After more than ten hours of flying, Deng Shiyang landed at Frankfurt International Airport at 6:30 a.m. local time.


    The weather in Frankfurt was cold in March, and the clothes he’d brought from Durban were too light. He shivered involuntarily as he stepped outside the airport. Pulling his coat tightly around him, he carried his luggage to the taxi stand and got into a pale-yellow Mercedes cab.


    "Where to, sir?" asked the driver, a ruddy-cheeked white man with thinning hair, as Deng settled into the back seat.


    Though he didn’t understand German, Deng could guess what the driver was asking. He took out a pamphlet he’d picked up at the airport, opened it, and pointed to the description of a hotel.


    "Oh, I see," the driver replied in English, nodding, and smoothly pulled the car out of the taxi stand, heading along the road toward the Sachsenhausen district on the south bank of the Main River.


    About halfway through the journey, perhaps to liven up the atmosphere, the driver suddenly asked, "Are you American, sir?"


    Deng, staring out the window, was momentarily startled. In a British accent, he replied vaguely, "I’m from South Africa."


    "Here on holiday?"


    "Business."


    "First time here?"


    "I’ve been to Frankfurt twice before, but didn’t stay long either time."


    Trying to seem warm and chatty, the driver smiled and asked, "How do you like the city?"


    "Hmm…" Deng clicked his tongue, then replied, "It’s a beautiful city—clean streets, orderly, everything in its place. But it lacks energy and feels cold." He glanced at the rearview mirror and added, "It gives you a feeling of wanting to leave quickly."


    The driver grunted in slight disappointment and fell silent.


    About ten minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of an impressive gray-blue mansion. Deng paid the fare, got out, and handed his luggage to the doorman before heading straight to the front desk.


    The night before he’d left Durban, Harobi had transferred ￡30,000 to a Standard Bank account. Deng split the funds, taking ￡10,000 for travel expenses and giving the rest to Keith. Along with the remaining budget from last time, the "Josh Deylek" account now held 130,000 rand, more than enough for a comfortable stay in Frankfurt for two months, though he estimated he’d only be there for two weeks.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    This trip felt like a public-funded vacation, with all expenses unaccounted for and no receipts required. With his wallet full, he wasn’t planning to skimp on comfort and had booked a room at Frankfurt’s best, the Villa Kennedy Hotel.


    Since Durban and Frankfurt are only one time zone apart, jet lag wasn’t an issue. After settling in, Deng sent an email from his phone, then made a long-distance call to the villa in Durban. He’d missed last night’s conference call while on the plane and felt it necessary to catch up on the latest developments.


    The phone rang only two or three times before it was answered by Keith’s slightly garbled voice. "… JD? … Are you in Frankfurt?" He sounded strange, as though he had something in his mouth.


    Deng frowned and replied, "Just arrived at the hotel."


    "Right, one sec…" Keith paused, followed by the sound of water gulping. After about a minute, he spoke in a more normal voice, "I assume you’re calling first thing to hear about last night’s meeting?"


    "What did I miss?"


    "Nothing major." Keith paused, then continued, "First, regarding Angola—yesterday afternoon, Semler called to say he’d reached an agreement with a tribal leader in Cabinda. He said the people we need would arrive in Soyo within three days."


    "That’s all he said?"


    "He also asked for $8,000 to cover the finder’s fee."


    "What did you tell him?"


    "I told him to leave the account info and that we’d transfer the money as soon as those people left Angola."


    "Good job," Deng said, then asked, "Anything else?"


    "Yes, about the helicopters. I’ve reviewed the flight and maintenance records. Although they’re a bit old, they’ve been well-maintained. I’m planning to have a reputable aircraft maintenance company conduct a full inspection of their mechanical condition. Also, each ‘Hippo’ can carry twenty-four soldiers, so we could transport a forty-eight-man strike team with just two helicopters. I’m thinking of reducing the number of helicopters from four to two. What do you think?"


    "If the mission can be accomplished with only two helicopters, that’s a good suggestion."


    "So, I take that as your approval?"


    "Yes," Deng replied with a nod.


    "Lastly, regarding Jansen—clothing, shoes, and gear are all sorted. He found a few clothing manufacturers and military supply stores to place orders in China for combat uniforms and tactical vests, which should arrive within a month."


    "Let’s proceed. But hold off on the magazine pouches until I confirm this things ."


    "Of course," Keith continued. "The problem is with helmets and ballistic plates. Both are considered military items and are currently hard to source."


    "Aren’t these items available at military stores?"


    "They are, but they don’t sell many, so stores usually stock only a few. And in these times, buying in bulk might attract attention from the South African police."


    Deng frowned and asked, "Any suggestions?"


    "Honestly, we could skip the helmets; they’re too conspicuous and inconvenient to transport."


    Deng thought for a moment and replied, "That works, but the tactical vests must have ballistic plates."


    "I’ll find a way."


    At 9 a.m., the two ended the call. After hanging up, Deng noticed a new email notification on his phone, and the sender was the arms brokerage company’s email address.