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“Where the hell is that bastard?”

It was long past the time they expected him to arrive.

Jibril was supposed to be staying in one of the hotel’s suites for two days. He should also have at least three appointments scheduled for this evening. Unfortunately, it was already eight o’clock, yet he still hadn’t shown up.

Seok Kang-Ho and his men hadn’t contacted the National Intelligence Service agents since receiving weapons, equipment, and funds from them since they wanted to prevent any blame from falling on South Korea in the worst-case scenario. That was also the reason they only brought the phone that the agents stationed in this country had given them.

“How long has it been?” Seok Kang-Ho asked even though he had a rough guess.

“He’s two hours late.”

At the very least, to uphold his prestige and dignity, Jibril would definitely stay at this hotel.

Seok Kang-Ho looked out the window, his eyes glinting. Going out there to eavesdrop and observe until they learned more about the situation had to be wiser than standing around.

“Gather ‘round.”

Choi Jong-Il, Woo Hee-Seung, and Lee Doo-Hee approached Seok Kang-Ho.

“Let’s use dinner as an excuse. We can try to eavesdrop on others while we eat to assess the situation.”

Seok Kang-Ho picked up the iPad and selected a table, food, and time to eat.

“This is rice mixed with spices and topped with lamb. When you eat it, you gather the rice with three fingers and push it in your mouth like this.”

Seok Kang-Ho zoomed in on the food and gave details about what he ordered and how to eat it.

“Establishments like this will probably offer a spoon, but I’ve honestly never eaten at a place like this before, so I’m not entirely sure. Let’s just adapt to the situation.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I ordered some pitas as well. You can put some meat on them or dip them in curry or something. Also, you probably already know this, but never use your left hand to eat,” Seok Kang-Ho advised, then stood up.

While he checked the pistol and bayonet strapped to his leg, Lee Doo-hee deposited the rest of their gear and weapons in the safe and locked it.

“If anyone tries to talk to you, look at me as arrogantly as you did earlier. I’ll take care of it and whisper to let you know what’s going on. You just have to act accordingly,” Seok Kang-Ho reminded them one last time.

He headed out of the room first, walking into a corridor monitored with CCTVs. The three leisurely followed him to the elevator.

There were only two rooms on this spacious floor. It seemed like they wanted to make sure the guests had both ocean and city views in whichever room they stayed in.

Seok Kang-Ho stood in the front, followed by Choi Jong-Il. Woo Hee-Seung and Lee Doo-Hee brought up their rear, guarding Choi Jong-Il’s back as they waited for the elevator.

Ding.

The elevator doors opened.

Seok Kang-Ho felt his heart sink. Five sharp-eyed Arab men stepped out of the elevator.

“Min Fadrick[1].”

They quickly blocked Seok Kang-Ho and Choi Jong-Il, giving the person inside the elevator safe passage to the hallway.

Seok Kang-Ho looked down to hide the flames in his eyes.

Jibril and his attendant were walking out together from inside the elevator.

I should’ve waited a bit longer! Should I take care of them now?

Jibril glanced at Seok Kang-Ho and Choi Jong-Il, then looked back away.

Unlike the other battles they had fought, Seok Kang-Ho and his men had to eliminate Jibril quietly and disappear. They couldn’t start shooting and stabbing in the hallway and create an international conflict that would be difficult to resolve.

The bastard was already here anyway. They could simply go to his room later. For as long as they could make him open the door for whatever reason, then they’d be able to put an end to all this. A few bodyguards were nothing.

As Jibril disappeared into the hallway with his entourage, Seok Kang-Ho pressed an elevator button and waited for Choi Jong-Il. It was hard to talk since they didn’t know if people were listening to them.

Just then, Choi Jong-Il raised his hand and called Seok Kang-Ho over.

Seok Kang-Ho politely leaned toward Choi Jong-Il.

“That was Jibril. Should we still eat?”

Seok Kang-Ho nodded, then silently pressed the elevator button.

There was no knowing where that bastard was going and when.

Ding, ding, ding.

The elevator doors opened on the third floor, and the four headed to a restaurant.

“Pretend you’re being capricious. I’ll tell them you don’t feel like eating here anymore because there are other customers and ask them to bring the food back to the room instead. Act accordingly,” Seok Kang-Ho whispered, then led the way into the restaurant.

Since it was dinner time, there were quite a few customers in the restaurant.

A staff approached them.

Choi Jong-Il arrogantly raised his hand and called for Seok Kang-Ho. He then whispered something in his ear.

Seok Kang-Ho looked at the scantily clad white woman with a disgruntled expression. “It seems Mr. Mohammed bin Walad doesn’t like the atmosphere of the restaurant. Bring the food to his room.”

“Yes, sir,” the employee quickly responded, ending the situation.

Choi Jong-Il turned around, and Seok Kang-Ho hastily moved in front of him.

The four then stepped inside the elevator and pressed the button for the 59th floor. The digital numbers changed quickly. Soon, they heard a ding.

The doors opened. Standing in front of the elevator were two Arabs whom Seok Kang-Ho believed were the bodyguards from earlier.

