Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 64 Warning
The nights in Abu Dhabi are much cooler than the days, especially in these villa areas far from the city.

The silence was unsettling.

In the basement of the safe house, a bare light bulb hangs from the center of the ceiling, emitting a dim yellow glow.

The concrete floor was damp, and a strong, fishy stench filled the air.

Alan Carlson changed back into his usual attire, stood in the corner of the interrogation room, arms crossed, and quietly observed everything in the room.

The target, successfully captured at the banquet, was tied to a metal chair, his hair disheveled, and blood dripping from his temples.

The man's bare upper body was covered with bruises and burn marks, his lips were cracked, and he was trembling uncontrollably.

Allen glanced down at his watch; three hours had passed.

On the opposite side of the room, his colleague Marcus was standing by a simple iron table, adjusting a syringe, the amber liquid sloshing against the tube.

"Barbiturates, in small doses, won't kill you, but they'll make your mind clear and you won't be able to forget things even if you want to."

Marcus's voice carried a hint of mockery as he flicked the syringe, squeezing out a little medicine, before slowly walking towards the man.

“Omar, we have given you enough time.”

Allen finally spoke, his tone carrying a hint of reassurance.

"You should understand your current situation; cooperation is your only option."

The man's eyes were unfocused, his chest heaved violently, and his lips opened and closed, but in the end he only let out a hoarse gasp.

"I know nothing."

Marcus chuckled, half-squatted down, grabbed his chin with one hand, and forced him to look up at the light.

"Is that so? Let me help you remember."

As soon as he finished speaking, the needle pierced the man's neck.

As the liquid slowly flowed in, the man's breathing became more rapid, and he gripped the handrail tightly with his few remaining fingers.

A few seconds later, he began to twitch slightly, and beads of sweat mixed with blood kept sliding down his face.

Allen remained silent.

He had seen too many similar scenes and knew that it took time for the medicine to take effect.

Marcus put away the syringe, stood up, stretched his neck, and looked back at the man.

“Come on, let’s try something simple,” he whispered in Arabic.

"******?"

Fuck you.

The man uttered a muffled curse, then coughed and turned his head to spit out bloody saliva.

Upon hearing this, Marcus said no more and simply picked up his tools to continue operating on him.

This time, the man suddenly struggled, veins bulging on his forehead, his frantic twisting causing the chair beneath him to creak.

Allen shifted his gaze slightly; whether in Baghdad, Mogadishu, or Yemen, he had never really liked this phase.

Of course, he also understands that sometimes a little "unpleasantness" is the only effective solution.

The target's resistance is merely psychological inertia and will soon collapse.

For a moment, only the man's painful wails remained in the room.

Just as Allen figured the time was right and was about to ask again, the captain's voice came through the earpiece: "Allen, come outside for a moment."

Allen paused for a moment, and Marcus also looked up, his hands still moving.

A sense of doubt arose in Allen's mind, but he said nothing, turned around, pushed open the door, and walked out.

An intelligence officer from the UAE National Security Agency was waiting outside.

Seeing him come out, she nodded slightly in acknowledgment, then pointed upstairs: "He's on the second-floor terrace."

The air outside is much fresher than in the basement.

A sea breeze swept by, carrying a dry warmth.

The seawater lapped against the rocks in the distance, its rhythm even and gentle. Allen approached the edge of the terrace and found the captain standing there, a cigarette between his fingers.

"Boss, what's up?"

The captain didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took a deep drag on his cigarette, remained silent for a moment, and then asked:
"You were the first person in the team to enter room 237, right?"

Allen nodded.

Tell me, what did you see at that time?

"There were three corpses in the room, two women and one man."

The captain turned his head to the side, signaling him to continue.

"The man was shot in the head with a 9mm caliber bullet, which was likely a close-range execution. The bullet penetrated the skull."

"The woman was also shot at close range, on the forehead, and the trajectory did not deviate, indicating that the killer's shot was consistent."

"Moreover, he must have been standing when he fired the shot, and the angle of the blood splatter matches the basic trajectory of the ballistics."

The captain's expression remained unchanged; he simply asked in a low voice, "And then?"

"From the sound of the gunshot to my entry, the time was less than a minute."

"The window was open; the killer may have escaped from there."

"The fact that no shell casings were found at the scene indicates that he deliberately collected them."

"In short, it was very professional and efficient."

After Allen finished speaking, the captain remained silent for a few seconds, as if he was pondering something.

What do you think that Asian person's identity is?

Allen frowned.

"Any news from headquarters?" he asked tentatively. "I just submitted the report yesterday according to procedure, and we already have the results?"

However, the captain did not respond, but instead asked another question: "Does he look familiar? Does he remind you of anyone?"

Allen thought about it carefully, but ultimately shook his head: "No, not at all."

Upon hearing this, the captain raised his head, his gaze lingering on Allen's face as if he were carefully observing his expression.

"What's wrong?" Allen asked, even more confused.

"It's nothing, it's fine."

The captain casually stubbed out his cigarette on the handrail.

Then he straightened up and solemnly commanded, "Forget about him now."

Allen's breath hitched, almost thinking he had misheard: "What?"

The captain's tone was excessively calm, without a trace of joking.

"There have never been any Asians; you're just hallucinating."

“But,” Allen blurted out instinctively, “I definitely saw him. It wasn’t a lie, even without surveillance footage—”

“No,” the captain interrupted him, “you didn’t see anything.”

As he spoke, he pulled an M18 from his waist, cocked it, loaded a bullet, and gently placed it on the table.

The night breeze blew.

Allen looked down at the gun, and his heart skipped a beat.

At that moment, he understood everything.

If your answer had been even slightly hesitant, or if it had shown the slightest inappropriateness, then tonight, there would have been another corpse in this villa.

Allen's throat tightened, but he quickly suppressed his emotions, showing no sign of distress on his face, and said in a low voice, "I understand."

The captain stared at him for two seconds, then patted him on the shoulder and sheathed his sidearm.
"I'm glad we don't have to go that far."

"Now, focus all your energy back on Omar; he is your top priority."

(End of this chapter)