Chapter 2144 - 869: Everything Is Negotiable

Brigadier General Hassan stood by the lakeside, watching the Mexican SUV coming from the west bank. The vehicle stopped at the bridgehead, and Lieutenant Colonel Sanchez jumped down, holding a thermos.

"General, try this."

Hassan took the thermos and unscrewed the lid. Inside was coffee, black and steaming. He took a sip; it was bitter, very bitter, but fragrant.

"Mexican coffee?"

Sanchez nodded. "Grown in the Chiapas Highlands, beans roasted by our own camp."

Hassan took another sip. "It's good."

The two stood by the lakeside, watching the bridge. The lights on the bridge were still on, like two golden ribbons in the twilight. There were people walking on the bridge—not soldiers, but civilians. A few Syrian old men with walking sticks slowly made their way from the east bank to the west bank. On the other side, a few Israelis stood at the roadside, watching them walk over.

No one spoke. The old men walked very slowly, and the Israelis just stood by the roadside and watched. When they reached the middle of the bridge, one old man stopped, leaned on the railing, and looked at the sunset on the lake. The others stopped too, standing by his side, watching together.

The lake surface was tinted gold by the sunset, shimmering like a layer of scattered gold.

Hassan watched those old men. "Lieutenant Colonel, do you know what they're looking at?"

Sanchez shook his head.

"They're looking at Lake Tiberias. When they were young, this place was Syria's. Back then, they were kids, coming to the lakeside with their fathers to fish. Then war broke out, and they couldn't come to the lake anymore. Later, they grew old and couldn't move, thinking they'd never see this lake again in their lives."

He paused. "Now the bridge is open, and they've walked over."

Sanchez said nothing.

Hassan screwed the thermos lid back on and handed it back. "The coffee is nice. Bring some more tomorrow."

He turned and walked away. Sanchez stood by the lakeside, watching those old men slowly walk over the bridge, slowly arrive at the west bank, slowly fade away into the alleys of Tiberias City. He bowed his head, looking at the thermos in his hand; it was still warm.

On the same day, in Chechnya, Shangji Village.

The village was small, with dozens of stone houses scattered across the hillside, surrounded by bare mountains, with residual snow on the peaks.

Grisha stood at the village entrance, looking at the line of stone houses. The one most to the east, behind the school.

The door was wooden, very old, with the paint all peeled off, revealing gray, white wood grain. He walked over, standing at the door, listening to the sounds inside. It was quiet, no one spoke, no footsteps, no breathing.

He knocked on the door.

No answer.

He knocked again.

The door opened.

The girl standing at the door was very thin, very pale, with big eyes, looking at everything as if through a layer of fog. Fourteen years old, exactly like the photo he had.

Grisha's hand started to tremble. "Anna."

The girl looked at him, without speaking.

"I'm Grisha. A friend of your dad's."

Anna's eyes moved slightly. "My dad... in Mexico?"

Grisha nodded. "He asked me to check on you."

Anna was silent for a long time. "Why didn't he come himself?"

Grisha didn't answer. He took a photo out of his pocket and handed it over. Anna looked at the photo of the young woman, short hair, big eyes, smiling.

"Your mom," Grisha said.

Anna's tears started falling. "She died."

Grisha nodded. "I know. Your dad knows too. He sent money to your mom every month for fourteen years. Your mom's treatment, your education, your food—all came from him."

Anna's hands began to tremble. "He... why—"

"Because he's afraid to come," Grisha interrupted her, "Afraid you'll hate him. Afraid you'll ask why he hasn't come to see you in fourteen years. Afraid you'd tell him that when your mom died, you were by her side, and he wasn't."

Anna's tears fell even more fiercely. "He... is he still in Mexico?"

Grisha nodded. "Yes. But he will return."

Anna raised her head. "Really?"

Grisha looked at her. "Really. I promise you."

Anna lowered her head, looking at the photo for a long time. Then she raised her head and wiped her tears. "Come in and sit. There's no tea at home, only water."

Grisha walked into the stone house. Very small, a bed, a table, a chair. On the table was a bowl of cold soup, beside a piece of dry bread.

"Do you live alone?" he asked.

Anna nodded. "People in the village don't know who I am. They just know I'm an orphan from Grozny."

Grisha looked at the bowl of soup. "Have you eaten?"

Anna shook her head.

Grisha took a piece of chocolate from his pocket and handed it to her. "Eat this."

Anna took the chocolate, but didn't eat. "Are you really my dad's friend?"

Grisha nodded. "Have been for twenty-three years."

Anna looked at him. "What kind of person is he?"

Grisha was silent for a long time. "He's a bad person. He's killed, trafficked drugs, smuggled arms. But he never hurt you. He sent money to your mom every month for fourteen years. He knows you live here, arranged for people to protect you, to stop others from bullying you. When he found out your mom died, he cried for three days."

Anna's tears came down again. "You're lying to me—"

"You can choose not to believe," Grisha interrupted her, "but do you remember your mom's last words before she died?"

Anna was stunned. "Your mom said, 'Your dad is dead, don't ask.' That's a lie. He's not dead. He's just afraid to come."

Anna lowered her head, tears splashing onto the chocolate wrapper, crackling.

Grisha stood up. "I have to go. You wait here. Your dad will return."

He walked to the door, stopped. "Anna, your dad did a lot of wrong things. But he did one thing right—he kept you living."

The door closed.

Anna sat on the bed, holding the piece of chocolate, holding the photo, tears flowing for a long time.