With Seok Kang-Ho at the front, the four stepped out of the elevator.

One of the guards approached the elevator, and Lee Doo-Hee stepped out of the way. Just then, the guard pressed the button to go up. He spoke into his radio.

“Elevator ready.”

Things just kept getting out of hand.

Although only Seok Kang-Ho understood Arabic, the three behind him understood the word “elevator.”

Was Jibril headed up to the 60th floor?

Seok Kang-Ho concealed his gaze and cautiously walked toward the room.

Click.

At that moment, Jibril’s door opened, and over ten Arab bodyguards stepped out into the hallway.

Seok Kang-Ho felt like he’d been slapped in the back of the head.

A helicopter!

Based on the blueprints he’d studied, this hotel definitely had enough space on the rooftop for a helicopter to land on.

If they missed this opportunity, the bastard would fly away, and all of their efforts would be for nothing.

“Excuse me,” Seok Kang-Ho said in Arabic. Jibril’s bodyguards rushed to block his way. “My name is Dayeru, Mr. Mohammed bin Walad’s attendant. Are you not Crown Prince Alman bin Jibril?”

Du du du du du du.

Amid the silence, they could hear the helicopter’s propellers coming closer.

“The crown prince has an appointment. You’ll have to contact him at a later time,” the man at the front replied.

At that moment, Seok Kang-Ho looked back and raised his right foot.

Shing. Spurt! Spurt! Spurt!

Instantly, lines were drawn across three of the bodyguards’ necks. A gush of blood followed.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

At the same time, Choi Jong-Il and Woo Hee-Seung rushed forward, pushing past the bodyguards who stood in their way.

Spurt! Spurt! Spurt! Spurt!

Seok Kang-Ho slit the throats of the bodyguards around him, and Lee Doo-hee did the same to the two who had run over from the elevator.

Screams filled the hallway as blood spurted from the men’s necks.

Click. Spurt! Spurt! Spurt!

Seok Kang-Ho cut open the wrist of an enemy who tried to pull out a pistol, then repeatedly slit his throat.

Whoosh! Jab! Jab!

Choi Jong-Il grabbed another by the head and stabbed him repeatedly in the neck.

Spurt! Jab! Jab! Jab!

Meanwhile, Woo Hee-Seung thrust his bayonet into the nape of another bodyguard three times.

“Hurry!”

Whoosh!

Choi Jong-Il and Woo Hee-Seung rushed in, snapping Jibril’s arms back and dragging him before Seok Kang-Ho.

Jibril, his eyes wide with terror and his face pale, stared at Seok Kang-Ho as if he were a ghost.

“I have a message from Assistant Director Kang Chan,” Seok Kang-Ho said in swift Arabic.

Perhaps because of Kang Chan’s name being mentioned, the sight of Seok Kang-Ho holding a bloody bayonet, or his arms being locked back, Jibril looked like a man possessed.

“Don’t touch South Korea. Not even in the afterlife.”

Seok Kang-Ho pulled back his bayonet and thrust it straight toward Jibril’s heart.

Jab!

“Kegh!”

Jab! Jab!

He stabbed Jibril’s heart two more times, rapidly turning Jibril’s white garb red and making his face twitch.

Shing!

Finally, he slashed Jibril’s throat so deeply that it was halfway open, completely eliminating any chance of recovery.

“Move!” Seok Kang-Ho commanded, and Choi Jong-Il and Woo Hee-Seung let go of Jibril and ran out into the hallway.

Lee Doo-Hee was already holding onto the elevator. The four jumped in and immediately pressed the button labeled “Lobby.”

Ding, ding, ding.

The doors closed and opened again because they had pressed the up button.

The elevator took only a moment to close its doors again, yet it felt like a thousand years.

“Good job.”

“You too, sir.”

Once the elevator doors opened again, there was no knowing who would survive.

This wasn’t their original plan. Seok Kang-Ho was supposed to stop by Jibril’s room and say hello. As soon as the doors opened, he would have dove in and eliminated him quietly.

However, they had no choice but to take out Jibril in the hallway. There was a good chance that someone had seen the whole thing on the cameras. If so, it would be hard to avoid a run-in with hotel security or the Dubai Police.

Seok Kang-Ho smirked as the digital numbers rapidly went down. Choi Jong-Il, Woo Hee-Seung, and Lee Doo-Hee drew their pistols.

Uuurng.

The elevator stopped in the lobby, and the doors opened with a ding.

***

Xairo looked older than Kang Chan imagined.

Kang Chan lowered himself from the second-row seats and inhaled sharply as Xairo walked past the passenger seat.

He didn’t expect to see an old man who reminded him so much of Kang Chul-Gyu.

The man’s gait and body language alone told Kang Chan that he had mastered his special forces training to perfection, and his years of experience added to that. His broad shoulders, angular jaw, gaze that took in the slightest movement around him, and balance that kept him ready to take on any foe at any moment all proved that he was no pushover.

‘Damn it!’

