Chapter 2151 - 871: I’m Going Down as the Referee! (Part 2)

Barak's face changed. "General, that's illegal detainment—"

"Illegal?" Hassan's voice suddenly raised, "Colonel, the shepherd you detained, he grazed sheep for thirty years on the Golan Heights, never held a gun, never wore a uniform. He just crossed the border, walked 200 meters. You jailed him for ten years. What do you call that? Legal?"

Barak said nothing.

Sanchez tapped the table.

"General, Colonel, the matter of prisoners of war can't be settled today. Today, we only discuss one thing—exchange. Exchange or not?"

Hassan looked at him. "Exchange."

Barak also looked at him. "Exchange."

Sanchez nodded. "Then exchange. Details, we'll discuss next time. If not settled next time, then the time after, until it's settled."

He collected the two lists and put them back into his briefcase.

Outside the window, the sun had begun to set. The golden hue on the lake slowly turned to silver, distant outlines of Tiberias City became blurred.

Hassan stood up. "Lieutenant Colonel, are we talking tomorrow?"

Sanchez also stood up. "Yes, tomorrow we'll discuss the procedure for prisoner exchange. The day after, we'll discuss the timing for prisoner exchange. The day after that, we'll discuss the arrangements after the exchange. We'll continue talking until the exchange is complete."

Hassan nodded. He turned around and walked to the east side of the bridge, stopped after a few steps without turning back.

"Colonel."

Barak stood up. "General."

"That shepherd, named Muhammad Fayez. Sixty-seven years old. Jailed for ten years. Tomorrow, I want to see him."

Barak was silent for three seconds. "I'll ask the higher-ups."

Hassan continued walking. His shadow stretched long in the sunset, casting on the bridge surface like a tree bent by the wind.

Later that evening, Moscow, Lubyanka Square, FSB Headquarters

Korosov stood behind the one-way glass in the interrogation room, watching the person inside.

Sergei Ivanov sat on the iron chair, his hands unshackled, a cup of water placed in front of him. The water was cold, untouched. His hair was much whiter than three days ago, with dark circles under his eyes, but his back was straight.

Dmitry stood beside Korosov, holding a freshly translated telegram.

"From Mexico City. Victor asks when Sergei will be tried. He said Mexico has seven lives to reckon with him."

Korosov didn't turn around. "Tell him, Russian prisoners are tried by Russia itself. After the trial, they will be extradited or deported as needed. It's not Victor's decision."

Dmitry hesitated a bit. "General, on the Mexican side—"

"What's the matter on their side?" Korosov turned around, "Mexicans helped us capture Sergei, we owe them a favor. A favor is a favor, justice is justice. Sergei's crimes in Russia are enough for three life sentences. As for those seven lives in Mexico, let's talk after he's served his Russian time."

Dmitry nodded, turned to leave.

"Wait." Korosov stopped him. "Where's Gerry?"

"Downstairs. He's been interrogated for two days, told us everything. The principal's matter, the Black Sea Wolf, the Chechens affair. All revealed."

Korosov nodded. "Let him write it down. Once it's written, have him sign it. After signing, send him to see his daughter."

Dmitry paused for a moment. "General, Gerry is—"

"What is Gerry? He's Sergei's driver. What crime did the driver commit? Driving for his boss, is that a crime? He stayed in Mexico for so long, they didn't catch him, it means he didn't commit any crimes. He has no criminal record, no previous convictions, no warrants in Russia. Why detain him?"

He turned around, looking at the person behind the glass.

"Detaining that one is enough."

Dmitry left.

Korosov opened the door to the interrogation room, walked in, and sat opposite Sergei.

Sergei raised his head, looking at him. "Korosov. Long time no see."

"Seven years."

Sergei nodded. "Seven years. You got promoted to Vice Admiral."

"You didn't get promoted. You ran away."

Sergei laughed. "The faster you run, the quicker you rise."

Korosov didn't laugh. "Sergei Ivanovich, your affairs are all revealed. Seven companies, four accounts, three houses. Two billion US Dollars. The Mexicans have thoroughly investigated you, what FSB found in your Rublevka mansion is enough for three bullets."

Sergei picked up the cold water, took a sip. "Korosov, what do you want to ask?"

Korosov looked at him. "Who helped you in Moscow?"

Sergei said nothing.

"Two billion US Dollars, one person can't hide it. Seven companies, one person can't establish them. Three houses, one person can't afford them. You have someone behind you. Who?"

Sergei put down the water cup. "Korosov, you know the rules. Don't ask what shouldn't be asked, don't tell what shouldn't be told. You were KGB before. Forget the rules?"

Korosov pressed his hand on the table. "Rules? You trafficked drugs, smuggled arms, sent Chechens to die, bombed the Mexican embassy—who are you talking rules with?"

Sergei looked at his hand. "Korosov, you're getting old. Your hand is shaking."

Korosov's hand didn't shake. He drew back his hand, stood up, walked to the door.

"Sergei Ivanovich, even if you don't tell, I know. Of Kryuchkov's men, few are still living now. Anyone can guess who you're working for."

He pushed open the door and walked out.

Sergei sat there, looking at the closed door. He picked up the cold water again, took another drink. The water had warmed.

That same night, Mexico City, top floor of "Feathered Serpent Temple"

Victor watched CNN's live broadcast.

On screen, a blonde female reporter stood at Moscow's Lubyanka Square, behind her the grey exterior wall of FSB Headquarters building.