Chapter 10

Tang Dao had trouble sleeping that night. It wasn't the deserted village that scared him, but the haunting cries and despair of the couple before their deaths that lingered in his mind. He tossed and turned on his bed for a long time, eventually falling asleep from sheer exhaustion. But even in his slumber, he was soon awakened by a knock at the door.

Startled, he jolted upright, his heart racing. He realized that someone was knocking on the door. Tang Dao let out a tired curse, got up, and went to open the door.

Osborne was still in the process of raising his hand to knock, and upon seeing his boss's bloodshot eyes, he lowered his hand with a smirk. "Boss, that Michelin... I mean, Tire, gave you the green light."

"Got it." Tang Dao's voice was hoarse from lack of sleep. After bending down to tie his shoelaces, he rubbed his eyes and headed toward the large truck.

Tire was holding a can and, upon seeing Tang Dao approaching, he tossed the can over. He asked casually, "How was your rest last night?"

"Quite good," Tang Dao replied. He glanced at the distant hillside where the two corpses were buried. His thumb caught the pull ring on the can, and when he pulled it open, the smell of marinated beef filled the air. Tang Dao couldn't help but grimace. "What's that smell?"

"Authentic European dairy beef," Tire explained with a smile. "In Ukraine, you can get a well-maintained AK47. With the right connections, you might even get an RPG-7."

So valuable?

Does that mean I'm eating a "nutritious meal" worth hundreds of dollars?

Tang Dao couldn't let it go to waste. He pinched his nose and took a bite.

Tang Dao glanced at the food near Tire. "Could you pass me a piece of bread, please? Thank you."

"You should fill your stomach. The 2nd Border Defense Division won't have anything prepared for you," Old Hei said with a smile.

"How many of us are going?" Tang Dao inquired.

"Four or five people should be enough. You'll bring a crate of goods for them to sample," Tire explained.

Tang Dao nodded and took a bite of the bread.

As the sun shifted slightly, it was already around seven o'clock. Tang Dao, along with Osborne, climbed into the old jeep driven by Tire. The journey on the mountain road was bumpy and nauseating. Tang Dao couldn't help but comment on the driving skills, or lack thereof. "This... I greet your grandma."

The 2nd Border Defense Division was stationed 70 kilometers north of Lviv, a significant town in western Ukraine.

Outside the camp, Tang Dao spotted Grigory Alimovi Kurishenko, the chief of staff of the 2nd division. He was a Ukrainian man with a rotund figure, and his military uniform seemed to struggle to contain his large belly. The Ukrainian national emblem on his oversized hat was slightly crooked. Could this really be a soldier of a combat unit?

Grigory was visibly excited when he saw Tire, giving him a warm hug. However, as soon as he entered the camp, Tang Dao detected the scent of alcohol on the man's breath.

"Hey, child, it's been a while. I've missed you terribly," Grigory exclaimed.

Tire patted Grigory's shoulder and exchanged pleasantries with a smile. After a brief conversation, he led Tang Dao outside, pushing the business aspect forward. "This is my friend. He's from Warsaw, and he has something that might interest you."

"Pleasure to meet you, Grigory Alimov," Tang Dao greeted with a smile. He had done his homework before arriving, learning that Ukrainian names are typically preceded by the first name, followed by the father's name, and then the last name. When addressing peers, it's customary to add the father's name as a sign of respect. Using only the first name is reserved for interactions between elders and close relatives. Mispronunciations could lead to misunderstandings.

Grigory beamed like a sunflower. He reached out to shake Tang Dao's hand after adjusting his clothes. The man was talkative. "Mr. Nicholas, are you of Chinese descent? That's rare, but I enjoy Chinese cuisine a lot. Unfortunately, the Chinese restaurants in Kyiv are mostly run by some disagreeable folks. When I think of them handling my food with unwashed hands, it makes me queasy."

"Well, when you have the chance to visit Poland, I'll make sure you taste the most authentic Chinese food. It's the best in the world," Tang Dao replied. He was taller than Grigory, so he looked down at the Ukrainian.

