Chapter 1992: Chapter 830: Crawling with Venomous Insects (Part 2)

The only sound in the warehouse was the dripping of water.

"Because the Americans want to figure out what your relationship is with that ’Feathered Serpent Temple’ in Mexico."

Scorpion’s right hand came out of his pocket.

Samir saw it clearly, he wasn’t holding a gun — he had a remote control in his hand.

"Mr. Costa," the African’s voice returned to calm, "you’re smart. But you made a mistake."

"What mistake?"

"You think you have a choice."

The red light on the remote control flashed once.

Outside the warehouse, on top of an abandoned crane three hundred meters away, a faint laser beam lit up. It was the rangefinder of an anti-tank missile.

At the same time, Samir’s phone vibrated.

He looked down at the message from a confidant at another stronghold in the dock area — only six words:

"There are troops, armored vehicles."

Not the police. The police don’t have armored vehicles.

October 20, 1997, early morning, off the coast of West Africa, Far Seer.

Black Mamba hadn’t slept.

He stood on the bridge, watching the blinking red dot on the satellite phone’s screen. That was the location of Costa’s warehouse.

The signal was still there.

Which meant Scorpion was still alive, or the remote control hadn’t been destroyed.

He didn’t care if Costa agreed to the new profit-sharing ratio. That was just a smokescreen. What really mattered was the test.

Testing the reaction of old European gangs when faced with a real military threat.

The result was: they would compromise, try to negotiate at the last moment, and then — get smashed by a faster punch.

Black Mamba was not Mamadou. Mamadou wanted to be a king, sitting on the throne accepting homage. Black Mamba just wanted to do business, big business, business that no one could ignore.

So he never planned to cooperate with Costa long-term.

Costa was just a door. The purpose of a door is to be kicked open.

"Boss." The Chief Officer came over, "The ’Engineer’ from Eastern Europe sent a message, the second echelon has entered the designated positions. Sicily in Italy, Algeciras in Spain, Crete Island in Greece. Three directions, synchronized deployment."

"What about the goods?"

"The first batch of ten tons has left port, to arrive in five days. The second batch of weapons — eight sets of ’Stinger’ air defense missiles, twenty RPG-29s, thirty PKM machine guns — has departed from Odessa, route through the Turkish Strait, expected to enter the Mediterranean in forty-eight hours."

Black Mamba nodded.

He didn’t need to occupy Marseille. He just needed Marseille to be chaotic enough, chaotic enough that all the resources of the French police were drawn in.

By the time the French realized it, the streets of Italy would already be full of "Black Pearl," the Turkish gangs in Germany’s Ruhr District would be killing furiously over supply, and Greece’s refugee camps would become Europe’s biggest drug distribution centers.

This is the "viral strategy."

The satellite phone suddenly rang.

Encrypted channel, only three people knew the code.

He picked it up.

"Mr. Diawlo." The voice on the other end was processed through a voice changer, cold and mechanical, "Your operation is advancing."

Black Mamba didn’t ask who the other party was. Having done business with Eastern Europeans for a long time, he knew some questions shouldn’t be asked.

"The market is ready."

"The market will never be ’ready.’ The market is created." The other party said, "The speed of your creation has caught some people’s attention."

Black Mamba’s fingers tightened on the bridge’s railing.

"The Americans?"

"No." The other party paused, "More troublesome than the Americans."

"Mexico City."

Those three words hit Black Mamba’s stomach like blocks of ice.

"Last week Victor Reyes’s people contacted the Italian intelligence department. They provided a ’counter-new drug infiltration’ cooperation framework, willing to share satellite surveillance data and funding source tracking technology. There’s only one condition: Mediterranean coastal countries must sign the ’Digital Security Agreement,’ allowing Mexican technicians to station in the customs and coast guard command centers of their countries."

Black Mamba didn’t respond.

He had stayed in Mexico. He knew what "technicians stationing" meant.

It wasn’t technical cooperation. It was setting up backdoors.

"Your time window has shortened." The voice on the other end continued, "Originally you had a six-month spread period. Now, at most three months. Three months later, the coastlines of Italy and Spain will be equipped with quantum radars provided by the Mexicans — those things can penetrate waves, detect the heat signature of semi-submersibles."

Black Mamba’s breathing was heavy.

"Why are you telling me this?"

The other party was silent for a few seconds.

"Because you are my pawn. And I don’t like pawns to be targeted by the opponent’s cannon before they even cross the river."

The call ended.

Black Mamba stood in the dark bridge, looking at the waves outside the window. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

For the first time, he felt — not fear, but anger.

Anger at still being a pawn. Anger that no matter how many people he killed in Africa, how much drugs he trafficked, in the eyes of those real players, he was still just a consumable that could be calculated, used, and discarded at any time.

He turned around, speaking to Hendrick, who had been waiting in the shadows:

"Add another ten tons to the third batch of goods."

"Boss, our inventory—"

"I said, add another ten tons."

Hendrick didn’t speak again, turned around to make arrangements.

Black Mamba looked out the window again. The African coastline had disappeared below the horizon, ahead was Europe, with richer prey but also more dangerous hunting grounds.

Three months.

Enough time for him to turn the Mediterranean into a sea of poison.

October 21, 1997, Democratic Republic of Congo, eastern border, Bukavu.

Captain Gals hadn’t slept for forty-eight hours.

During his team’s pursuit of the remnants of the "Black Sea Wolf," they discovered something unexpected.