Chapter 53

At 23:11 in the evening, the night sky above Boryspil Airport bore witness to the majestic ascent of three fully fueled Il-76s.

Tang Dao, a cigarette between his fingers, reclined in his seat, casting his gaze out of the window. The display lights on the transport plane illuminated the cabin with a mesmerizing glow, a stark contrast to the inky blackness outside. Within the cavernous belly of the Il-76 lay the foundation of Tang Dao's burgeoning empire: a trove of armored personnel carriers, an assembly of T-series tanks, and a duo of agile helicopters. And, of course, a cache of assorted firearms that, if successfully sold, promised to elevate Tang Dao to a position of power.

Ambition flickered in his eyes like a newly ignited flame.

He yearned to be the foremost private arms dealer, a title he affectionately referred to as the "first private hooligan."

The direct route from Kyiv, Ukraine, to Mogadishu, Somalia, spanned over 4,900 kilometers. Under normal circumstances, an empty aircraft could make the journey, but with their cargo hold brimming with supplies, they'd need to make a strategic stop for refueling. Tang Dao orchestrated this intricate ballet from afar, with Felix, a prestigious lawyer hailing from the United States, acting as his conduit.

After nearly thirteen hours aloft, their trio of Il-76s touched down in Mogadishu Airport promptly at 13:00 the following day.

Somalia!

A nation ensnared in chaos, Somalia had earned its reputation as one of the most tumultuous countries not only in East Africa but the world at large. Since the collapse of the Siad Barre regime, Somalia had languished in an abyss of anarchy, where warlords ruled with impunity. The northwest region of Somaliland had effectively declared independence, while central Puntland and southwestern Somalia remained ensnared in turmoil.

Ironically, Mogadishu, the capital of this fractured nation, held a critical lifeline - it was the sole sea route for cargo ships transiting to and from the Suez Canal. The ongoing civil wars had eroded social and educational systems over the years, and from this turmoil had emerged piracy, a profession embraced by Somalis since the 20th century. Year after year, pirates from the region extorted untold sums from merchant vessels of diverse nationalities, prompting the United Nations to launch missions against the pirate strongholds in Somalia.

The peculiar connection between Somalia and Ukraine added another layer to the narrative. In the early 2000s, a Ukrainian cargo ship, laden with 44 tanks, had been dramatically hijacked, an incident that had caused consternation on the international stage.

Tang Dao, fingers wrapped around the armrest of his seat, felt the gradual descent of the Il-76. He turned his attention to the small team of employees around him, eventually fixing his gaze on John. "Later on, I'll be carrying the RPG. If anyone below dares to cause trouble, I won't hesitate to eliminate them!" Sensing his tone may have been overly aggressive, Tang Dao paused, then continued, "Of course, we're here for business, and peace is of utmost importance. I am, after all, just a businessman."

In the realm of arms dealing, conflicts over merchandise were not unheard of.

One particular tale stood out: that of Christian Bernard, a Frenchman who had embarked on a mission to transport a batch of Famas automatic rifles produced by the French GIAT Group to South Africa. On that ill-fated night, Bernard and his three security personnel had checked into a hotel. By morning, an explosion had claimed 14 lives, including Bernard's. The shipment of rifles, however, had mysteriously vanished.

The allure of acquiring goods without the hassle of payment was a tantalizing prospect, and Tang Dao couldn't help but appreciate its potential.

In the world of arms trading, adherence to contractual integrity often took a back seat. Moreover, the de facto ruler of Mogadishu was Mohammed Farah Aidid.

Aidid, a name that had once been unremarkable, had gained notoriety after 1992. He had disrupted UN relief efforts, even declaring war on the international community.

Somalia was a powder keg, ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

"Contact Gould in Namibia and inform them that I'll be hiring their services. They need to arrive as soon as possible," Tang Dao instructed Robert.

"Understood," Robert replied, a submachine gun slung around his neck, his expression grave.

