Chapter 20

Originally, Tang Dao anticipated that Gould might face difficulties. To his surprise, Gould took it in stride, even suggesting that with an SGMB machine gun mounted on the armored vehicle, he could quote a higher price—possibly even thousands or tens of thousands of dollars more.

As Tang Dao stirred his pasta, a dish he found unappealing due to its less-than-appetizing appearance, he brought up another matter. "However, I need to borrow a few people now," he said, stuffing noodles into his mouth. The sauce accidentally ended up on his nose, and after a brief search for a napkin, he settled on rubbing his clothes. "Four or five people will do."

Gould, who was almost engrossed in the basin, looked up. Given their newfound cooperative relationship, he was more than willing to extend some favors. "Of course, I'll send them to your room later."

"Thank you. Here's to our friendship," Tang Dao raised the borscht soup in his hand.

"Cheers."

Cornelia, behind the counter, joined in the cheer with a teacup featuring Winnie the Pooh. An elderly woman in the kitchen scolded her disapprovingly, causing the little girl to shrink down but not forget to raise her teacup with effort.

Tang Dao and Gould exchanged smiles.

What a charming girl.

Returning to his room, Tang Dao borrowed a phone from the hotel to call Robert, inquiring about any developments.

"Thank goodness, it's a breeze. Boss, am I here for my honeymoon? Feels like I'm going to waste away." Robert, unsure whether to boast or express genuine annoyance, held up his right hand, picked up a coin mid-air, and tossed it with a flick. "Looks like I'll have to put in some extra work for you. I'll drive the BTR-40 in the warehouse to Belial."

"Found a buyer already?" an excited Robert on the other end of the line asked.

"It's just a glimmer of hope. Please drive here." Tang Dao was deliberately vague; he couldn't be certain how reliable Gould's words were.

"What about the goods here?"

"Angie can handle it. The airport guards provide enough security."

With the boss's assurance, Robert had no reason to object, so he agreed. Tang Dao turned back, slapped the coin on the table, and winked at Cornelia. Whistling, he said, "Beauty, can I get two more loaves of bread? My dim-witted employee upstairs hasn't eaten yet."

Cornelia swiftly stashed the coins in the drawer, smiling. "Certainly."

She left her seat, dashed into the kitchen, and returned with two cheese breads, panting as she placed them on the table. "These are for you, on the house."

Tang Dao regarded her with a half-smile, playfully hooked her nose, and asked, "Is there anything else you want?"

"Can you show me your gun? My grandma won't let me touch her weapon..."

"NO, NO, NO!" Tang Dao shook his head emphatically, refusing the absurd request. "What kind of joke is that? Put the dollar bills on the counter. Thank you for the food." With that, he walked towards the room, catching Cornelia's dissatisfied gaze. At the door, he saw four men in overalls laughing and joking around the armored vehicle. Some were even trying to smoke by pressing lit cigarettes against the tires.

Observing this rather questionable operation, Tang Dao and his companions felt a sense of foreboding.

"Hey, guys, I don't think tires are meant for smoking." Tang Dao frowned upon seeing someone pressing a cigarette onto a tire. Though his voice wasn't loud, it startled the culprits, who quickly turned their heads.

"Cough, Mr. Nunlas, I'm Barcelo, the deputy head of the Dog Head Mercenary Group. You can also call me an engineer." Barcelo, sporting sunglasses and a hyena tattoo on his arm, introduced himself.

"Hello, sir." Tang Dao shook hands with him. "Did Mr. Gould send you?"

"Yes, the boss asked us to follow your lead." Barcelo was straightforward. It seemed that upon arrival, he had gleaned some information from Gould, hence his cooperative tone—a positive turn of events. Tang Dao hoped that these men were more reliable than their appearance suggested. "You have a vehicle of your own; just follow us."

Barcelo gestured towards a pickup truck not far away, glancing at the bullet holes adorning it. Unaware that it had been salvaged from a junkyard, he marveled at its functionality despite the shattered windshield.

Could the Dog Head Mercenary Group be facing financial difficulties? Tang Dao mused. Even if they earned $30,000 a day with 17 members, considering various expenses, it might not be enough to sustain the team. Unlike PMC companies, which required hundreds of thousands of dollars per month, mercenary groups faced the challenge of balancing war profits with war expenditures.

"Stay close, don't lose them," Tang Dao instructed. Once he finished speaking, he settled into the co-pilot seat of the armored vehicle, patting the dusty cushion before adopting a posture of prayer. "God willing, let's make some money today."

"Boss, God won't bless such audacious requests."

"Then who can bless you?" Tang Dao turned his face sideways to inquire.

"Hermes, he's the god of wealth."

Tang Dao suddenly realized and then shifted his belief system while maintaining a respectable moral line. "Hermes, bless me to make money."

Osborne and Witt had never encountered such a direct Chinese before!