On the island of Bileina, the city lay in ruins, especially around the port and the governor's residence, with signs of devastation from fires and explosions everywhere.
"Doctor! Where is the doctor?"
Four residents of the island rushed towards the port carrying a stretcher. The person on the stretcher had a leg covered in blood and flesh. "Doctor! Hurry! He needs to stop the bleeding!"
The houses near the port, including the only clinic, had all been reduced to rubble, and countless lives were lost in the flames ignited by the planes.
Old Amas stood at the doorway of his own inn, shouting, "Over here! Over here! There's a doctor here!"
The exterior of the Sophia Inn was charred from the smoke, but luckily, the interior was unharmed. The kind-hearted Amas family had turned it into a makeshift clinic for the injured residents of the port.
Every room in the inn was filled with injured people lying on beds and the floor.
The relentless strafing of the planes and the fires from the ignited auxiliary fuel tanks amounted to a catastrophe for the town's residents.
The town's pier had been destroyed by the fires, making entry and exit from the island extremely difficult.
Old Amas stepped forward, using his reputation as the former harbor master to lead the residents in their efforts to save themselves.
But when he looked at the two girls, Mickey and Lena, sitting numbly in the inn's lobby, his heart ached as if cut by a knife. Regrettably, he had no strength left to rescue them.
His granddaughter, Anna, had been taken away by the French and sent to Paris...
Paris, France—too distant. How could he save her?
A wave of darkness passed over old Amas's vision, much like the blackened town consumed by fire.
Taking a deep breath, he climbed to the rooftop, gazing toward the governor's residence. The three-story building had been leveled to the ground. Last night, with air support, someone had ignited the fuel depot of the governor's residence, causing a massive explosion with the power of gasoline and diesel, resulting in the collapse of houses hundreds of meters away.
Even now, no one knew how many were trapped under the ruins.
There was confirmed news that Governor Garsa was dead.
Garsa was a military man; if he died, so be it.
But with such a violent explosion, how many civilians would it have killed?
Amas's sorrow was overwhelming, tears streaming down his old cheeks.
Could he blame others? He turned his head to look at the burning French factory.
Was all of this predestined when the French invested in Bileina Island?
Did the residents of the island, including himself, really not notice anything unusual about the French? Did they truly think it was fine that the resort had taken so long to build, and the mineral water factory had yet to start production?
The answer was negative.
People had talked about it privately.
The secretive actions of the French, in conjunction with General Garsa, preventing anyone from getting close to the resort and the mineral water factory, not employing anyone from the island—clearly, it was obvious.
Amas wiped away his tears. Everyone, including himself, had been immersed in the tremendous benefits brought by the French, enjoying their investment dividends.
They neither wanted nor were willing to investigate what the French were up to.
After all, the French hadn't harmed anyone on the island; they would do whatever they pleased.
Instead, the island's residents enjoyed various dividends.
Truly, how much pleasure one enjoys would determine the price to be paid.
Buzzing...
The sound of engines echoed through the sky as the plane from yesterday appeared over Bileina Island once again.
The island's residents were in a panic, running around like headless flies.
Old Amas didn't run; he just looked up at the plane.
The side of the plane was painted with the flag of Puerto Rico, but Old Amas had inquired carefully, and the people who had come were a group of Americans!
After circling around Bileina Island, the plane returned to hover over the governor's residence.
Thor, covered in tattoos from head to toe, looked out of the window at the town below, which had been nearly half destroyed. He lit a cigar, smiled, and asked in English with a Russian accent, "Did we do this?"
Chrysmus's beautiful face carried a hint of seriousness, "We lost control."
Banney-Rose with a deadpan expression came over, patted his shoulder, and stood by the window, pointing downward at the governor's residence, "Lee, have you forgotten? We killed that dictator Garsa! The island's residents lost a lot, but they gained precious freedom!"
Bald Luther crouched next to the two body bags on the plane and said, "We sacrificed two comrades for their freedom!"
The top of the body bags was open, revealing the faces of Caesar and Gunner Jensen.
Chrysmus said, "Both of them were subdued and then killed with a single blow! The only one on Bileina Island with this capability is that terrorist named Ronan!"
Banney-Rose looked at the tattooed man, "Thor, you have the most information. I don't care how you do it, find that Ronan and make him pay for killing our daredevil squad members. He must pay the price!"
Thor exhaled smoke and reminded, "Don't forget about the CIA."
Banney-Rose said, "I talked to Quick on the phone. He'll inform us as soon as he has any information."
Luther stood up and said, "Caesar and Gunner have great strength! Banney, we need more elite manpower."
