Chapter 44

Glusevsky Avenue was the setting for a quaint cafe known as "Dieukraine," a traditional establishment in Ukraine for nearly half a century. It was almost comical to mention that this cafe, deeply rooted in Ukrainian culture, had been opened by a German. The German translation strung across its exterior read, "Ukraine is supreme!"

Inside, the cafe had only a few patrons. A freckled waitress stood behind the counter, meticulously wiping cups. Her gaze frequently drifted toward the western corner of the cafe, where several tables were occupied. Four or five burly men in suits occupied the outer tables, while an Asian man sat alone at an inner table, staring at the street with a distant look.

A jingle bell...

The door's wind chime rang as two men in windbreakers entered. One of them seemed to be nursing an injury to his right foot, causing him to limp slightly.

"Hey, Ivan."

Upon seeing the Asian man rise with a welcoming smile, the waitress extended her hand in greeting and pulled out chairs for them. She gestured for their order, saying, "Two lattes?"

"Please wait."

Tang Dao exchanged glances with Andreyevich, and the latter nodded, recognizing the cue. He introduced, "Joseph Dostoevsky."

The introduction was concise, but Tang Dao understood that this man likely represented a specific department of the Air Force, making this a genuine business interaction.

Following the Soviet Union's dissolution, Ukraine inherited 35% of the military might of its predecessor. Aside from strategic weapons, the air force stood as a prominent asset, propelling Ukraine to third place globally and first in Europe.

At the time, the Ukrainian Air Force boasted around 50,000 personnel, encompassing one Air Force Command and three Air Force Group Armies, along with six Il-76 transport aircraft regiments, one air refueling aircraft regiment, and an air transport team.

Furthermore, the Ukrainian Defense Force counted 30,000 personnel, organized into an air defense group army, nine anti-aircraft missile units, and various anti-aircraft rocket units, radar teams, and radio technical units.

Its arsenal comprised 102 medium-range bombers, 240 fighter-bombers, 340 fighter planes, 87 reconnaissance aircraft, 35 electronic warfare planes, and 850 trainer planes.

The oligarchs, once thriving and influential, had depleted these resources over the years. When tensions escalated with Russia, the Ukrainian Air Force was left with only a few Su-27s, battered and under-maintained, numbering fewer than thirty.

All these assets had been sold off in just over a decade.

This led Tang Dao to believe that the people in the Air Force were the most fun-loving.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Joseph," Tang Dao maintained the demeanor expected of a businessman.

Joseph had not spoken since entering, merely observing Tang Dao. He had encountered countless individuals expressing interest in the merchandise but lacking the financial means. To him, such people were time-wasters. Joseph's luxurious attire, especially the professional bodyguard beside him, hinted at considerable wealth.

In the United States, a qualified and excellent bodyguard's hourly wage was around $700!

Joseph felt that those who could afford bodyguards theoretically weren't short on funds. He displayed a friendly attitude toward the wealthy. "Pleased to meet you too, Mr. Nicholas. I've heard from Ivan that you've managed to amass quite a fortune in the United States."

Tang Dao was momentarily taken aback and glanced at Andreyevich in surprise. The latter, slightly tilting his head and winking, had clearly praised him to some extent.

Who said Russians were straightforward?

They could be quite flexible.

Tang Dao played along, waving his hand, and pretended to be a wealthy heir. "It's all thanks to my grandfather's expertise. I'm just responsible for spending the money." As he spoke, he casually placed his left hand on the chair, a gesture implying readiness for a transaction.

A wealthy heir?

Andreyevich was surprised, and Joseph was pleased.

"I've established my own foreign trade company. I'm in need of a large transport plane, and I've heard you have some goods here," Tang Dao gestured with his right index finger, tracing an imaginary circle in the air, and chuckled, "An-12s, they look quite attractive."

"Indeed, we have An-12s, which one would you like, Mr. Nunlass?"

"An-12! The young fox looks promising," Joseph nodded in agreement. The NATO codename still sounded appealing. He removed his windbreaker, as though to keep their conversation discreet, and lowered his voice, "Our quote for the An-12 is $3.5 million."

$3.5 million?

Tang Dao's eye twitched slightly, and he felt an urge to flip the table.

Did this guy think he had "sucker" written on his forehead?

While these prices might be suitable through formal channels, Tang Dao was here for a private deal. Why should he pay such an exorbitant price? Didn't they realize these transport planes were sitting idly in warehouses due to Ukraine's financial woes?

The conversion of $3.5 million into RMB was approximately 28 million.

During Paulette Airlines' bankruptcy, they auctioned off six An-124s, with an average selling price of around $890,000.

Joseph was likely just testing the waters, but Tang Dao noticed something off with the man's expression. As he began to refuse, Tang Dao knocked his finger on the table and extended it, saying, "700,000 dollars. I can write you a check from a Swiss bank right now."

He reduced the price by 80%.

Joseph was about to decline when Tang Dao dropped another bombshell. "Sir, Ukraine is in dire straits right now. Besides you, I can easily find other companies willing to sell these planes at even lower prices. They're just collecting dust in your warehouses. Why not make something useful of them? If you agree, I can purchase two An-12s."

Tang Dao was right; Ukraine was financially strapped.

"Why don't you... I have to consult with my superiors," Joseph hesitated.

"Of course, I also need to inspect the planes at the base. After all, they're not doing well financially. I want to show them some goodwill and let them taste the allure of capitalist dollars," Tang Dao glanced at his old-fashioned watch, "It's nearly noon, and I've already ordered lunch. Let's go together."

A free lunch was too tempting to pass up.

In the base, all he could look forward to was canned food. Tang Dao nodded with a satisfied smile. "Thank you very much."

He pressed a Franklin note on the table, and the group walked out of the cafe together, side by side.

The waitress observed the dollar bill with gleaming eyes, deftly tucking it into her boot. After tidying up, she returned to the counter, acting as if nothing had transpired.

After all, the cafe owner was away, likely laboring at a Ukrainian construction site to support his family.

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