Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 88 Tel Aviv
As night fell, a villa hidden in the woods on the outskirts of Odessa was dimly lit.

The asphalt path in front of the house was covered with rainwater from the recent rain, and the shadows of the birch trees on both sides were dappled, rustling in the wind from time to time.

Boris sat in a leather chair in the living room, his brow furrowed.

Just as his patience was about to run out, there were two knocks at the door.

Hearing the noise, Boris abruptly looked up: "Come in."

The door was pushed open, and a middle-aged man in a gray overcoat with sharp eyes walked in.

Hair was neatly combed, and shoes were dry.

A coordinator sent from Tel Aviv.

Accompanying him was a silent young assistant, carrying a briefcase. After cautiously scanning the layout of the room, he stood still by the door.

"Good evening," the man said in Russian.

"good evening."

Boris forced a stiff smile. "I knew you wouldn't leave this unresolved. And look, we meet again."

"You shouldn't have so many thoughts."

The man sat down opposite him, his expression indifferent: "I'm here because we've started to notice that your old friend seems to be becoming more dangerous."

"You mean Igor?"

"And the interest groups he represents."

"You failed, Boris."

"Not only did they lose control of the port of Nikolayev, but they also gave SBU a legitimate reason to carry out a purge."

"This even affected our planning."

"You came here just to question me?"

"You should know that Igor's gang of lunatics staged a 'Dniester Restoration Warriors' show in the port and even killed two of your men."

"The video has already been released."

"You haven't said anything about this?"

“They didn’t reveal their identities.” The man shrugged.

"Moreover, this is just one of our 'cooperative arrangements' here and does not represent the official position."

Are you telling me they are sacrificial assets?

Upon hearing this, Boris's smile vanished. "So, in your eyes, as long as your name isn't on the report, you're not considered dead? What an exquisite yet ruthless algorithm."

The man's eyes suddenly turned cold: "Are you questioning our decision, Boris?"

"Please note, it is your mistake that is causing us to bleed."

Sensing the murderous intent in the other party's tone, Boris's eyes twitched, and he dared not shout any more, lowering his head slightly.

"I admit, I underestimated him."

“But you should know better than I do that someone like Igor, once he starts, he’s not going to stop easily.”

"His next move will only be more ruthless."

"So what do you want?" The liaison officer's voice softened, but remained condescending.

"I need you to send more people."

"How much exactly?"

"Sixty men, a fully trained special agent unit, equipped with the best equipment, will operate under my command."

The man opposite him raised an eyebrow: "Sixty? What do you think this is? Lebanon?"

Boris sighed, pulled the envelope from his pocket, and tossed it onto the table.

The liaison officer did not move.

Don't you want to open it and take a look?

"I don't like your dramatic way of expressing yourself."

The man's tone was cold, but he eventually pulled the envelope over and opened it.

Inside was a blurry photo with extreme black and white contrast, but the details were still fairly clear.

He paused for a moment, then brought the photo closer, squinting as he examined the markings on the metal container in the picture, before looking at the handwritten number in the corner.

The air was silent for a few seconds. "What is this?" he asked in a low voice.

“You recognize him,” Boris said calmly.

The liaison officer looked up and stared intently at Boris: "Where did you get this?"

“A collaborator gave me a photo,” Boris said, spreading his hands. “Of course, the details are confidential.”

“This isn’t ordinary stuff.” The liaison officer leaned back in his chair, his voice lowered. “Do you know what you’ve got?”

"of course I know."

"It's what you've always wanted, but even the Americans won't give it to you."

The liaison officer remained silent, as if mentally reassessing the Ukrainian in front of him.

Boris, somewhat smug, continued:

"You know I won't just hand it over easily."

"What I want is cooperation."

"Your men can at most cause a small riot, but me—"

He pointed at the table, "enough to overturn the whole game."

The liaison officer frowned, and after a long pause, finally spoke: "Where are these things hidden now?"

“Don’t be nervous, I didn’t intend to keep it for myself.” Boris’s tone was so calm it was almost as if he were talking about a work of art.

"This is not a level I can handle, but it's also not something you can take without paying the price."

"We can immediately revoke all your cooperative status and put you on the intelligence asset denial list."

The liaison officer said coldly, "Next, you will appear in the sanctions notices of several countries. No matter where you hide, someone will find you."

Are you sure this is what you want?

Boris gave a cold laugh, his attitude becoming increasingly hardened.

"Of course you can do that."

"But you'd better get what you want before you order me killed."

"Because if I die and you have nothing—then you will never find them again."

Upon hearing this, the liaison officer stared at Boris for a full ten seconds before slowly looking away.

We will consider it.

“No.” Boris stepped forward. “It’s not ‘we’ll consider it.’”

"I need men, sixty of them."

"And there's complete authorization, the kind that doesn't require reporting to the battlefield commander level by level."

"Secondly, I want you to use diplomatic channels to put pressure on Kyiv and force the Ukrainian government to withdraw all its support for Igor."

The liaison officer did not immediately agree.

After a long silence, he finally spoke:
"Sixty people, I can give them."

"Arriving in Odessa next week, registered as a technical cooperation advisor."

Boris nodded in agreement.

But he didn't stop there; instead, he continued, "What about the Ukrainian government?"

The liaison officer smiled slightly, but there was no hint of pleasure in it:

"You're too greedy, Boris."

“Igor’s line connects to certain factions within the Russian Federal Security Service and the General Staff.”

"In Moscow, it took us two years to convince some people in the Kremlin that the country's strategy in the Middle East would not affect their neighborly strategy."

"Especially in Syria, the US and Russia have just begun to establish some understanding, and their diplomatic teams are still repeatedly coordinating restrictions on the Syrian-Israeli border control line."

"You want us to tear down the window we've worked so hard to build for you, our so-called 'intelligence partner'?"

"The higher-ups won't allow it."

"Of course, besides that, I can provide you with the maximum assistance within my authority."

After listening, Boris lowered his eyes and pondered for a moment, then said no more, "Let's leave it at that for now."

(End of this chapter)