Kang Chan swallowed a curse as he felt the pain in his chest.

The van’s sliding doors took too long to open. It was plenty of time for Xairo to prepare.

Kang Chan wasn’t afraid of him, but it didn’t seem cost-effective to fly all the way here just to start a ruckus in the streets to get him.

He glanced at Gérard. The latter looked ready to pounce, yet his eyes were wavering. It wasn’t easy to overcome one’s primal fear of someone who oppressed them when they were young.

In the end, Kang Chan would have to deal with Xairo.

The man he was looking for had finally appeared, but the odds were stacked against him. They were right in front of the enemy’s stronghold, the doors would take too long to open, his wounds still hadn’t healed, and Gérard seemed to be losing confidence.

Xairo glanced at the van as he passed by it.

The tint was too dark to see past it. Still, his eyes glinted as if he could see through the glass of the second and third rows.

Seemingly disliking what he saw, he suddenly walked toward the van. Surely people could only see out from the inside, not in from the outside.

Gérard grew smaller as Xairo looked around the back and front of the van. If he moved toward the windshield, there would be no way to avoid him.

Kang Chan cocked his head and glared at him.

Then, Xairo resumed walking, as if he’d lost interest.

Kang Chan’s gaze watched him walk past the van.

It would be difficult to chase after him if he went too far away, but they would catch his attention if they opened the door now.

“He went into the cafe,” Gérard soon said, turning his upper body from the back of the van to Kang Chan.

Kang Chan stared at Xairo’s back for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

Then how about…

“Gérard, do you have any way to remove the mask?”

Ah, right. We have to immerse ourselves in hot water or make our bodies heat up.

Kang Chan had a sudden thought.

“Go order about ten cups of hot coffee from the cafe where we had coffee.”

“Do you think that will work?”

“Let’s give it a try. Hurry.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gérard opened the door and got out.

It was just dark enough for the ominous buildings to light up one by one.

***

Xairo walked into the freshly lit cafe and ordered a simple sandwich, coffee, and fries.

The cafe was deserted for the evening, which was unusual for Garnich.

Xairo glanced toward the entrance with a disgruntled look.

He understood Ziegfeld’s concern, but there was no need to be worried about South Korea.

Even if Kang Chan was alive, even if Gabriel had come to his senses and run away, he was confident he could handle it.

Click, click.

As a large plate of sandwiches, fries, and a cup of coffee were placed on the table, a white-haired Parthal walked into the cafe.

If only it wasn’t for him…

If it wasn’t for that fool that Ziegfeld continued to shield and defend, things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did.

Why would anyone trust a genius in economics and math to manage the intelligence world?

Receiving Xairo’s gaze, Parthal walked over and sat down in front of Xairo.

He looked like he’d just returned from a round of golf.

The orange flow of the lampshade made the color of Parthal’s hair look even more colorful.

“I assume you heard the order to come to Hawk Bay?”

“Isn’t it safer to be with you? I’d rather stay here and go with you than be bored on the way there.”

Parthal glanced at Xairo’s plate. He then raised two fingers to get an employee’s attention.

“Scrambled eggs, toast, and hot coffee.”

The owner, who had looked over, nodded and headed to the kitchen.

“C’mon. Eat, Xairo.”

Xairo picked up the sandwich and took a bite. “I feel like these orders are a bit too much…”

“I don’t see why we need to go to Hawk Bay now that Kang Chan is dead and gone,” Parthal said persuasively. “Why don’t we take this opportunity to destroy the Korean facilities and take them out one by one like we did last time instead?”

Xairo, who was listening, took a large bite of his sandwich as if he wasn’t interested in what Parthal was saying.

“What do you say? I think it’d be possible with your help.”

Xairo set the sandwich he was eating on the plate and took a sip of his coffee.

“We still haven’t confirmed that Kang Chan is definitely dead.”

“Not you too! It’s been all over TV that he is.”

“I’m not interested in why everything I’ve been doing has gone so wrong. I’m only interested in fulfilling Mr. Ziegfeld’s orders,” Xairo said firmly.

As Xairo picked up his sandwich again, Parthal\'s order was served.

Parthal picked up the pepper shaker and sprinkled it all over the eggs.

“When are you leaving?” he asked.

“Tonight,” Xairo responded.

“Have you already shut down everything here?”

“As Mr. Ziegfeld ordered.”

Parthal shoveled the eggs into his mouth with a fork. He looked surprised by its taste.

“I heard he told you to check on Kang Chan’s corpse,” Parthal remarked.

“We can do that when the opportunity presents itself—” Xairo paused mid-sentence, glaring at the entrance.

Huh? Why is the legendary Xairo looking so nervous?

Parthal turned to follow Xairo’s gaze. An Asian man was walking straight toward them.

Instantly, goosebumps rose on Parthal’s neck and cheeks. He hadn’t felt this way about anyone since the first time he’d laid eyes on Xairo.

How could someone have a gaze like that? Someone with eyes more intense than Xairo’s existed?

Parthal never thought it was possible.

1. من فضلك, Excuse me ☜