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Chapter 107 An amateur at fighting outsiders
The windows were closed, and a layer of grayish-white fog covered the glass, blurring the street outside.

Boris stood motionless in the room, holding a glass in his right hand, with only a few drops of whiskey left.

2:15 pm.

The moment to act.

"It's almost over, it's almost all over," he whispered to himself.

He had waited long enough.

Igor is not the only one who died today.

And his most important allies.

Once the purge is complete, he will be able to take over most of Igor's arms logistics network within two weeks.

At that time, Mikhail will be nothing more than an unknown nobody, his life and death entirely in his hands.

Just then, the fax machine clicked and started spinning.

Then it slowly expelled a piece of paper, still warm, with curled edges.

It had only a few lines of text printed on it:
Location: Northwest of Sevastopol, old naval port railway loading and unloading base, Warehouse No. 7

Goods number: Б-42-771
Personnel configuration: Four people on rotation, two per shift, military guard numbering based on the old Ukrainian Navy designation.
Boris stared at the paper for a full three seconds before a smile appeared on his lips.

Everything went as he expected—even sooner and more decisively than he had imagined.

Mikhail finally realized who the real boss was.

"Activate the second reserve team now and enter the target area via the railway guard passage."

As he spoke, he handed the document to his assistant, saying, "Don't let the Israelis know."

The man nodded and left.

The door closed, leaving him alone in the room.

Boris remained rooted to the spot, staring thoughtfully at the shortwave listening device in the corner.

That equipment was brought by the Israelis themselves; it wasn't the most advanced model.

They didn't believe him and were unwilling to share the live channel.

However, in an effort to "appease" them, they mercifully allowed the transmission of a selected channel recording, which was imported every five minutes.

The content is decided by them, the timing is controlled by them, and what can be heard and what cannot be heard depends entirely on the other party's mood.

A condescending attitude is annoying.

However, once they have obtained those three "bargains," they will soon sit down and negotiate with respect.

Even important figures in Tel Aviv have to address him as "Sir".

Stop what you're doing, listen to his terms, listen to his explanation of the situation.

It's not impossible that even a few intelligence officers could be replaced.

Boris gave a cold laugh, walked over, and switched on the listening device.

The old electronic components lit up, the indicator light flashed a few times, and the synchronized voice summary was exported from the storage chip.

The sound quality is poor and there is a lot of background noise, but the keywords are clear enough.

He pulled up a chair, sat down, placed his hand next to the listening device, closed his eyes, and looked like a gambler who had just sat down at the card table.

In the channel, several compressed segments of Hebrew and mixed terminology were transmitted intermittently:
"The main entrance area of ​​the building has been cleared and there is no contact with fire."

"The Bravo team has passed through the ventilation shaft and has now reached the rear passageway of the kitchen."

"The west wing on the second floor has been completed, with minimal contact resistance."

Boris's lips curled into a slight smile.

He knew the structure of Igor's villa, a three-story building located on the outskirts of Yevpatoria, which wasn't heavily fortified, with a maximum of twenty guards on the outer perimeter.

The statements in the channel have become more concise and decisive.

"A small fire broke out on the south side of the hall. One person was injured. The target has been eliminated."

"The Alpha group is approaching the main entrance of the staircase. There are obstacles on the west side. They need to go around to enter the inner hall."

"The guests had not yet completely evacuated, and some resisted with pistols. The execution was completed."

The image was already forming in Boris's mind.

Someone broke in through the window, military boots shattered a glass, spilled champagne remained in the living room, and blood smeared on the carpet.

Igor may still be stalling, but that is just a futile struggle to delay death.

This is what he wanted: a precise, high-pressure structural purge.

Everything is going according to plan.

He opened his eyes with satisfaction and was about to get up to pour himself a new glass of wine when a panicked report suddenly popped up on the listening device: "The target's master bedroom has not been emptied, and the study is empty. No signs have been found."

Boris frowned.

Did Igor leave early?
A strange feeling suddenly welled up in his heart.

impossible.

Igor cannot leave early.

The entire perimeter of the villa has been cordoned off.

Besides, he was unaware of today's operation and therefore had no opportunity to plan the retreat.

Boris hesitated for a moment, then moved closer to the listening device and turned up the volume.

A brief silence fell over the channel.

Then, a voice with a noticeably faster speaking speed interrupted:

"A third-party target was found in the lobby and stairwell."

This was followed by several urgent reports delivered in quick succession:
"Three members of the Alpha team have fallen to the ground; the attacker is unknown."

"The target was dressed in dark clothing, carrying a Soviet-made short rifle, and his location was unknown."

The next voice message was filled with barely suppressed panic:
"Visual confirmation, repeat—visual confirmation, it is Fahd."

The audio ends here.

Boris was stunned, as if he had been thrown into a bucket of ice water in winter.

The other end of the headphones went completely silent.

There was no more noise, no more calls, and no more signal updates.

It was as if everyone had died.

Fahd.

Boris took a deep breath and pressed down on his slightly trembling fingers.

Don't panic.

We must not panic, at least not now.

Israelis can accept the losses of defeat under certain conditions.

Igor may still be alive, but he has lost his most important ally.

In short, as long as the goods in Warehouse No. 7 are still there, he still has a trump card up his sleeve.

Nuclear weapons are the bargaining chip, the most important bargaining chip.

Boris closed his eyes, trying to sort out the situation, but his mind was like a tangled mess of cables, getting more and more confused the more he tried to untangle it.

He stood up irritably, pushed back his chair, and walked to the window.

The fog outside had not yet dissipated, and the sky was growing darker.

Just then, there was a burst of hurried footsteps suddenly heard outside.

"boss."

The door opened, and there was the assistant.
His face was deathly pale, and his body was still damp from the outside.

"what's up?"

"The transport team just called for help via shortwave."

"explain."

"At 2:30 PM, the transport convoy took over the target from Warehouse No. 7."

"At 2:35 p.m., the convoy entered the second connecting line and proceeded along the planned transfer route."

"At 2:40 PM, while crossing the Kirov branch bridge section, we were attacked by unidentified armed forces."

Boris's facial muscles twitched, and he could no longer maintain his composure: "What!?"

"The enemy was clearly well-trained, and their firepower consisted mainly of light machine guns and grenade launchers."

"The rear section of the convoy was damaged. The command center received the coordinates before the last communication was interrupted, but the information was incomplete."

There was dead silence in the house.

Boris felt as if he could hear his own heartbeat, heavy as an anvil striking his chest.

He slowly raised his head, his expression momentarily contorted with rage: "Fuck that son of a bitch, Mikhail!"

(End of this chapter)