Chapter 52

The Ukrainian police swiftly entered the hotel and were met with a grim sight: lifeless bodies strewn across the floor. Overwhelmed by the gruesome scene, some officers leaned against the wall, unable to contain their nausea.

The violence was shocking.

While law and order had been growing tense recently, incidents of armed homicides like this one remained exceptionally rare.

"Secure the area and summon the forensic pathologist. Also, where are the hotel staff?" Inquired a police officer with blonde hair, dressed in plain clothes, his identification badge displayed on his chest, bearing the name "Noel Leacock."

"The hotel staff hasn't located them yet," responded a bespectacled officer.

"They haven't found them?" Noel felt his intelligence was insulted and retorted angrily, "Could they have vanished? Find them, contact the hotel manager, and determine the occupants of this room." He raised his voice, clearly losing his patience.

"Understood, we'll get on it," his subordinate hastily replied.

Noel crouched down, retrieved several large shell casings from the ground, each wider than his thumb, and examined them closely. He brought one to his nose and sniffed; the odor of gunpowder still lingered. He turned to a colleague and said, "Gurevich."

After a couple of attempts, someone finally answered his call.

Gurevich, a middle-aged man in a police uniform, had served in the Soviet Union and participated in the Afghan War. In 1987, during a patrol, he was ambushed by guerrillas, sustaining serious injuries that led to his retirement from the police force in Kyiv.

"Could you identify this type of bullet casing?" Noel handed it over to him.

Gurevich snorted, his mind racing instantly.

"What caliber is this?"

Wide and powerful!

Even the M61 aircraft gun equipped on the F15 is only 20MM caliber. Some countries' small-caliber anti-aircraft guns are no larger. This suggested that the only Soviet weapon capable of using such bullets was the KS-23 shotgun, a firearm that Gurevich was well familiar with.

Noel was taken aback when he heard it was a KS-23.

"Could this be the work of an outlaw?"

This weapon exceeded the firepower of the entire Ukrainian police force. Noel straightened up, adjusting his belt, and declared, "Contact the SWAT team. We'll need their assistance with this." As he finished speaking, he reached for a cigarette, but his attention was drawn to three Caucasian men in brown suits approaching. The one leading wore glasses and had a conspicuous bulge at his waist, clearly concealing something.

"Who's in charge here?"

The tone of the man with glasses irked Noel, who responded with a frown, "I am."

The bespectacled man produced his ID, saying, "You need not concern yourself. The KGB is handling this."

KGB?

The notorious Soviet organization, the very name sending shivers down spines worldwide. Its dark history was filled with countless tales of terror and intrigue. Among them, the Kennedy assassination remained a complex and perplexing mystery. Some even speculated that domestic interests had engaged the KGB to carry out the assassination.

Of course, these were mere speculations.

Reality was rarely as sensational, but it was unquestionably murky, a well of secrets best left undisturbed.

"I understand," Noel nodded, instructing those inside, "Stand down, team!"

If someone was willing to take on this troublesome case, it was best to let them. Within minutes, the KGB was the only presence left in the corridor. The other two men gazed at the bespectacled leader, awaiting his command.

"Proceed according to the plan," the bespectacled man directed, casting a calm gaze towards the room.

"What's the operation's codename?"

"Operation Bird Control!"

...

Perhaps driven by the allure of the dollar, the Ukrainians worked swiftly.

At 5:14 PM, three Il-76s landed at Boryspil Airport. At 5:48 PM, Andreevich and Vladimir transported the cargo for handover, and the commander loaded the weapons onto the transport plane.

"Boss, time is running tight. I initially contacted more than ten people, but most of them vanished when they learned of the nighttime departure," reported Jin Dun.

"How many are left?"

"Seven."

Tang Dao furrowed his brow and nodded slowly, "Tell them that once we reach our destination, each of them will receive an additional $30,000 for their efforts."

These individuals might grumble, but the lure of money would likely quell their discontent. Tang Dao believed in straightforward solutions.

"Understood."

Tang Dao checked his watch, asking, "How much more to load?"

"Most of it is on board, with a few tanks remaining."

"Speed it up," he urged. Just as he did, Andrejevic approached. Tang Dao quickly gave Jin Dun some instructions before heading over to Andrejevic, who warmly embraced him.

"Mr. Nicholas, if you run into trouble, you can always count on us in Kyiv."

Can't afford it?

Tang Dao silently thought that offending him would be unwise.

The Ukrainians, however, were indeed loyal, and Tang Dao appreciated their offer. He replied with a smile, "I believe we may have future opportunities for cooperation."

"I haven't finished collecting everything from your warehouse." He added this thought silently.

...

It seemed that these Ukrainians were quick to act for the sake of the dollar.

By 5:14 PM, three Il-76s had landed at Boryspil Airport. At 5:48 PM, Andreevich and Vladimir had transported the cargo for handover, and the commander had loaded the weapons onto the transport plane.

"Boss, time is tight. I initially contacted over ten people, but most of them disappeared when they heard about the nighttime departure," Jin Dun reported.

"How many are left?"

"Seven."

Tang Dao furrowed his brow and nodded slowly. "Tell them that once we reach our destination, each of them will receive an additional $30,000 for their efforts."

These individuals might complain, but money was likely to smooth over any objections. Tang Dao believed in straightforward solutions.