Banney-Rose nodded, "I'll contact elite personnel to make our team stronger."
Chrysmus said, "This terrorist Ronan is more dangerous than expected. The CIA needs to pay more."
"Yes, pay more!"
"Pay more! Pay more!"
Others echoed one after another. They were mercenaries; they did this job for money.
Banney-Rose walked toward the cockpit, "Alright, folks, take a break. We're preparing to return. I'll talk to Quick first and get the commission for overthrowing the dictator. Caesar and Gunner are dead; they should get an extra share, right?"
The others agreed, "No problem."
For mercenaries, carrying their lives to make money was their norm, always on the brink of danger.
The plane circled the island twice before leaving Bileina Island's airspace and flying northward.
During the return journey, Banney-Rose got in touch with Quick and settled on the price for overthrowing Garsa's dictatorship.
Quick immediately began making arrangements on his end, preparing to dispatch personnel to Bileina Island to support a pro-American faction and counteract Venezuela.
Through an island so close to Venezuela, the United States had many options.
............
Ronan was fortunate; he didn't encounter any guerilla groups from the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC) on the road. After half a day's journey, he arrived safely in the capital of the peninsula, Rioacha.
By Ronan's standards, this city, the largest on the peninsula, was no bigger than a small county seat.
The airport was extremely rudimentary, with only four flights, two of which went to the Colombian capital, Bogotá.
The planes were decades-old propeller planes. Ronan had no other choice. He wanted to reach Paris as quickly as possible, and this was the closest route.
Fly to Bogotá, then take a direct flight from Bogotá to Paris.
He left the second-hand pickup truck outside the airport casually, most of his belongings stored in the emblem space. He bought a sturdy chain from a store near the airport and fastened the emblem's clasp to it, hanging it around his neck.
This way, it wouldn't easily fall off when he had to get physical with someone.
In Rioacha, Ronan inquired specifically and, using the airport's connections, got in touch with an intermediary company that could quickly process his paperwork for traveling to France.
Money wasn't an issue; there was over a hundred thousand in cash inside the emblem. What Ronan needed was time.
Just past noon, the plane bound for Bogotá took off punctually.
Midway through the flight, the plane landed in Medellín for refueling. In the afternoon, around four o'clock, it arrived in Bogotá.
Upon disembarking, Ronan was immediately approached by representatives from the pre-arranged company. With money paving the way, all the necessary procedures were expedited.
They even established a connection with the French consulate in advance, swiftly arranging the visa.
The ticket was for a three-hour flight on Air France, in a specially booked first-class cabin.
This was the soonest available flight.
While waiting for the plane, Ronan got a Yellow Pages directory from the airport, found the address and phone number for the Eastern Embassy, and carefully packaged all the passports and documents from the Orient on Bileina Island. He also wrote a note in Chinese and sent it to the embassy via registered mail.
Since he had come across this situation, he couldn't just ignore it.
He couldn't let his compatriots disappear without reason.
Ronan couldn't do much, but he did what was within his capabilities.
He wasn't afraid of being misunderstood.
After mailing the letter, he returned to the VIP lounge and waited calmly for the flight. At the same time, he reflected on some things the big-nosed Frenchman had said.
In this kind of business, many aspects were fragmented. The heads of operations on one side rarely had direct contact with those on the other side.
The big-nosed man had been responsible for security on Bileina Island, and the real head of operations, the technical supervisor, had had his head blown apart by Ronan's shotgun.
The person who understood the situation the most was killed by Ronan himself, but there was nothing he could do about it.
The most valuable information he obtained from the big-nosed man was that the Albanian mafia in Paris was responsible for transporting the materials.
The cosmetic companies implicated in this matter wouldn't be useful to approach for now. They weren't directly involved in the raw materials business.
Ronan's top priority was saving people. Time was extremely limited. He needed to rescue Anna first, and then deal with everything else!
Once on the plane, experiencing first-class for the first time in his life, Ronan couldn't help but look around more, especially at the rumored flight attendants.
Surprisingly, the flight attendants in the first-class cabin were indeed beautiful, with tall, seductive figures clad in uniforms that resembled high fashion.
As the plane entered the stratosphere, Ronan prepared to catch some sleep. The middle-aged man next to him took the opportunity to ask for something and extended his hand, revealing a Patek Philippe watch below his sleeve. He turned to the most striking flight attendant and said, "Sorry for bothering you. Could I know the name of this lovely lady?"
Unexpectedly, the flight attendant responded, "My name is Katarina."
Ronan cast a sidelong glance and put on his eye mask to sleep.
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