3. The Nuclear Man #8
Zhenya grinned. His tone was too casual and light for someone who was turning the entire house of Bogdanov—and the entire Russia—into his enemy.
Should he succeed, yes, he would amass fortune no one had ever owned before.
But to get there, he would have to go through numerous obstacles.
Boris summed up the tiny sliver of possibility.
“Reckless.”
“Brave, most people would say.”
Zhenya chuckled again, entirely unfazed. Boris shook his head, then looked at Taekjoo. Why him?—it was the question written in Boris’s eyes. It didn’t offend Taekjoo. Rather, he’d find it much more offensive to be considered as the likes of Zhenya.
There was nothing holding him back from joining the conversation.
“Enough with the chitchat—let’s talk business. Anastasia—where is it?”
Did the question catch them off guard? Or was it a direct hit? Boris lifted his eyebrow and expressed confusion.
“Anastasia? Why would you ask me for Anastasia?”
So his first plan was to fake ignorance. Well played, since Taekjoo had no proof that SS-29 was Anastasia. He also didn’t expect to get the truth on the first try.
“Oh, are you more familiar with the name SS-29? I have a couple of questions to ask regarding the weapon.”
“I was wondering what had brought on a mouse to walk into a trap. That’s it? You’re either extremely dumb or bold. You didn’t think I’d just spill everything to you, right?”
“Well, if that’s how you want it, then I guess we’ll have to use body language.”
Taekjoo hadn’t even finished speaking when a bullet whizzed past him. He dove and rolled behind a stack of construction materials for cover. A hail of bullets followed, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that quickly blurred the scene. No one could see or hear properly, and they still kept shooting.
Taekjoo threw in teargas while waiting for the right time to retaliate.
Black smoke engulfed the room within seconds, and Taekjoo took advantage of the moment to shoot down the ceiling lights one by one.
The fluorescent lights shattered, sending shards of glass raining down.
All hell broke loose in an instant. Shots were fired here and there, and someone started screaming. Someone definitely fractured something.
Taekjoo couldn’t find Zhenya, but it didn’t worry him. If there was one person who would survive under any circumstances, it was Zhenya. The only thing Taekjoo had to worry about was his own safety.
Taekjoo pulled out his specialized goggles. Once he put them on, the motion detectors kicked in, marking the positions of the mafia gunmen. He took aim and shot the burly men, disoriented and unable to tell friend from foe.
“Argh!”
“Ah!”
One by one, Taekjoo took down the dark figures in his vision, each screaming as they collapsed. Taekjoo advanced all the way to the spot where Boris was sitting earlier.
However, Boris was no longer there. Taekjoo glanced around, looking for the man, but he was nowhere to be found. And so was Zhenya.
Taekjoo scrutinized the place, slowly scanning it with his eyes.
It hadn’t been that long when he felt the back of his neck turn stiff.
Taekjoo looked back and found a shadow rushing to him.
He avoided out of instinct, but still couldn’t avoid the sharp slice across his arm.
His sleeve turned wet. Someone seemed to have sliced him with a knife.
Taekjoo quickly backed up and aimed for the opponent’s head, but he didn’t pull the trigger right away.
If this man was Boris and Taekjoo shot him, then the entire trip here would be turned useless.
While he hesitated, the opponent sliced the open air, a clear strike aimed at Taekjoo’s neck. Taekjoo bent backward and avoided the continuous assault. Then, a shadow by the door kept creeping into his peripheral vision.
A tall, six-and-a-half-foot shadow stood with arms crossed, weight shifted to one leg.
He looked indifferent despite his partner nearly getting decapitated.
There could only be one person, and it was Zhenya.
By his feet, there were silhouettes piled up—probably the bodies of the mafia.
He was done having fun, but didn’t bother hurrying over to help his partner.
And at that brief moment when Taekjoo’s mind wandered, a knife was coming at his stomach. He slammed the blade with his Colt then fired a shot at the opponent’s knee.
“Argh!”
The man screamed in pain as he went down. The voice was quite similar to Boris’s. Taekjoo, catching his breath, took off his goggles. Blood dripped steadily from his arm, gathering into drops at his fingertips. As time passed, the bleeding got worse. It had to be stopped immediately.
Taekjoo, digging around his pocket, let out a sigh of exasperation. He just remembered he’d given his handkerchief to Zhenya. Well, he didn’t have much of a choice. He took off the jacket, filthy with dust, and started unbuttoning his shirt. That was when Zhenya came over slowly.
“That was a close one. Get yourself gutted like that, and it’s a month without sex.”
Yes, what a nightmare that would be.
Taekjoo shook his head and returned to the buttons. It must have bothered Zhenya that Taekjoo was taking forever with only one arm.
“We’ll be here all night,” he said, slapping Taekjoo’s hand away and unbuttoned the shirt himself. When Taekjoo actually needed help, Zhenya just sat back and watched. Then, here he was now, helping with the most unnecessary thing.
Taekjoo lifted his left arm and mocked Zhenya.
“Look who finally decided to be helpful,” said Taekjoo.
“You’re welcome.”
Zhenya simply grinned at the open mockery, and it didn’t surprise Taekjoo at all.
“How much longer?” Taekjoo asked him in a sulking tone, but Zhenya didn’t respond.
In fact, he was so quiet that Taekjoo had to take a good look at him.
He saw that Zhenya was distracted by a button.
He was so focused that his eyes were glued to the tip of his fingers, delicately working the button through the hole.
“This is fine.”
Taekjoo pushed away the bothering hand and flung the shirt off his body.
The motion caused the last button, which wasn’t undone, to rip and fly away.
Taekjoo didn’t care. He proceeded to wrap his shirt around his bleeding left arm.
He bit the end of the sleeve to hold it and tie it up.
For those who were often sent on one-man missions, it was common to do first aid on themselves, by themselves.
Taekjoo quickly stopped the bleeding and walked over to Boris.
His leg was twisted at an unnatural angle as he dragged it on his way to pick up his gun.
Taekjoo snatched him by the neck and sat him on the chair earlier.
He also pulled his wrists to the back and cuffed him before knocking the chair down backward.
Thump—the chair hit the floor, and so was Boris, letting out a pained groan. Then, Taekjoo brought the chair back up. He repeated the process several times.
Boris’s spirit was unaffected despite having been knocked down again and again. He even laughed at Taekjoo. Taekjoo grabbed a good chunk of his hair and pulled his head back. Boris simply let out an unpleasant chuckle.
“You can’t make me talk.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Taekjoo put on a smile just as fake as Boris’s and walked toward the broken computer in the corner. He rummaged through the parts and got out a keyboard. Taekjoo smashed it against the wall, and the keys fell out. He grabbed a fistful, walked back to Boris, forced his mouth open, and shoved them in.
Boris’s cheeks were full. Taekjoo didn’t forget to tape his mouth shut, making sure nothing would spill out. Zhenya found all this very interesting as he watched from a foot back.
Taekjoo was done preparing. He began slowly circling around Boris.
“A North Korean engineer is coming over to fix the issue with SS-29. He’ll be here in a day or two. Where do I have to go to meet him?”
“...”
Boris didn’t react at all. Taekjoo lowered himself and looked at the man directly in the eye.
There was no emotion in Taekjoo’s jet-black eyes, and Boris returned the glare as well, his eyes bloodshot.
Taekjoo slapped the man unannounced. His once-confident expression twisted in pain as the keys inside his mouth dug in.
If a slap hurt this much, a punch would be unbearable.
But Boris was stubborn. His lips were sealed.
He deserved his position within Sonchev.
He straightened his body, which had been leaning slightly to the side.