706 The Cloud above Somalia

Modern world, Somalia, Mogadishu.

A man in a leather jacket with luggage walked out of the airport with giant strides. Above his high nose was a pair of round sunglasses; his well-defined face looked quite vicious. Just from his appearance, this guy wasn't someone to be messed with!

Standing outside the airport, Garrett looked around then pressed on his headset.

"This is Garrett, arrived at Mogadishu Airport... Roger."

Like in a video game, the blue road sign directly appeared in his field of view, marking the mission site.

"Sh*t, this stuff is really convenient," he murmured to himself.

His gaze locked onto his destination. Through the crowd, he walked straight towards the blue road sign.

He walked directly on a street and turned into a local hotel. He didn't go to reception; instead, he went straight upstairs. He stopped at room 503 then gently pushed the door.

The door opened.

Just like as the Ghost Agent said, the door wasn't locked.

Garrett walked inside. His boots crunched on the wooden floor. Carefully checking his surroundings, he closed the door behind, went straight to the bed, and took out a card from under the pillow.

Everything was according to the mission briefing.

With a grin, he then crouched down and pulled out a password-protected briefcase.

He entered the password. With a click, the briefcase opened, exposing the black lacquer of the Reaper Assault Rifle as well as orange-colored bullets and cartridge.

He dumped the equipment onto the bed, stuffed the rifle and drones into the bag, and inserted the pistols into his pocket. After arming himself, he left with the briefcase.

When he went downstairs, a grey-shirted man extinguished his cigarette and stepped forward.

"Sir, do you need a bodyguard? 400 dollars a day. I can guarantee your safety in Somalia."

"Do you have a car?"

"Of course. In Somalia, the bodyguards are the drivers." The man smiled, revealing his white teeth.

Garret nodded then waved.

"Take me to your car."

"Okay. My name is a bit long - you foreigners might not be used to saying it, so you can call me Nasheed."

"Smith," Garrett said emotionlessly.

Smith was the name on his passport.

Nasheed's car was parked near a fruit stand. Not far from the fruit stand were a few children eating apples.

After shooing away the children, Nasheed opened the door and invited Garrett to get in.

It was a modified Toyota pickup; the trailer in the back had clear signs of welding marks. Needless to say, this guy must've been a pirate or something, the reason being that Toyota pickup trucks combined with 50-caliber machine guns were almost the standard for terrorists.

After playing hide and seek with terrorists in Iraq for more than five years, Garrett knew these things too well.

But at that moment, he didn't say anything. He got into the front seat and fastened his seat belt.

"Where to?" The driver started the car and turned to ask.

"Hudur."

Nasheed, almost about to drive, suddenly paused.

"What's the matter?" Garrett asked.

"It's not safe there and I don't suggest you go... That's one of Sabah's strongholds, and you must've heard they're unfriendly to Americans," Nasheed said.

Garrett grinned.

"Just take me there and drop me off."

Nasheed made a helpless expression.

"If you insist."

While Garret traveled on the car, a woman with a black turban drove to the desert north of Hudur.

The second-hand car was parked next to a sand dune. The woman pulled off her turban while throwing the black robe in the car, exposing a pretty face, and an Optical Illusion combat suit in a sand color.

When she got to the back of the car, she pulled open the trunk and took out the hidden Ghost Sniper Rifle as well as a drone backpack.

Putting the sniper rifle over her shoulder, she opened the hologram map, confirmed the coordinates of the targeted salt factory and the contours of the surrounding terrain, then headed for the dunes next to it.

The small drone terminal was behind the sand dune. She immediately activated optical invisibility and headed for the top of the dune.

Creeping on the sand, she set up her sniper rifle. The crosshairs locked onto the salt factory hidden in the hamlet.

"Ghost Bird is in place, waiting for attack orders."

…

In the laboratory of the salt factory, Tanaka inserted a glass tube into a flask filled with a clear-colored liquid and carefully introduced the blue-colored reagent. The moment the blue liquid mixed with the transparent liquid, a chemical reaction suddenly occurred. The originally incompatible blue liquid beads instantly disappeared.

A man, who was standing by the side, incredulously watched this scene.

"Have you learned yet?" Tanaka asked smilingly.

The man disguised his surprised look, pretended he hadn't heard, and looked away.

"No need to be nervous. I know Sabah sent you here to learn. You have to be careful when producing this virus; you could kill everyone if you don't pay attention."

Just then, the door was suddenly pushed open and a brown-skinned man came in and spoke two words to Tanaka in Japanese.

"They're here."

Tanaka looked a little surprised, but he soon returned to normal. He removed the glass tube from the rack then walked to another table.

"They're actually here. It seems that Jiang Chen can still surprise me."

"What to do?" asked the brown-skinned man.

"How many tons of salt have been transferred to the desert?"

"97 tons."

Tanaka nodded, pleased. He picked up the test tube, poured a little bit of unknown powder inside, poured the cloudy liquid in the test tube into the flask and pressed on the cork.

The flask was placed in front of an incandescent lamp. Looking at the oil-like luster on the surface, Tanaka smiling unconsciously.

"Very good, that's enough."

He tucked the flask into the hand of a black man. Tanaka patted him on the shoulder and spoke in English.

"After observing it so many times, you should try it yourself."

The man looked at the flask then at Tanaka, confused.

"What, what should I do?"

"Add a sample of embryonic stem cells from that brown bottle over there, put it into a petri dish and incubate it for two hours at 37°C then the virus's last step is done. I'm going to the washroom and going to grab something to eat. Rest assured - I completed the dangerous steps. You can do it!"

Tanaka and the brown man left, leaving behind a confused chemist.

"Did you tell him the recipe?"

"That's right. He won't live for long anyway," Tanaka said with a smile.

In the village where the salt factory was located, there were about 1,000 people, including the elderly, women and children. 500 of them were directly or indirectly in the drug business. With the help of Sabab, Tanaka had taken over Mr. Zhu's business effortlessly, and now he was the boss.

So when he walked out of the salt factory, these foolish natives looked at him with awe.

They weren't aware he was the man who would bring them death.

Tanaka walked to the front of the parked Toyota pickup and opened the door but didn't sit inside. He looked up at the glaring sun. His eyes narrowed and he whispered, "The Kurufune is welcoming its last moment. Soon, the whole world will remember our name, fear it, and embrace the era of Harmony in the soothing horn of doomsday. Sakda, do you choose to meet our enemies here or follow me to the end?"

"Is there any difference?"

"No difference. Our fate is the same."

"Then I choose to meet them here," the brown-skinned man said.

A cloud covered the gradually lowering sun.

Tanaka nodded with a smile as he patted Sakda's back.

"Best of luck."