mtl008 Chapter 4567 The Day of Brightest Day (26)
Chapter 4567 The Day of Brightest Day (26)
Chapter 4567 The Day of Brightest Light (Twenty-Six)
Check-in to the hotel went surprisingly smoothly; as I said before, Schiller was truly adept at this kind of thing. The hotel receptionist was initially a little nervous when they entered, after all, Deathstroke's attire hardly suggested a good person, and Schiller's demeanor was even more suspicious.
Schiller immediately spotted their hands pressing the alarm button. Realizing they'd been discovered, and fearing for their lives, they dared not make a move, only managing a forced smile. When Schiller slammed his badge on the reception desk, they had no other choice.
"Aren't you afraid someone will come after you?" Deathstroke asked as they got on the elevator.
“They’ve already contacted me.” Schiller’s words were barely out when the elevator jolted violently. Then, a hotel staff member’s voice came over the intercom:
"Excuse me, sir, there's a slight malfunction in the elevator. Please wait inside for a moment, a repairman will be there shortly."
Deathstroke sensed something was wrong. Although it sounded like a hotel staff member, the tone was slightly trembling, suggesting he might be being held hostage. Schiller took a step forward and stood at the elevator entrance.
The elevator jolted again. Schiller seemed to be calculating something, then took a few steps back, stood at the innermost part of the elevator, slowly raised his arms, holding the gun in both hands, and aimed at the upper part of the elevator door.
After a while, the elevator doors slowly opened, only about the size of a small fist. Schiller fired a shot. A scream came from outside the door, and a figure slowly fell to the ground.
At this moment, the elevator did not stop precisely on the floor, but was lower than the floor's door opening. Only the upper part of the car connected to the corridor of that floor, while the bottom was blocked by walls.
The person Schiller struck was standing on the ground floor of that level. But now he was lying on the ground, and it was impossible to see what had happened; only blood was dripping from him.
Schiller turned to the death knell and said, "What are you standing there for? Put your sword here."
Schiller pointed to the opening leading to the floor. Deathstroke winced in pain, but still planted the greatsword diagonally into the floor, the hilt against the ceiling of the carriage.
Schiller crawled out through the narrower exit. Just as he was climbing out, the carriage shook again. Deathstroke looked up and realized someone had cut the carriage's cables. If he hadn't braced his sword against the carriage, Schiller would have been sliced in two by the falling car as he crawled out.
Deathstroke crawled out from there and retrieved the sword. The greatsword wasn't damaged, being made of a special metal, but there was some wear on the hilt. Deathstroke mentally added another loss to his tally and sighed.
He turned to look at the man lying on the ground, and sure enough, it wasn't a repairman. It was an Arab man in a suit, holding a pistol—an old M9. This place truly had all kinds of equipment; a veritable melting pot of weapons from around the world.
Judging from the way the other person fell and the position of the pistol, it can be seen that he had already pre-aimed as soon as the elevator stopped, and he knew that the car would be below, or rather, this was intentional on their part.
The structure of the human eye dictates that the blind spot above our eyes is larger than the one below. To see things below us, we don't actually need to look down, but to see things above us, we must look up, and looking up is a process. If it's premeditated, we might already be hit while looking up.
“A boring trick,” Schiller commented. “Even the KGB in the last century didn’t use sedan chairs for assassinations.”
When the KGB was mentioned, Deathstroke became somewhat interested. He looked Schiller up and down and said, "You don't look like someone who has ever fought with them."
The agent looked very young, and judging by his age, he shouldn't have lived through the KGB era. But he acted as if he knew them very well, which made Deathstroke a little curious.
Deathstroke truly lived through the KGB's golden age. Back then, the KGB was unparalleled in global intelligence and espionage, a true leader by a wide margin. Even a cyborg like him would have found it troublesome to deal with. During that era, Deathstroke avoided direct confrontation with agents whenever possible.
Those who haven't experienced it can hardly imagine their power. But Schiller didn't explain further; he went to examine the old pistol, which was clearly in poor condition. Schiller sighed softly and walked down the corridor.
"Are we still going to stay here?" Deathstroke was somewhat surprised. Although he knew these people might not be affiliated with the hotel, they had already come knocking on their door. Staying here would likely lead to endless trouble and might disrupt their plans to explore the museum.
“They’ll follow us wherever we go,” Schiller said without turning his head. His hearing had recovered somewhat; he could make out some words. Humanity’s self-healing ability is just too strong.
"You have so much confidence in them?"
"I just have confidence in myself."
They arrived at the room indicated on the key card. It was a two-bedroom family suite. Schiller went inside and looked around, beginning to check each area in order: door lock, floor mat, hooks, shoe cabinet…
His movements couldn't even be described as professional; they were more like instinct. Every step was methodical and flawless, as if he had done it a million times.
