Chapter Sixty-Six: Painful Memories

The flashlight emitted a faint sound in the darkness, rolling along with the Kokora man's movements in the shadows, finally coming to a stop not far away with precisely the right amount of force.

"You'd better not make any sudden moves. Don't forget, my gun is aimed right at you, and bullets don’t discriminate!" Chen Cao said, gripping his firearm tightly. He felt the cartridge—still there—and his confidence grew a little as he spoke.

He made no move to pick up the object the Kokora man had rolled toward him through the darkness. In this situation, with visibility so low, caution was paramount.

"You’re very careful. Well, suit yourself," the Kokora man replied in the darkness. "You needn't worry about the Jihad Organization; they've long since vanished without a trace!"

Still, Chen Cao didn't turn on the light. Instead, he kept his gun trained on the Kokora man. "So that’s why you managed to escape?"

The Kokora man snorted coldly. "Escape? If I wanted out, it would take more than that. This seemingly hidden underground facility could only elude the so-called intelligence agencies of the Justice Alliance!"

"So, it’s another story," Chen Cao mused. He switched on his flashlight and saw, only a dozen meters away, the same middle-aged Kokora man he had seen earlier in the dungeon.

Chen Cao quickly rummaged through the package and found a canteen and a palm-sized piece of dried beef. The moment he caught the scent of the meat, his stomach churned with hunger, and a loud rumble echoed from his belly.

"Yes, it’s a story. Still, I must thank you. You found this place, which has helped us old soldiers a great deal," the Kokora man said, running his fingers through his hair, which was greasy and tangled beyond hope.

By the flashlight’s glow, Chen Cao saw the Kokora man sitting on the ground. He appeared to be middle-aged, with blue eyes, blond hair, and fair skin—the same former Kokora soldier he had glimpsed earlier in the dungeon. Chen Cao felt a little more at ease.

Yet he didn’t eat immediately. He broke the tough dried beef into small pieces and, turning to Zhou Hongye, said, "You should eat some jerky to empty your stomach."

Zhou Hongye nodded. Though his hands and feet were sluggish, his internal organs were intact. He understood what Chen Cao meant: the chip was in his stomach, and unless he vomited it up, his life would be in danger. After enduring so much, he was already weak; if he forced himself to vomit on an empty stomach, his body wouldn’t be able to handle such violent retching.

To prove his innocence—and unable to resist his hunger—Zhou Hongye grabbed the jerky and stuffed it into his mouth.

While Zhou Hongye ate, Chen Cao remained wary of the Kokora man. This fellow had appeared as if out of thin air, right in the heart of a terrorist stronghold—a fact too bizarre to ignore.

He directed both his gun and flashlight at the Kokora man. The harsh light forced the man to shield his eyes, but he continued to sit upright on the ground, making no suspicious movements.

Seeing that the Kokora man showed no sign of mischief, Chen Cao dimmed the flashlight slightly and said, "Unless you tell me the truth, don’t expect me to trust you." He adjusted his gun’s aim, picked up the canteen, and sniffed at it. Parched as he was, he only allowed himself a small sip.

"Very well. At this point, your mission is complete, and I will honor our agreement. Ask what you will," the Kokora man replied, lowering the hand covering his eyes. In the beam of the flashlight, his blue eyes glimmered as he smiled faintly.

"First, I need to know your name," Chen Cao said. After another sip of water, he felt his strength returning. Finding nothing amiss, he picked up some dried beef, ate a piece, and felt his ravenous stomach react with a surge of hunger.

The Kokora man rested his hands on his folded legs. "Istrov. Or, if you prefer, you can call me Mr. J."

"Mr. J—you’re actually Mr. J!" Chen Cao almost choked on his food. The middle-aged Kokora man before him was none other than the legendary King of Spies, famed worldwide two decades ago?

"I never imagined the illustrious Mr. J would serve Kokora," Chen Cao said.

"Not entirely," Istrov replied. "I did it to save my comrades. But I’ve waited twenty years for this day."

Chen Cao continued chewing. "All right, Mr. J. If you say there’s no danger, I believe you. But tell me—what part do I play in your plan?"

