.

A week had passed since the Ecuador incident.

The protesters had dispersed, discussions on TV had cooled, and even the few old guys in Congress had quieted down. Everything had returned to normal—the kind of orderly normality he had personally established.

But behind the normalcy, something was moving.

Bramo pushed the door open and entered, his face looked unpleasant.

"Victor, there's trouble in Congo."

Victor turned around.

"Speak."

"Gals' men tracked down a new base of the 'Black Sea Wolf' by Lake Tanganyika. When they rushed in, it was already empty. Only a subordinate of the Russian Ivanov, named Andrei, was left tied to a chair with a cloth stuffed in his mouth."

Victor waited for more.

"His eyes were gouged out."

The room was silent for a few seconds.

"Who did it?"

Bramo shook his head.

"Don't know. Everyone at the base ran away, leaving nothing behind. Andrei is still alive, but scared stiff, saying nothing. Gals' men are interrogating him."

Victor walked back to his desk and sat down.

"What about that Russian Ivanov?"

"Still in custody. Gals said he's been cooperative, said everything he should have."

Victor was silent for a few seconds.

"Show him the photo of Andrei."

Bramo hesitated.

"Mr. Victor, that's his subordinate—"

"I know."

Victor interrupted him, "Precisely because it is his subordinate, let him see it. Let him know what happens to those who don't cooperate. Then ask him what else he hasn't told us."

Bramo nodded.

"Also," Victor said, "tell Gals not to linger in Congo. Bring Andrei back and lock him up with Ivanov. Withdraw the others back to Mexico."

Bramo hesitated.

"Withdraw? But in Congo—"

"What's happening in Congo is not ours to handle," Victor interrupted him, "That's the territory of the Americans and Russians. The longer we stay there, the more easily we become targets."

He stood up and walked to the map.

"Pull our focus back. Over in Europe and Africa, let Bennett's people keep an eye on it. We have enough of our own matters."

March 2, 1998, London, Thames River Police Headquarters.

Graham looked at the intelligence just received from Congo, drumming his fingers on the desk.

Ellis stood in front of him.

"That Andrei is one of the 'Black Sea Wolf'. He knows Cheku, knows Turner, knows 'Black Mamba'. Now his eyes are gone, and he's in the hands of the Mexicans."

Graham lifted his head.

"Any movement from Turner?"

Ellis shook his head.

"No. Since being suspended, he's been staying at his house in Virginia, hasn't gone out. Phone surveillance shows he's only contacted a lawyer a few times."

Graham sneered.

"Suspended. Stay home. Then what? Wait for things to blow over, switch departments, and continue on."

He stood up and walked to the window.

Outside, the surface of the Thames River was gray and murky, dotted with a few barges.

"That Russian Ivanov is still in the hands of the Mexicans. He knows ten times more people than Andrei. If he spills all those names—"

He didn't finish.

Ellis waited.

Graham turned around.

"Find a way to contact the Mexicans. Tell them we have materials on Turner that can be exchanged."

Ellis hesitated.

"Exchange for what?"

"Exchange for some names from Ivanov. Not all, just those related to the United Kingdom. Who's operating within the UK, who's taking British money, who's trafficking drugs in the UK."

He paused.

"It's not the time for pride."

March 3, 1998, Washington D.C., Virginia, Turner's home.

Turner sat in the study, a pile of documents spread out before him.

Those were records of his work for the past five years—everything that needed to be destroyed had been destroyed, the rest were trivial.

But he was still uneasy.

That unease was like a thorn, lodged near his heart, causing a dull pain.

The phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID—a secure number, no source displayed.

He answered it.

"Mr. Turner."

The voice on the other end had been altered, impossible to tell who it was.

"Who are you?"

"Someone concerned about you."

Turner was silent for a few seconds.

"Speak."

"In Congo, Andrei has been captured. The Mexicans took him away."

Turner's fingers drummed on the desk.

"How much does he know?"

"Not much. But he knows one of your contacts—that Hungarian, Kovach."

Turner closed his eyes.

Kovach.

A contact for the 'Black Sea Wolf'.

"Where is Kovach?"

"Don't know. But the Mexicans will investigate. They have Ivanov, they have Andrei, and now they have testimonies from Sinopiquiar and Acuña. They're about to uncover all your lines."

Turner was silent for a long time.

Then he asked:

"What do you want me to do?"

The other end of the phone was also silent.

A few seconds later, the voice said:

"Run."

March 4, 1998, Mexico City, Northern Prison.

Ivanov looked at the photo in front of him, his hand trembling.

The photo showed the face of his subordinate, Andrei.

Those eyes were gone.

Only two black holes remained.

He looked up, facing Bennett sitting opposite.

"Who did this...?"

Bennett didn't answer.

"When your men found him, he was like this." Bennett said, "Tied to a chair, a cloth stuffed in his mouth, eyes gouged out."