Chapter 2060 - 847: Stirring Up Trouble

"The fifth batch of ships has arrived. Three hundred people. The contacts didn't go. They left on their own."

Cheku lifted his head.

"Where did they go?"

The adjutant shook his head.

"I don't know."

9:00 AM, London, Thames River Police Headquarters.

Graham looked at the intelligence just sent from Albania, his finger pausing on a page.

"Three hundred Chechens left the beach on their own, their whereabouts unknown."

He put the intelligence down.

Ellis stood in front of him.

"Did you find them?"

Ellis shook his head.

"No. They went into the mountains and then vanished."

Graham stood up and walked to the window.

Outside, the surface of the Thames was a murky gray, with a few barges drifting by.

"Three hundred people. Not three hundred ants. They will get hungry, thirsty, sick, die. They can't just disappear."

He turned around.

"Tell the Albanians to block all roads to the border. Tell the Macedonians to increase border patrols. Tell the Italians to watch all boats coming from Albania."

He paused.

"Tell the Mexicans—we've agreed to all conditions for intelligence sharing. Make them spill everything they know."

2:00 PM, Mexico City, "Feathered Serpent Temple" top floor.

Victor looked at the telegram just sent from London.

"Three hundred Chechens have disappeared."

He put the telegram down.

Bramo stood beside him.

"The British are anxious."

Victor nodded.

"If it were me, I'd be anxious too."

He stood up and walked to the map.

"Three hundred people. What can they do?"

Bramo thought for a moment.

"They can infiltrate. They can hide. They can wait."

Victor looked at him.

"Wait for what?"

Bramo didn't speak.

Victor answered for him:

"Wait for someone to pick them up."

He turned around.

"That 'Black Mamba' wouldn't just leave three hundred people stranded in Albania. He must have arranged a pickup. But the pickup hasn't arrived yet."

He paused.

"Or perhaps—the pickup wasn't meant to pick them up at all."

Bramo froze.

"You mean—"

Victor interrupted him.

"Tell Bennett to keep a close watch on Priština Airport. Those three hundred people will end up there."

4:00 PM, Priština Airport.

Scorpion stood in a wooded area on the outskirts of the airport, watching the distant runway.

A transport plane sat on the runway. Unmarked, no identification number, just a gray body with sealed doors.

He checked his watch.

4:15 PM.

The arranged time was 5:00 PM.

Forty-five minutes to go.

Behind him stood twenty men. All Chechens, all men, all under thirty.

The leader was the man with a scar on his face.

"What's on the plane?" Scarface asked.

Scorpion shook his head.

"I don't know."

Scarface looked at him.

"You don't know?"

Scorpion looked back at him.

"My job is just to get you here. The rest isn't my responsibility."

Scarface was silent for a few seconds.

Then he nodded.

"Alright."

5:00 PM sharp.

The transport plane's door opened.

A person stepped out.

Tall, thin, pale-skinned, wearing a dark suit.

Scorpion didn't recognize him.

But Scarface did.

When Scarface saw him, his body visibly shook.

"Andrei—"

He murmured, almost inaudibly.

Scorpion turned his head.

"You know him?"

Scarface didn't answer.

He just stared at that person, at that face, the light in his eyes slowly dimming.

The person walked up to them and stopped.

"Welcome."

He spoke in fluent Russian.

"From today onward, you belong to me."

7:00 PM, March 16, 1998, Mexico City, "Feathered Serpent Temple" top floor.

Bennett entered as Victor was looking at the last report from the Congo.

"Sir, there's movement at Priština Airport."

Victor looked up.

"Speak."

"When the transport plane landed, the people picking them up weren't 'Black Mamba's' men."

He paused.

"They were 'Black Sea Wolf's' men. The former boss of the Russian Ivanov we captured—Andrei Volkov."

Victor's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Volkov? I thought he was dead?"

Bennett shook his head.

"He isn't dead. He disappeared for three years and now he's reappeared."

Victor was silent for a few seconds.

Then he stood up and walked to the window.

Outside, the night sky of Mexico City was black, the stars bright.

"That 'Black Mamba'," he said, "he's playing a grand game."

Bramo was momentarily stunned.

"What do you mean?"

Victor turned around.

"He's transporting people for 'Black Sea Wolf', not for money. He's trading for something. For what? For a chance to migrate from Africa to Europe."

He paused.

"And now he's got it."

9:00 PM, March 16, 1998, Virginia, Turner's home.

Turner stood in the living room, looking at the men in black suits.

They stood at the door, not coming in.

"Mr. Turner," the leader spoke, "we're from the Department of Justice. Please come with us."

Turner looked at them.

"What's the charge?"

The man was silent for two seconds.

"Treason."

Turner smiled.

A faint smile.

"Treason."

He repeated the word.

"I've served this country for thirty years, and now you're accusing me of treason?"

The leader didn't respond.

Turner set down his suitcase and adjusted his tie.

"Let's go."

He walked out the door into the night.

Behind him, the house lights remained on, burning all night.

Early morning, Albanian border.

Three hundred Chechens, divided into thirty groups.

Each group with ten people, each led by a guide.

The guides were 'Black Sea Wolf's' men, familiar with every path, checkpoint, and hiding spot.

Scarface stood at the front of the last group.

Behind him were ten people. Five men and five women, the youngest only fourteen.

The guide was a young man in his twenties, curly-haired, freckled, speaking heavily accented Russian.

"Stay close, don't speak, don't stop. Before dawn, we need to cross that mountain."

Scarface nodded.

They began to walk.

The mountain was steep, the path narrow, strewn with rocks and thorns.

After two hours, the fourteen-year-old girl fell.

She got up, without crying, and continued.

Scarface watched her back, said nothing.

At dawn, they stood atop the mountain, looking down at the road below.

The road led north.

Toward Europe.

…

Graham looked at the latest intelligence just sent from Albania, his hand trembling.

"Three hundred people. Divided into thirty groups. Vanished into the mountains."

He put the intelligence down.

Ellis stood in front of him.

"Any news from border patrols?"

Ellis shook his head.

"No. It's as if they evaporated."

Graham remained silent for a long time.

Then he spoke:

"Tell everyone, from now on, there is no safe place in Europe."

2:00 PM, Mexico City, "Feathered Serpent Temple" top floor.

Victor stood at the window, looking at the Paseo de la Reforma below.

Traffic was slow, orderly.

Bramo entered without knocking.

"Mr. Victor, Bennett sent news—'Black Mamba's' ship left the Gulf of Guinea three days ago, heading north."

Victor didn't turn back.

"North?"

"Yes. The destination might be the Mediterranean, or perhaps—Europe."

Victor was silent for a few seconds.

Then he smiled.

A faint smile.

"He's finally come."

His intuition told him, this group was going to stir up trouble!!!

…