Istrov replied, "Well, your friend there must have swallowed something important. It’ll take some time to recover it. First, let me assure you your friends outside are safe with Mosika; I believe Mosika has already sent you a signal."

Chen Cao didn’t respond, keeping his gun trained on Istrov and glancing at Zhou Hongye, who had finished eating. The faint light brought a hint of color back to Zhou’s pale face.

Istrov seemed to be waiting for Zhou Hongye to finish. He remained silent, watching as Zhou inserted two fingers down his throat. With a dry retch and a guttural sound, he vomited a mix of half-digested beef and stomach acid onto the ground.

Chen Cao wrinkled his nose. Indeed, food regurgitated and mixed with bile was unpleasant, no matter how appetizing it had once been.

Zhou, however, felt relief. In the flashlight’s glow, he searched through the vomit with his fingers, found something, wiped it clean, and handed it to Chen Cao. "Here. Instructor Huang had me swallow this. Now I’ll leave it in your care."

Chen Cao took it—the object, still smelling of acid, was a crystal chip. If its contents were authentic, it could clear Zhou Hongye’s name. According to Procedure 0611, every soldier who completed a mission was sent to Linghu Ruomu for psychological and political evaluation.

"All right, I’ll keep it for now," Chen Cao said. Picking up more dried beef, he offered some to Zhou Hongye. "Eat a bit more to regain your strength."

He carefully stored the chip on himself, still keeping his gun on Istrov. "Now, Mr. J, it’s time for your story."

Istrov seemed unfazed by the exchange of the chip. Facing Chen Cao’s unwavering aim, he smiled. "To be honest, in all my years in this line of work, no one’s ever dared point a gun at me."

"Maybe I’m the first," Chen Cao replied, unwavering. "No offense, Mr. J, but our positions are too unequal. We have a vital mission, so I can’t take any chances."

Istrov laughed. "I rather like that phrase—‘positions too unequal.’ So, while I tell my story, mind your trigger finger. Don’t let the gun go off by mistake."

"Don’t worry," Chen Cao said, chewing on his jerky. "I won’t."

Istrov’s tone shifted. "From the moment you entered the dungeon, I made things clear. I’ve waited twenty years for this day—first, to rescue the prisoners here; second, to eradicate these terrorists. You know, twenty years ago at the Battle of Oderu, Kokora suffered a terrible defeat. Those damned politicians led hundreds of thousands of our troops into the enemy’s encirclement—a sea of flames!"

Chen Cao took a swig from the canteen and replied, "I understand the rescue mission. The classified files at the academy state that what should have been an overwhelming victory was turned into a rout by a coup, and the Oderu army pursued you mercilessly. It’s only natural many of your soldiers were captured during the retreat."

"Exactly," Istrov said. "As an intelligence officer, I was among the defeated. I saw with my own eyes as the once-proud Kokora army, who’d marched into Oderu with such bravado, were chased down, humiliated by men with nothing but swords and spears. There was no support. The Kokora Alliance had completely dissolved. No one cared about the desert campaign; their only hope was to beg Oderu, that tiny nation, for peace—so they might send troops to bring our men home."

"But I don’t understand," Chen Cao said. "Even if your government was fractured, how could they abandon hundreds of thousands of regular soldiers?"

Istrov snorted. "Of course they cared. It was a matter of international humanitarianism. Kokora’s politicians couldn’t just turn their backs. The troops were brought home, but what about the prisoners? Oderu demanded a ransom of one million Kokora credits per head. The newly restructured Kokora government couldn’t possibly afford it. The matter was postponed again and again, until eventually, it was forgotten."

Chen Cao listened in silence as the man before him spoke with growing passion.

Istrov clenched his fists, his blue eyes wide, pounding the ground. "But that impoverished country, Oderu, never forgot those prisoners. To them, we were all terrorists, unprotected by international law. When Kokora wouldn’t pay, they certainly weren’t going to waste food keeping captured soldiers alive. So, they began a campaign of sadistic slaughter."

"Do you know how they treated our Kokora prisoners?" Istrov’s voice trembled with emotion as he reached this point.