Deathstroke had never thought being a secret agent was anything special. In his eyes, those guys were like sharks that smelled blood or vultures that chased after corpses, completely losing themselves in the endless rush of missions, waiting for the day when they would wear out and be discarded.
Schiller was the same way. Deathstroke knew he was an agent the moment he saw him, because like all agents, he was focused on his mission, always in a hurry, and exuded a cold, aloof aura that said, "Don't bother me except for missions."
This is especially evident in field agents. If that seems too detached from reality, then a surgeon can be used as an analogy. Surgeons have a temperament unlike any other doctor in a hospital; they are always energetic and efficient, yet indifferent to many things. This is determined by their unique characteristics.
Field agents, acting as the "scalpels" of intelligence organizations, bear the most crucial responsibility, piercing the enemy's heart with the precision of an arrow. And all sharp things in this world share similarities.
Deathstroke's decision to become a freelance mercenary suggests that he does indeed possess a side to his personality that craves freedom and independence. After all, everyone knows the benefits of having powerful backers. Even if one doesn't work for a national government, joining a mercenary or assassin organization is a viable option. Deathstroke works independently because he doesn't want to be bossed around, and therefore doesn't have a good impression of agents who are born to be bossed around.
But now he has to admit that the best in every field can live a life that is an art form. Even a profession like espionage, which is almost the complete opposite of art, has its own unique beauty when it reaches its peak.
Deathstroke was too lazy to find any cameras; he wasn't afraid of being watched. In fact, he often used surveillance equipment to intimidate people. After all, even seeing someone hacked to pieces through a camera would scare most people away from causing trouble again.
Schiller inspected the area and pulled out about five or six cameras. He didn't throw them away immediately, but instead sat on the sofa and studied the models of the cameras, seemingly trying to determine who was watching them.
He quickly found his answer. Because the quality of electronic products here varies greatly, they come from all over the world and use different signal frequencies, making it easy to find clues.
“I understand,” Schiller said, looking at the electronic component in his hand. “This was definitely started by another version of myself. He had already set things off in the Middle East before he created that mural and intended to carry out the transfer plan. He was just waiting for us to arrive so he could detonate the bombs and blockade the entire Red Sea.”
"What's the benefit?" Deathstroke asked.
“We can blockade the goods and ourselves here.” Schiller glanced out the window and said, “With the Red Sea blocked, it will be very difficult to leave by land, let alone reach the United States.”
Why not take a plane?
“That mural is very likely not airworthy,” Schiller said. “It’s either very large or extremely fragile. Passenger planes won’t allow it, and fighter jets won’t be able to. Air transport is definitely out of the question. And…”
"and?"
"What detonated this bomb was that plane crash, and the reason it was a plane crash was to warn us that he had the ability to tamper with the plane. If the plane crashed, we might survive, but the murals would most likely be damaged. That wouldn't work."
Deathstroke realized that, just as he had previously suspected, the whole incident was not a series of coincidences, but rather a deliberate manipulation that ultimately led to the near failure of both his commission and Schiller's mission.
The situation might be like this: before the plan began, the two armed groups were relatively peaceful, but some undercurrents were already brewing. The crash of that Boeing 787 would certainly be the trigger.
That was a wide-body passenger plane from the United States. The people on board, while not necessarily powerful or influential, were certainly not from the lower classes; they were at least elites, many being senior executives of large companies, on business in Egypt. They could not be silent victims, and international public opinion would certainly not let this matter go unnoticed.
The relationships among the countries surrounding the Red Sea are inherently delicate. They are the ones most eager for international attention and most in need of international support. No one wants such a disaster to happen on their territory, as it could severely damage their reputation and even subject them to global condemnation.
In this situation, whatever means are used, whether it's shirking responsibility or creating other incidents to divert attention. This has led to the armed conflict, which was already at a small scale, escalating to an uncontrollable level.
Earlier, when the conflict first broke out, Deathstroke had received a commission. But it was actually a trap to lure him here, and his role was to be the executioner who would end the negotiations.
After so much fighting, it was time for some serious talks. But then the plane crash occurred, escalating tensions and making negotiations doomed. Then came the death knell, which killed one side's leader, completely shattering the negotiations.
The consequence of continuing this fighting would be the blockade of the entire Red Sea. The artifact Schiller was searching for, and Schiller himself, would be trapped here, at least for the time being.
“It seems they’re mainly targeting you,” Deathstroke said, organizing his weapons and equipment. “I just unfortunately got caught up in it.”
“You are not innocent,” Schiller said. “If you hadn’t become curious about me during the mission, the mission wouldn’t have been delayed, and that leader probably wouldn’t have died. Your inappropriate curiosity is half to blame for how things turned out.”