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Chapter 113 Beware of Telecom Fraud
The room was very quiet.

It's too quiet.

The windows were tightly closed.

The fire went out, and the air was filled with the unpleasant smell of burnt ash.

Mikhail sat on the old leather sofa, his left leg trembling nervously.

He didn't reach for the cigarette, but instead repeatedly pinched the corner of the map with his fingers, even though the paper was already curled up.

He remained motionless, as if waiting for something.

Actually, he didn't want to wait.

He just didn't know what to do next.

Igor is not dead.

Boris had the protection of the Israelites.

Only him.
He alone had nothing but three nuclear bombs.

Fortunately, he reached a deal with Boris.

All we can do now is keep waiting.

Then came the news of Igor's death.

Only then did he truly stand at the card table.

Of course, if you're lucky enough, you might still have the remaining two nuclear bombs.

at this time--

"bell--"

The phone rang suddenly, instantly interrupting my thoughts.

It was an old-fashioned wall-mounted air conditioner with a gray plastic casing.

He hadn't heard this thing make a sound in a long time.

After all, this number was only given to a very small number of people—and it wasn't for temporary communication.

Igor has it.

Boris has.

There are also a few partners who can hardly be considered "backers".

Mikhail stared at it for a long time as if facing a formidable enemy, without moving.

The bodyguard peeked in from outside, and after confirming it was safe, returned to his post.

The ringing continued, piercing his mind like needles.

Half a minute passed.

Mikhail made up his mind and reached for the receiver.

"Hey?"

Silence, with only slight noises.

Then, a male voice came from behind.

His pronunciation was clear and articulate, his accent unfamiliar but his tone extremely steady, revealing confidence.

"Mikhail Andreyevich Smirnov".

He didn't answer.

The other party paused for a moment, then continued:
“I am Benjamin Hazar, representing the Israeli National Security Agency.”

Mikhail's eyelids twitched uncontrollably twice.

He glanced out the window instinctively, then asked in a low voice, "How did you get this number?"

"It doesn't matter."

"The important thing is that now is the time for us to have a face-to-face talk."

"You've dialed the wrong number, I don't—"

Before he could finish speaking, the man interrupted him forcefully:
"Boris lied to us, so he died."

"And you have those three nuclear warheads."

Mikhail's heart skipped a beat.

".What are you talking about?"

"Please don't waste your time denying it." The other person's tone turned extremely cold. "You're not an amateur middleman, and we're not kindergarten teachers."

“We know where things come from, we know who you used, and we even know how you plan to hide them.”

Mikhail suddenly sat up straight.

"You...how could you..."

“That’s not important,” the man interrupted him again. “What’s important is that these things shouldn’t be on the market, and even more importantly, they shouldn’t fall into the hands of uncontrolled people.”

Mikhail was silent for a moment, as if he had accepted something.

"And then?" he finally spoke, his voice a little hoarse. "What do you want?"

“We were almost done with Boris,” the man said casually. “He provides the nuclear warheads, and we provide the channels and assistance.”

"But now that he's dead, the goods are in your hands."

"So, we can renegotiate."

Mikhail suddenly felt a sense of bewilderment and absurdity that was hard to describe.

It's like getting two points in history class when you were a kid. You thought you'd be publicly punished, but the other person just patted your head and said, "Okay, go back and sit down."

He wasn't sure if that was hope.

Or perhaps it was some kind of comical misjudgment.

He didn't die, but he didn't win either.

The world actually said to him, "Wait, we'll give you another round."

He held his breath, as if he had become the lucky one chosen at the last minute. He dared not ask too many questions, nor dared to believe too quickly.

The man seemed to sense his emotions and chuckled twice on the other end of the phone.

"listen--"

“We can help you kill Igor.”

“We can make you swallow Boris and Igor’s route.”

"We can provide secure transportation, documentation, and currency channels."

“We can even send in a team of advisors to help you reorganize this rabble.”

With each word he spoke, Mikhail's heart beat a little faster.

He had fantasized about these scenes before.

It's just too clear that these kinds of things mostly remain in the realm of fantasy.

Mikhail struggled to maintain his composure, suppressing his surging emotions, and asked, forcing himself to remain calm, "Why me?"

"First, we believe you are indeed capable, at least one of the few people currently available who can be 'utilized'."

"Second, we need to delegate some tasks to 'informal' people."

"Third, and most importantly—you have what we need."

Mikhail didn't speak, but his breathing became heavier and heavier, and his hands clenched tightly without him noticing, with veins bulging.

Finally, after half a minute, he managed to ask the most crucial question:

"What do you need from me?"

"Work for us."

“Remember, it’s not cooperation, it’s not partnership—it’s working for us.”

After saying this, the other party softened their tone accordingly:

“I understand you have concerns, and that’s understandable.”

"Therefore, to show my sincerity, I am willing to meet you in person."

"Right here in Sevastopol, we'll get all the details straight to face."

Mikhail frowned slightly, his alertness returning.

If the other person is not an Israeli.

It was Igor.
They may have already set a trap, just waiting for you to step into it.

He should have hung up immediately.

But the vision the man painted was too beautiful and too tempting, enough to make him hesitate.

After a moment, Mikhail asked in a low voice:

Where should we meet?

"A safe house seven kilometers northwest of Kamine Station."

At that moment, Mikhail was struck dumb.

He almost blurted something out, but he held back.

Tel Aviv understands.
He thought he had done everything perfectly.

Hidden paths, transit nodes, and loading groups.

He thought no one could find out the truth.

But the other party not only knew, but also chose this location.

It was not for an ambush, nor for an interception.

Rather, it's about showing off.

The power of the state is declaring: "You think you've hidden it well, but it's really just a footnote in the archives that they can't even be bothered to look through."

Mikhail slowly exhaled and leaned back on the sofa.

If it were Igor's men, gunshots would have been heard outside by now.

After all, if they can find the location of a nuclear bomb, locating this house is not a difficult task.

But the fact that the other party is still willing to let him "choose" whether to keep the appointment or not means that they are showing goodwill.

This is an opportunity.

A pass to a new order.

"Is this considered an agreement?" Mikhail asked.

"If you're willing to come and talk, then half the deal is done."

"time?"

"Tomorrow morning at five o'clock."

"You have plenty of time to prepare."

Mikhail nodded and continued to ask:

"Can I bring someone?"

There was a two-second silence on the other end, as if they were weighing their options.

"The three of us are here."

"You decide how many to bring."

"Okay, see you tomorrow."

The other party didn't say anything more, only leaving one sentence:
Don't be late.

beep--

The phone hangs up.

At this point, it had been less than nineteen hours since the Kamenay station was sealed off.

(End of this chapter)