Farming Life Starting in Africa

Whether it's a helicopter, a transport plane, or a supersonic fighter jet, as long as it can fly and has wings, there's basically nothing this guy can't handle. Any flying object is as easy for him to play with as a toy.

Thinking about this, Rosen was completely tempted. Learning this top-notch, top-tier flying technique would be a huge win, and who would complain about having too many skills?

He coughed lightly. "I have a small request."

As soon as he finished speaking, Hannibal, Parker, and Bosco all turned their heads and their eyes fell on Rosen, their eyes filled with curiosity.

Hannibal remained calm and asked in a steady tone, "What are your demands?"

Rosen didn't mince words and stated his thoughts frankly: "I want to learn how to pilot aircraft, such as the C130 transport plane, military helicopters, and mainstream fighter jets. I want to practice all of them and acquire more skills."

Hannibal hesitated for a couple of seconds, then nodded in agreement: "When it comes to flying skills, no one here can compare to Murdoch. You can learn from him during the breaks in the subsequent missions."

Anyway, learning these things doesn't mean they're going to issue him any certificates, so there's no problem. As for whether he'll get to fly a plane? That's another matter.

With their connections, even if they became wanted criminals, they could easily acquire all sorts of airplanes.

After all, they had spent most of their lives with the Rangers and had built up good relationships with each other, so many of their comrades would do them a favor.

Meanwhile, Pike and Bosco exchanged a glance, and a look of sympathy mixed with amusement appeared on their faces simultaneously.

The two of them muttered to themselves, "Brother, you've never learned your lesson. You have no idea how big this madman's trap is. Learning to fly a plane from him is just asking for trouble, and you might even suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder."

Murdoch, however, became instantly excited, his eyes wide open, as if he had been injected with adrenaline, and he was extremely excited.

He immediately moved closer to Rosen, speaking rapidly, "No problem! I guarantee you'll learn it, I'll guide you step by step! But I do have a small question, what do you usually like to eat?"

That one sentence sent a chill down Rosen's spine, and he instinctively shivered.

He knew Murdoch's character all too well; this guy's culinary talent wasn't used for anything worthwhile, but rather for a bizarre, supernatural, and whimsical approach.

While others strive for perfect color, aroma, and taste when cooking, his cooking style is all about haphazard mixing and matching. He throws together all sorts of outrageous ingredients in one pot, and the taste is so incredible that once you've tasted it, you'll never forget it. He's definitely the pinnacle of culinary disasters.

He might just be able to get me to visit my great-grandmother after just one meal.

To protect his stomach and avoid this suffering, Rosen said without hesitation, "I love authentic Chinese food, all the genuine home-style dishes, the classic flavors!"

Murdoch stroked his chin, his eyes brightening, looking eager to try it out: "Chinese food? A new kind of food! I've never tried it before, but no problem! I have top-notch cooking talent; I can learn anything quickly. You'll definitely love my cooking!"

Rosen panicked on the spot, fearing that this madman would mess things up and create some kind of gruesome Chinese dish. He quickly waved his hands and frantically protested, "No, no, no! I'm also very talented at cooking. I can make authentic Chinese food by myself. There's absolutely no need to trouble you!"

Back and forth they went, the two of them started competing like children, determined to see who had the better cooking talent. Their bickering completely washed away the dull atmosphere of their journey.

At the same time, thousands of miles away in Washington, D.C., the atmosphere was completely different from the relaxed vibe by the lake.

The city streets are bustling with traffic and hustle and bustle, appearing peaceful and serene. However, inside the IMF's temporary headquarters building, the atmosphere is quite oppressive, with even the air feeling tense.

Ethan Hunt stood tall and straight in front of his desk, methodically reporting the latest mission progress to Robert Dewey, the current director of the CIA.

The arms dealer villain, Owen Davin, who had been causing them trouble for so long, has been successfully captured. All of his meticulously planned conspiracies have failed, his kidnapping plan on the road has failed, and even his girlfriend, who might have been kidnapped, has escaped danger unharmed.

Irwin Davin has been transferred to CIA headquarters and is under strict custody. He is accused of a hostile charge including cross-border kidnapping, illegal arms dealing, and cross-border terrorist cooperation. With the additions of the CIA's civilian staff, the evidence against him is now overwhelming.

He will face severe legal punishment, and barring any unforeseen circumstances, he can spend the rest of his life in prison.

Logically, with the mission successfully completed, everyone should be able to breathe a sigh of relief and get some rest. However, after listening to the briefing, Robert Dewey showed no joy whatsoever, not even a hint of relaxation. His brows were tightly furrowed, and his face was so gloomy it was almost dripping with water.

"Ethan, the follow-up investigation has been completed. The armed men who ambushed us on the bridge were all Owen Davin's men."

Robert Dewey's tone was heavy and solemn, "But the most critical loophole has not yet been plugged—how exactly did they obtain your escort route and operation time through what secret channels? We have investigated all the clues, but so far we have found nothing."

Ethan Hunt listened to his superior's serious debriefing with a blank expression. On the surface, he appeared meticulous and focused on his work, displaying the composure of a top agent, but in reality, his mind had long since wandered off.

He didn't care about leaks, moles, or ambushes at all. He only had one thing on his mind: how to explain to his girlfriend why someone had kidnapped her, and that she should change her job, or maybe not work at all, since his income was enough for her to live a wealthy life.

Robert Dewey, completely oblivious to his dazed state, continued in a deep voice, throwing out another thorny problem: "There's something even more troublesome. The guy who fired the anti-aircraft missile on the bridge yesterday was codenamed 'Lion.'"

"This person is extremely cunning, with strong counter-surveillance capabilities. He is ruthless and unpredictable, making him an extremely dangerous individual. We've searched through the database, infiltrated intelligence, and conducted full-time surveillance, but we haven't been able to extract any useful information about him. We don't even know why he appeared at the ambush point on the bridge."

In fact, they already had information on Ah Zu, and he was indeed dead. Many people in the Hong Kong Police Force can testify to this.

But how did this Ah Zu end up in America, and what is his purpose? What did he do with the medicine he obtained last time? Where did he get that anti-aircraft missile? Who is supporting him behind the scenes?

These are all areas of recent CIA investigation.

After saying that, he looked up and stared directly at Ethan, his tone scrutinizing: "Ethan, where were you at 11:00 AM this morning?"