Chapter 50

Chapter 50:

Tang Dao's plan for the Vietnam War veterans was rather straightforward: repurpose them as dog trainers. While their combat skills and physical fitness might have become obsolete in this era, Tang Dao believed that these qualities could be put to use in training others. The tactical proficiency of many African armies left much to be desired, often descending into competitions of casual marksmanship with outcomes hinging on the whims of fate.

The question on Tang Dao's mind was how to make a living when there were fewer casualties. In a business that relied on transporting bodies or selling body bags, a decrease in violence meant fewer profits. Tang Dao intended to establish himself as a valuable asset for African warlords by helping them train soldiers. It seemed implausible that he wouldn't receive compensation for his services.

When Pierce asked him how many people he needed, Tang Dao didn't hesitate. He wanted a team of at least two hundred people. His vision involved setting up a base in Africa and constructing a large-scale training facility. Africa's constant need for personnel reassured him, but he made it clear that while the benefits would be substantial, he wouldn't tolerate slackers.

Pierce, overwhelmed with emotions, took a deep breath and firmly agreed to the plan. This was the first time someone had shown trust in him since retiring from the military. He had grown accustomed to being waved off as a "murderer" by interviewers in suits and ties.

Back at the hotel, the lobby remained deserted. The front desk clerk greeted them weakly, and Tang Dao nodded in acknowledgment. As they headed for the stairs, Tang Dao noticed a lone figure in the lobby's seating area. The person sat cross-legged, reading a newspaper with their face partially obscured. Their polished leather shoes gleamed in the dim light.

As they entered the elevator, the person reading the newspaper shifted slightly, revealing half of their face. Tang Dao could see that the person was bald.

One of Tang Dao's bodyguards noticed this observation and quietly informed Tang Dao. It seemed odd to them that someone was occupying such a large space in the lobby while trying to remain inconspicuous. Plus, why would anyone read a football newspaper at this hour when the Ukrainian sports league hadn't even started?

Fortunately, these were elite members of the Italian dignitary protection team, renowned for their meticulous observation skills.

Tang Dao decided to have the person brought to him, sensing that he was being targeted.

Back at Lance Faraday's side, he stowed his newspaper in his bag, not wanting to waste a valuable tool in his current situation. He took out some banknotes from his pocket, reconsidered, and returned them to his pocket. As he waved goodbye to the front desk lady and prepared to leave, he left without any further delay.

The receptionist was left puzzled, her hopes of a tip dashed. She approached the table where Lance had been sitting and found nothing, cursing him as a miser.

Outside the hotel, a taxi driver approached Lance, inquiring if he needed a ride. Lance declined, claiming that he had flown there himself. The taxi driver, irritated by the dismissal, responded with a rude gesture and even spat on the ground near Lance's polished leather shoes. Lance wiped away the saliva with a piece of paper, tossing it aside in disgust, and muttered about the taxi driver's rudeness.

Lance Faraday, primarily an entertainment newsman and paparazzo, had taken up part-time work as an intelligence provider due to the recent lack of celebrity news. He had managed to dig up some decent information in Kyiv, gaining some recognition.

However, it seemed that his luck had run out.

As he walked into his usual alley, Lance abruptly stopped when he saw two burly men in suits blocking his path. A third man stepped forward, and Lance recognized them from the group around the Asian man earlier. He considered making a run for it, but before he could react, Pierce swiftly punched him in the abdomen. Lance felt a searing pain, his face turning red as saliva dribbled from his mouth. He struggled to speak, asking why he had been hit.

Pierce reminded him to clean his saliva, as their boss didn't like untidy individuals. He took a tissue from Lance's pocket to wipe his mouth, and then two bodyguards pinned Lance to the ground. The punches that followed were brutal, causing Lance to writhe in pain, though his cries were muffled by the blaring TV playing "First Blood."

After about three minutes, the bodyguards finally ceased.

Tang Dao now asked Lance who had sent him. Lance, his face battered and swollen, struggled to open his swollen eyes and stuttered that it was Nikita Sergeyevich Yenov.

Tang Dao inquired about Yenov's identity, and Lance revealed that he was a former colleague who now worked for the secret police.

Tang Dao's expression darkened at the mention of the secret police, an entity notorious for its ruthless tactics. He probed further, asking what Yenov had wanted Lance to investigate about him.