Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 276 Carrying a knife but not an umbrella on a rainy night

The rain at midnight was extremely fine, dense and invisible.

Friedrich Schmidt was sitting in his study on the second floor.

The window wasn't fully closed, and moisture condensed on the glass, spreading out in circles and blurring the streetlights.

Schmidt was wearing slippers, his hair was still wet, and he had just come out of the bathroom.

The "Technical Affairs Bulletin" was spread out on the table.

It is labeled "Confidential/Internal Research Reference".

But the content, to put it bluntly, is nothing more than a few revisions to optimize the precision errors of the power unit.

He glanced absentmindedly at the first two pages, and when he turned to the third page—

A low-frequency rumble, not belonging to a rainy night, came from outside.

It wasn't thunder.

It's the car engine.

somebody is coming.

Schmidt stood up, took the old telescope from the drawer, and approached the windowsill.

It's not a Mercedes issued to the National Defense Force.

In the dim light, he glimpsed four people getting out of the car.

They were dressed in clothing that resembled neither military uniforms nor police uniforms.

They were more like plainclothes SS action team members.

Instead of heading straight to any particular house, they stood on the street for a few seconds, as if confirming their direction.

Then, he quickly walked towards the villa diagonally opposite.

That's Elhart's house.

The rocket engineering team just appeared at the meeting the day before yesterday.

Schmidt recalled that his wife seemed to be ill and had taken a few days off.

"puff--"

The faint sound completely disrupted his thoughts.

Then came the woman's piercing scream.

nothing left.

Schmidt put down the binoculars and felt a tightness in his chest.

Instinct led him to the stairwell, where he gripped the handrail and prepared to run down.

He knew what he had to do—

There is a door in the basement leading to the back street.

The iron railings are loose and can be pried open by hand.

He even tried playing an "escape game" with his two children a few years ago.

But for now, Schmidt is still standing in the same spot.

The wife and two children were in the next bedroom.

They are still asleep.

If I leave like this, they will become the ones who are implicated.

"Implicated" means death.

Schmidt looked down at his feet, which were still in slippers and were ice cold.

After some time, the doorbell rang.

First, there was a sound.

He didn't move.

Two or three sounds, with a fixed interval.

Schmidt looked at the quartz clock on the wall.

The second hand skips exactly from "12".

He stiffly took a step and went downstairs.

Along the way, he thought about the shyness during the date, the joy of his son's birth, and how he was still thinking about "whether a micro-loop band reconstruction algorithm can be used in signal redundancy design" during lunch today.

None of these are of any use now.

Rain was falling steadily in the courtyard, drip-dropping, as if something was waiting.

Schmidt took a deep breath—

"click"

The door opened.

"Colonel Friedrich Schmidt."

The man was wearing a long raincoat, obscuring his face.

As lightning flashed, he spotted the familiar white sign.

"Please cooperate with us to go to the Ministry of State Security for questioning."

"Can I change my clothes?" Schmidt asked in a low voice.

the answer is negative.

Schmidt swallowed hard and nodded stiffly.

He didn't even look back as he walked down the steps in the rain.

The night grew deeper, and the wind stung my cheeks.

The headlights reflected a misty haze as a third person opened the car door.

Schmidt was pushed in and sat in the middle of the back row.

It was only at this moment that he suddenly realized he had not left a suicide note.

He disappeared without saying goodbye to his wife, without even leaving any explanation. Schmidt lowered his head, his shoulders trembling involuntarily.

At first, I just inhaled deeply, suppressing my breath.

He didn't sob, and dared not make a sound; tears streamed down his face like a broken string.

Just as the soldier in the driver's seat was about to start the vehicle, he suddenly heard two knocks coming from outside the window.

He was startled, instinctively pressed down on his sidearm, and turned to look at the captain.

"Ignore him and drive."

"We also—"

Before he could finish speaking, the man outside the window moved.

He pulled out a gun from his pocket and raised it without hesitation.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Three muffled sounds.

The glass shattered instantly, and shards flew into the car.

The captain immediately fell backward onto the back of the chair, blood flowing down his neck and into his collar.

Before the driver could react, the gun barrel moved half an inch to the right.

"Bang! Bang!"

He was shot twice in the chest, and bubbles mixed with blood gushed out, landing on the steering wheel.

In an instant, the front row was almost entirely wiped out, and the two men behind instinctively raised their guns, but it was too late.

Zhou Yi opened the car door, leaned forward, and grabbed the wrist of the nearest person with his left hand.

At the same time, with a twist and a press, it is wedged between the seats.

Just as the other person was about to struggle, the gun was pressed against his earlobe and fired.

"boom!"

The bullet pierced through the temporal bone, splattering brain matter.

The next second, his finger lifted slightly, the gun followed his eye, and he pulled the trigger again.

"boom!"

The body fell down.

The air returned to quiet.

Schmidt was stunned by the sudden turn of events; his limbs went weak and his mind went blank.

He couldn't understand what had just happened, nor did he know whether he should scream.

Rainwater drifted in, and he didn't even realize he had stopped crying.

"Stand up and come with me."

The assassin's German sounded somewhat broken.

Schmidt stared blankly at the devastation around him, his ears ringing.

The dead man's right hand rested on his leg, and it was still trembling slightly.

Warm liquid flowed down my face.

Schmidt raised his hand to touch it; blood mixed with ash dissolved in his tears.

After realizing what it was, his throat bobbed up and down, and he gagged desperately, but could only let out hollow gasps.

Seeing that he seemed quite frightened, Zhou Yi couldn't help but sigh.

Damn it, how can someone have such poor mental fortitude?

They're still working on nuclear weapons.

"Don't make a sound."

After he finished speaking, he reached out and grabbed the man by the collar, dragging him off his seat.

Schmidt went limp and fell heavily onto the side of the road.

Rain lashed his face, his eyes widened, and he breathed rapidly, as if he were about to choke to death.

Zhou Yi stood to the side, looked down and observed for a few seconds, then sighed again.

Then, as if resigned to his fate, he squatted down and simply hoisted the person up on his back.

Goodness, they can really eat a lot.

A person who is 1.7 meters tall must weigh at least 180 kilograms.

Zhou Yi cursed inwardly, but his steps remained steady.

After walking another ten meters or so, he struggled to open the car door, tossed Schmidt aside, and then climbed in himself.

"drive."

Zhou Yi patted the seat in front of him.

The man remained motionless in the same position he had been lying on the ground.

Upon hearing this, Cattel immediately started the engine.

As the scenery receded, Schmidt vaguely heard someone speaking.

It seems to be in English.

“Mr. Friedrich Schmidt, I have long admired your name.”

Are you familiar with EAM systems?

"Please forgive my abrupt question, but—"

"I have something very interesting in my hands."

"Something that you design yourself in the future."

The next second, a boxed item appeared out of thin air in Zhou Yi's hand.

It's only the size of a palm and made of aluminum-magnesium alloy.

(End of this chapter)