Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 103 Military Background
At 2:00 PM, outside Yevpatoria.

A cold front blew in from the black coastline, sweeping across the undulating forest slopes and through the low-lying valleys below the mountain pass, stirring up withered branches and whistling incessantly.

Two cars were parked in front of the gravel slope of the abandoned building.

It was an old building that was gradually being swallowed up by weeds; it was originally the administrative building of a sanatorium.

Now the exterior walls are mottled and the windows are sealed off, leaving only a row of narrow balconies that can barely accommodate people.

Mikhail stood on the second floor, his hands resting on the windowsill, gazing into the distance.

The city's outline in the distance seemed to be shrouded in a gray-white mist, leaving only the silhouettes of a few scattered high-rise buildings.

Today is Lunar New Year's Eve, and people are preparing for the celebrations, trying to spend a New Year "away from turmoil".

Colorful lights and woven banners were hung in front of the shops, and children chased after firework debris on the street corner.

In a dilapidated building ten kilometers from the city center, Mikhail stared silently at a military telescope.

There is a three-story Western-style building at the bottom of the valley.

Red bricks, iron railings, an open-air garden, and string lights hanging on the balcony.

There, at one of Igor's private villas—the main venue for tonight's gathering.

"There's quite a commotion over there," remarked the bodyguard standing beside Mikhail, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he peered through the trees.

“Indeed.” Mikhail put down his binoculars and stretched his neck. “This old fox is most enthusiastic on this day of the year.”

"Alexei has arrived too?" another person asked.

“He went in two hours ago,” Mikhail said casually. “His uncle always has to get him involved in some social obligations.”

Meanwhile, Igor, known as the Old Fox, was standing by the window, chatting with an old friend who had come from Kyiv.

The courtyard was already bustling with activity, and music drifted into the house through the open French windows.

On the terrace, guests lit cigarettes, drank alcohol, and chatted in hushed tones.

Several Ministry of National Defense officers gathered in the light meal area, raising their glasses and exchanging pleasantries.

Alexei had also been dragged along for a few drinks.

He absentmindedly responded with a few jokes about "Yerchin's speech last month," and then, during a brief awkward silence, excused himself to "go to the toilet" and quietly slipped upstairs to the second floor.

The atmosphere here is noticeably quieter.

The door to the suite's study was ajar.

Igor, with one hand in his pocket and a cigarette between his fingers, was talking to a man in military uniform.

His tone was relaxed, and he had a smile on his face.

He turned his head and saw Alexei come in, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"What's wrong? Not used to this kind of occasion?"

“No, not at all.” Alexei gave a wry smile, trying to keep his tone casual. “It was just a bit stuffy, so I came up for some fresh air.”

Igor winked at his old friend beside him.

The other person smiled knowingly, picked up their wine glass, and left first.

The door was gently closed.

"How much did you drink?" Igor asked casually.

"Three cups? Maybe four, but not many."

Alexei shrugged, paused for a moment, and then revealed the real reason he had come up: "I didn't see Mikhail downstairs."

Igor continued smoking, saying, "Maybe I was delayed on the way; there are a lot of cars today."

Alexei leaned against the railing, his brow furrowed slightly. "He won't change his mind at the last minute, will he?"

"You've talked to him?"

“We met after dinner last time.” Alexei nodded. “He seemed a little out of sorts?”

“He’s been busy lately,” Igor said casually. “The situation is changing too fast. He also has old business to handle near the front lines, you have to understand.”

As he spoke, he took a step closer, raised his hand, and patted Alexei on the shoulder. "You don't need to be too nervous."

“I’m not nervous,” Alexei replied rather quickly.

“Is that so?” Igor chuckled sarcastically, then said, “You’ve been doing well lately, both Kherson and Nikolaev.”

Upon hearing this, Alexei's eyes flashed with surprise, and he immediately straightened his back.

“You’re not a soldier, but you have your own way.” Igor looked at him. “Don’t be too hasty, and don’t rely too much on your intuition, especially when dealing with someone like Mikhail.”

“You mean…” “He’s not unreliable.” Igor took a drag of his cigarette. “He’s just very clever.”

"Smart people are prone to confidence, but if they are confident for too long, they will inevitably overestimate their own worth."

On a distant high ground, Mikhail, the protagonist of their conversation, was still carefully observing the people in the courtyard through his binoculars.

"Boss," the bodyguard suddenly pulled the headset out a little, "Boris's men say they're in position and awaiting further instructions."

"What instructions?" Mikhail didn't turn around.

"Let's prepare for delivery positioning."

Mikhail gave a mocking look. "Even now you still can't bear to move?"

"Tell them that I will keep my promise once things proceed as planned."

The bodyguard indicated that he understood and turned to leave.

A short while later, he returned and reported:

"Boss, one minute countdown to start wireless interference."

Upon hearing this, Mikhail put down his binoculars and slowly buttoned the top button of his coat.

“They all thought the outcome was already decided,” he said, his tone as casual as if he were talking about a performance.

“Igor, Boris, Israelis—they’re all vying to be directors.”

"Unfortunately, I am the one who controls the lights."

The wind blew through the woods.

The fog, however, grew even thicker.

The clouds were heavy, completely blocking out the sunlight.

Only a lifeless, gray-white sky remained, pressing down on the mountaintop.

Just then, a dark gray sedan drove up the mountain road.

We spiraled down the steep slope, heading towards the villas at the bottom of the valley.

There were no signs displayed, and the license plate was a temporary transfer code commonly used in Odessa.

They were covered in dust and mud.

"Did you arrange for someone else?"

Mikhail did not answer immediately, but raised the binoculars again and focused them on the car window.

The next second, his voice turned slightly colder, "They're not one of ours."

"Who?"

In the shot, that familiar Asian face gradually came into focus.

“.Fahd.

There was silence.

The bodyguard instinctively took a half step back. "Boss, should we inform Boris to postpone the operation?"

Mikhail put away his binoculars and shook his head.

"He was all alone."

"Boris's side has skilled personnel transferred from Tel Aviv who have carried out missions in places like the Bekaa Valley and Tripoli."

"Their firepower, tactics, and response are not on the same level."

"I'd like to see how many minutes a street killer with no military background can last against them."

Seeing this, the bodyguard beside him quickly added, "He probably won't even be able to pull out his gun."

"."

Mikhail, however, did not laugh.

He squinted, pondered for a moment, and then his gaze returned to the moving car.

"and many more--"

He suddenly changed his mind, a hint of amusement in his expression, "You should still go and inform Boris."

"Let him know that the culprit who killed his Israeli friend has arrived."

"Consider it my early New Year's gift to him."

(End of this chapter)