"We'll definitely be good friends."

"No," Tang Dao's expression shifted briefly before he broke into a bright smile. "We're brothers, and we'll never forget the help Davari provided us. We'll always be brothers."

Davari?

Tire glanced at Grigory, who was flushed with excitement, and Tang Dao, who maintained a serious expression. The corners of his eyes twitched slightly, and he couldn't help but smile. Both of them were skilled actors.

An arms dealer discussing history?

And a corrupt general reminiscing about martyrs?

Tire felt his scalp tingle, and he fidgeted beside them, unable to listen any longer. Fortunately, both men recognized that this was not the time for nostalgia. They shifted the conversation to business.

"Nicholas, as per the request, I need to inspect your goods first," Grigory said, rubbing his hands eagerly. "I hope you understand."

"Of course," Tang Dao replied with a smile and snapped his fingers. Osborne placed a box on the ground, which had Chinese characters written on it: "Dichlorvos!" Of course, they couldn't read Chinese characters.

Osborne used his fingernails to tear off the tape, and a strong scent of alcohol filled the air.

As soon as the box was opened, Grigory couldn't take his eyes off it. Soviet men were notorious for their drinking prowess, and according to history, there was nothing that couldn't be solved with alcohol.

Tang Dao offered a bottle and handed it to Grigory. "Here, this baijiu from our hometown is quite potent. Give it a try."

"Gulu."

Grigory gulped it down, politely saying, but his body told a different story. After taking the drink, he couldn't wait to unscrew the bottle and down a good portion of it in one go. Osborne was worried that his legs might give out. One of the crates was specially prepared, with 60% of it being industrial alcohol. Could Grigory handle it all in one shot?

Clearly, the British had underestimated the drinking capacity of the Soviets.

Grigory finished about a third of the bottle in one go, and while his body swayed slightly, he rolled his eyes, hiccupped, licked his lips, and furrowed his brow as if pondering. "Why does this taste strange?"

"There's nothing strange about it. It's a specialty, quite rare in Eastern Europe," Tang Dao replied without batting an eye. After all, it was enough to fool anyone to death. He shrugged and asked, "What do you think?"

"It has a weird smell," Grigory remarked, still frowning.

Tang Dao glanced at him and muttered under his breath, "Can it be weirder than engine oil and antifreeze? At least this is drinkable."

The Ukrainian rubbed his chin, hesitated for a moment, then clapped his hands. "Alright, I'll show you my merchandise." He was rather impolite as he stuffed the remaining half bottle of baijiu into his military uniform pocket. With his hands behind his back, he walked in front, leading the way. Soldiers from the 2nd Division saluted as they passed, but they also cast curious glances at Tang Dao and his group, their eyes revealing a mixture of expectation, frustration, hope, and reluctance.

As they walked through the camp, Tang Dao couldn't help but notice that discipline in the 2nd Division was quite lax. The BMP-2 infantry fighting vehicles parked nearby were covered in dust despite having been in service for only a few years. It was a real pity, given that they were worth millions of US dollars.

Tang Dao muttered to himself, shaking his head as he followed Grigory reluctantly. The Ukrainian led them to a warehouse with a sign on it. It had a thick lock, and a nearby soldier produced a bunch of keys to open it.

Creak, creak...

The warehouse's rolling shutter door was a bit rusty, and as soon as it was pulled up, Tang Dao and the others were greeted by a jaw-dropping sight.

In the nearly 700-square-meter warehouse, there were guns everywhere.

There were the legendary AK-47, born in 1965, the AK-74 known as "the father of modern assault rifles," and the compact AKS-74U. The selection seemed endless.

"There are around 2,500 rifles here, and the price is quite reasonable. I'm willing to sell you the whole warehouse. Just give me 3...30,000 bottles of that wine, and you can take them all," Grigory said with a wave of his hand, pausing for effect when he mentioned the price, pretending to be generous.