Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 856 Falling into enemy hands
Luke Street is not far from the Danube River. The taxi arrived at its destination half an hour later. Ferrari handed over a large bill, said "Keep the change," and then got out of the car amidst the driver's repeated thanks.

The gloomy sky finally couldn't hold back any longer and started to rain.

Rain dripped from the hem of Ferrari's black trench coat onto the wooden floor of apartment number 172, Mihai.

This is an old-fashioned apartment building, estimated to be over a hundred years old.

There is no elevator, no access control, only wooden stairs and wooden floors.

The Ferrari slowly ascended the stairs.

The contact person lives on the fifth floor.

The leather shoes made a dull sound as they stepped on the wooden stairs.

The dim lighting cast the Ferrari's silhouette onto the floor, creating an eerie shape.

The hallway was very quiet.

It was eerily quiet.

Once we got to the fifth floor, there was only one door number; there was no need to look for it at all.

Ferrari walked to the door, and just as he was about to knock, his eyes fell on the lock. He immediately took two steps back and drew his Makarov pistol.

The door had been pried open.

The door lock was destroyed.

The pry marks are fresh, not old or damaged.

He gripped the loaded Makarov with his right hand and gently pushed open the half-closed door with his left.

A strong smell of blood mixed with gunpowder wafted towards us.

In the center of the living room, an obese middle-aged man lay face up in a pool of blood, with three bullet holes in his chest and forehead—a typical Mozambican shooting method.

It seems the assassin is a professional.

Ferrari crouched down and ran his index finger across the corpse's neck.

The body temperature was still present, and the time of death was no more than forty minutes.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath.

The fat man lying on the ground was his contact, Mikhail.

Mihai was his and Henry's only contact in Bucharest; a former Romanian intelligence major, who was now lying dead on the ground.

My gaze swept across the room; the computer case on the desk was open, and the hard drive was nowhere to be found.

Ferrari quickly searched the body's pockets; the wallet and phone were still there—this wasn't some petty thief who had accidentally broken in; the perpetrator wasn't after money, but was after a life.

Looks like it's time to run away.

The contact person is dead.

The situation has become very clear at this point.

The gangsters who had been following him were now lying on the ground, Mikhail.

I'm being targeted.

The sharp sound of tires rubbing against the road surface came from outside the window.

Ferrari darted to the window and lifted a corner of the blinds.

Three black Mercedes SUVs were parked in a battle formation downstairs, while a dozen armed men wearing bulletproof vests and four-eye night vision goggles were scattered around the entire building.

They weren't wearing uniforms, all in civilian clothes, but their gun-holding posture revealed their military background.

"Not a police officer."

Ferrari loosened the blinds, allowing the curtains to cover the glass again.

Police officers don't use Mercedes-Benz cars worth 100,000 euros, nor do they wear special forces-equipped night vision goggles in the rain.

His fingers moved rapidly across the phone's keypad, sending Henry an encrypted message: [Exposed, trap ahead].

Rapid footsteps echoed downstairs. In the quiet night, a group of armed men rushed up the stairs, their voices as jarring as gongs being banged under the covers.

The Ferrari sped into the bathroom, broke the SIM card off and flushed it down the toilet, removed the battery, threw the phone into the microwave, and then quickly turned it on.

Thirty seconds of high-power microwaves is enough to burn out all chips.

The footsteps in the corridor grew closer.

Ferrari pushed open the bathroom window, and rainwater immediately soaked his face.

Jumping from a height of five stories would break your leg.

He leaned out to observe the building structure and found that the roof of the adjacent apartment building, which was one floor lower, was about three meters away from the roof, with a two-meter-wide alley in between.

"God bless the quality of Romanian construction."

He muttered to himself as he stepped onto the windowsill.

The moment the bedroom door was kicked open, Ferrari leaped into the rain.

bang——

He landed safely on the roof of the building opposite. But the force of the impact caused him to tumble uncontrollably.