Even Osborne, known for his garrulousness, sensed the gravity of the situation. He raised the corner of his mouth, patted his pocket, and the unmistakable sound of bullets clinking resonated.

As the cabin door slowly swung open, John and Jin Dun sprang into action, adhering to the meticulously planned protocol: no one, under any circumstances, was to approach.

Mogadishu Airport, once home to the Somali Air Force (SAC) and a military academy, now stood as a forlorn shadow of its former self. The outbreak of civil war had prompted the evacuation of both personnel and equipment, and the subsequent collapse of the government had left the airport without guardians. In these turbulent times, ground and airport staff were makeshift volunteers.

A timid voice in English pierced the air: "Mr. Nicholas?"

Tang Dao raised his head, his gaze landing on a middle-aged black man, bespectacled and clutching a briefcase, standing cautiously at a distance.

Tang Dao sized him up, noting the man's well-groomed appearance, a rarity in this challenging environment. Maintaining personal hygiene was a luxury often overlooked amid adversity. Rumor had it that even Aidid struggled to choose suitable attire, fearing mockery.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Cyril Dewar. I am an interpreter hired by Mr. Felix. He instructed me to await your arrival at the airport."

An interpreter? Tang Dao, after a brief appraisal, nodded slowly and gestured for Cyril to approach. Unbeknownst to Cyril, Tang Dao's eyes had discreetly scanned the weapons carried by Robert and the others. Cyril, subconsciously clutching his briefcase, moved closer, bowing slightly in deference. "Mr. Nicholas."

Tang Dao inquired further, his curiosity piqued. "You seem highly educated. What did you do before?"

Cyril responded with a hint of pride, "I used to work as a tutor for others. I graduated from the School of International Relations at Sudan African International University."

The mention of Sudan African International University caught Tang Dao's attention. He knew that this institution was considered one of the most prestigious universities in Africa, often producing graduates who went on to hold influential positions in their respective countries. However, despite its regional reputation, Tang Dao had never heard of it, and his skepticism lingered. In his eyes, the university's prestige paled in comparison to renowned institutions like Stanford or Cambridge.

Tang Dao continued his inquiry, intrigued by Cyril's background. "So, you must be familiar with Mogadishu?"

Cyril nodded in agreement, "I've lived here for twenty years."

This revelation sparked newfound enthusiasm in Tang Dao. He offered Cyril a cigarette and reassured him, "Don't worry, as long as you work diligently, you'll receive your fair share of the earnings. Now, tell me, what's the situation in Somalia?"

Cyril nodded vigorously and proceeded to provide a detailed account of the chaotic environment. He painted a grim picture of the region—a Pakistani division, two U.S. Ranger regiments, and various African Union forces numbering over 30,000 personnel. The overlapping presence of these military forces reflected the tumultuous state of Somalia. It was a place where even elite garrisons hesitated to intervene, given the ongoing civil strife. In Somalia, it was a stark reminder that anyone could fall victim to the relentless violence—men armed with little more than an AK, a pair of worn-out slippers, and a vest, with erratic marksmanship to match. The elite garrisons, despite their training, dared not challenge the local dynamics.

Cyril shook his head in disappointment, summing up his thoughts, "Somalia, a forsaken corner of the world."

Tang Dao questioned Cyril's resolve, "Then why don't you leave? With your qualifications, you could find safety in another country."

Cyril's response carried the weight of unwavering commitment, "I was a student here once, and my teachers trained me. They've all perished in the civil war now. I can't abandon this place. Without education, Somalia has no future. I want to stay here to ensure that every child can afford to go to school."

In those words, Tang Dao detected a sense of unwavering faith in Cyril's eyes. It briefly stirred something within him, a hint of shame perhaps. But that sentiment was fleeting. Belief, Tang Dao concluded, couldn't put food on the table. He wanted money, not faith. He had no intention of being ridiculed as a beggar ever again.

Belief? What good was it when compared to the allure of wealth and power?