Chapter 65

Pierce and Gerbachio moved away from the chaotic scene, finding a seat in a quiet place to catch their breath. They exchanged glances and then burst into laughter, finally reuniting after so many years apart.

"Pierce, you said you were in New York. Why did you come back?" Gerbachio asked, curious about his sudden return.

"I'm here to find you," Pierce replied.

Gerbachio wasn't naive. Pierce was dressed in an expensive suit, which hinted at a well-paying job. He knew Pierce wasn't here to show off his success. Could it be that he wanted Gerbachio to join him in this new opportunity?

"Why did you come back?" Gerbachio asked cautiously.

"My boss is looking for a group of veterans willing to work in Somalia. The benefits and treatment are excellent, and they provide insurance," Pierce explained. He knew that Gerbachio, as a seasoned soldier, would understand the value he could bring to such a job.

"What kind of job is it?" Gerbachio inquired, his apprehension evident.

Pierce understood Gerbachio's skepticism. It was crucial to ensure that the job aligned with their principles and beliefs. He hesitated for a moment before answering, "We'd be working as mercenaries in Somalia."

"What?!" Gerbachio exclaimed.

It was clear that the idea of becoming a mercenary had stirred strong emotions in Gerbachio. He stood up abruptly, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of onlookers. Passersby watched with curiosity, a homeless man and...a man in a suit?

"Are you planning to be a hyena?!" Gerbachio questioned, his excitement palpable.

"Hyena" was a derogatory term used by regular army soldiers to refer to mercenaries.

Gerbachio seemed enthusiastic, grabbing Pierce by the collar. "Have you forgotten what we said? We're soldiers, and we can't aim our guns at civilians."

Pierce's right eye twitched at the memory. "I don't remember."

Gerbachio angrily pushed him away, grabbed his worn-out backpack, and turned to leave. Pierce quickly called out, "Hey! Do you think you're some kind of saint, or are you using your naiveté because you're poor? Did you think about society? You're poor, and your wife and kids left you because you're poor. Hyena? So what? What's wrong with being a hyena? Look, I'm rich."

Pierce pulled out a stack of US dollars and waved them in the air, flaunting them like a madman. He turned to the crowd that had gathered and asked, "Do you want this?"

The crowd fell silent for a moment. A daring individual spoke up, "Can we have it?"

Pierce tossed a dollar into the air, and a frenzy erupted. The seemingly civilized crowd devolved into chaos, scrambling to grab the dollar. Even people were fighting each other.

"Do you see it?" Pierce asked Gerbachio, who was still hesitating. He grabbed his shoulder, pointed at the struggling crowd, and said, "Money can turn everyone into dogs. And you? You're just a dog! You're like a fool, clinging to your morals and beliefs. Morality? Faith? They mean nothing!"

As he spoke, he raised two middle fingers in defiance.

"My boss has never been stingy. Do you know how much he gave me when he asked me to find veterans in the United States? Two hundred thousand dollars, all for me to use. I can find a second-tier star from the Screen Actors Guild and have her accompany me every day. I can stand on the tallest building in San Francisco, the Transamerica Pyramid, and urinate on it! And you? You can only fight with dogs in the trash for food..."

Pierce was impassioned, taking a deep breath as he looked Gerbachio in the eye. "Do you want to be a dog or a human?"

The clash between ideals and harsh reality had left Gerbachio bewildered, standing still and uncertain.

"Trust me, it's like being on the battlefield," Pierce reassured him, extending his hand with a gentler tone. Gerbachio hesitated but eventually reached out.

"Follow me and become human," Pierce urged.

With that, Pierce led Gerbachio away, glancing back at the crowd. The well-dressed "civilized" individuals were now tearing into each other like demons.

Could it be that money truly corrupts morals and beliefs?

...

Somalia. "Fifty Kilometers" Airport.

Compared to Mogadishu International Airport, this one appeared shabbier, but it was a military airport with ample space and the necessary equipment and facilities. Daru Airlines, while relatively simple and straightforward, maintained a certain level of honesty. If this were Tang Dao's company, any resistance from customers would result in all equipment being dismantled.

However, the African staff generally remained honest.

There were only six or seven concrete bungalows at the airport. Tang Dao's makeshift office was one of them, labeled "Manager's Office." Inside, chairs with broken legs and a kettle with a knocked-off bottom completed the sparse furnishings.

"Boom, boom, boom..."

Tang Dao, after placing a copy of "War and Peace" under a wobbly chair to stabilize it, shouted, "Come in."

Robert entered, holding a document in his hand. "Boss, all the documents from the Somali construction businessman have arrived."

"Place them here. I'll take a look later. Did Luke Malory respond?"

"He's back, but due to the urgent situation, he hasn't had time to discuss the details. He mentioned that he hopes we can help him bring the situation under control."