The pain from his right knee hitting the concrete rooftop made his vision go black.

"When we get back, I'll definitely have Song give me some serious physical training..."

Ferrari then remembered the military training he had always looked down on.

It seems that even with a sharp mind, one still needs a healthy body.

Angry roars and the sound of guns being cocked came from behind.

The Ferrari rolled behind the air conditioning unit, and the muzzle of the Maklov pistol was pointed in the direction it had come from.

The first pursuer who peeked out was shot in the shoulder and fell back with a scream.

Taking advantage of the opening, the Ferrari sped toward the rooftop fire escape.

The rusty metal steps groaned under his weight.

When they reached the third floor, two armed men suddenly rushed out from the alley entrance.

The bullet struck the fire escape ladder, sending sparks flying. The Ferrari rolled sideways and landed directly in a pile of garbage bags from the second floor.

The stench of rotting kitchen waste cushioned the impact of the fall, and something stuck to my face, slimy and disgusting.

He didn't care about the details anymore, got up and rushed into the depths of the alley, with radio calls coming from behind him.

The alleyways of Bucharest's old town are like a maze. Ferrari turned left and right, and after three street corners, it hid in a public toilet.

He pulled a brand new, unused cell phone from his pocket. It was an old-fashioned phone with simple functions, meant only for sending emergency messages.

The simple mobile phone received a message from Henry as soon as it was turned on: "[Night Owl is silent, repeat, Night Owl is silent]".

Ferrari's expression changed drastically.

This is the highest level of warning, meaning that the entire intelligence network may have been exposed.

He quickly typed the last message: "Don't come to Eastern Europe, Katrin is bait," then smashed his spare phone under his feet, crushed it into pieces, and threw it into the toilet to flush away the fragments with boiling water.

bang——

When the bathroom door was kicked open, the Ferrari was hit hard by the door and the driver was thrown forward, crashing into the toilet tank.

His forehead slammed into the thick tiled floor, and he saw stars. He didn't even have time to grab his gun to fight back before four gun barrels were pointed at the back of his head.

"Turn around, slowly."

The man leading the group behind them gave the order in accented English.

As Ferrari turned around, he noticed that they all had the same barcode tattoos behind their earlobes—these people were not ordinary agents, but a secret operations group that specialized in doing dirty work.

He was roughly pinned against the wall and searched.

When the agents discovered the satellite locator in the emergency kit, the team leader said into the radio, "Target confirmed."

Ferrari was taken aback when he saw the locator.

When did you put this coin-sized thing into your emergency kit?
Airport?

It must be the airport!
This shows that he had been being watched for a long time.

FCUK!

He cursed in his heart.

He was wise all his life but made a foolish mistake at one moment.

Henry had previously said that Karina's disappearance was too bizarre and that he should wait while he contacted some old friends to see what had happened.

Ferrari simply couldn't wait.

The mere thought of the consequences of a girl falling into the hands of gangsters involved in human trafficking sends chills down his spine.

Nothing is more important than my sister.

Ferrari smirked coldly: "So the CIA has stooped to kidnapping people's relatives to set traps? You and your masters seem to be equally filthy scum."

Snapped--

A heavy blow with the butt of a rifle interrupted him.

As blood streamed from his forehead into his eyes, Ferrari heard the team leader say over the radio, "Sir, we've got Ferrari. Yes, it's confirmed, it's Ferrari."

In a daze, Ferrari felt himself being dragged into a car.

Someone injected him with something; the cold liquid flowed into his heart through his veins.

In his final moments of lucidity, he thought of his sister Katrin, and the scene before his eyes flashed back to when he was ten years old, when he had mischievously fallen from a tree and passed out.

Catherine gripped her own hand and shook it desperately, her big eyes filled with tears, crying out, "Brother, don't sleep, don't sleep..."

The Ferrari completely lost consciousness amidst the vibrations of its wheels rolling over the potholes.

The darkness completely swallowed him.

(End of this chapter)