The off-road vehicle stopped in front of a farm.
After Baruch and Sigmund got out, they saw several dark-skinned locals herding livestock, with herds of sheep and cattle leisurely moving across the grassland.
Sigmund said: "This Guinea government has quite the iron fist, huh? Getting these nomadic tribes to settle on fixed farms instead of wandering and relying on the weather—that's no easy feat."
Baruch: "I'm curious too—how did they do it? Does this government have strong control over the tribes?"
With doubts in mind, the two approached the black herders.
One of the black kids saw the approaching Baruch and Sigmund and spoke in the local language.
Guinea's official language is French, but French is only common in the big cities. Tribal natives mostly speak local languages—Susu.
Sigmund: "Inakha ma sukhu!..."
Assigned to this mission, Sigmund had undergone nearly half a year of training, learning Guinea's several native languages—Susu, Malinke, and Fula.
Thanks to his natural linguistic talent and the limited vocabulary of native languages, he mastered them quickly.
A moment later.
Sigmund turned to Baruch with a smile: "Let's go; their tribe is just ahead. We'll drive ourselves."
"We're just going like this? No preparations?" Baruch whispered.
"No worries—these tribes are tamed. Safety's not an issue; they often host tourists. It's one of their main income sources." Sigmund said casually.
The two got back in the car, turned onto a dirt road, and drove in the direction the black kid pointed.
Soon, a cluster of structures made from thatch and mud appeared before them.
With tourists at the door, the tribal chief happily welcomed the two into his home and began hawking various local trinkets—wooden masks, straw hats woven from golden grass, small drums made from cowhide, etc. Though crude, they had a unique wild flavor from the great savanna.
Sigmund and Baruch casually bought a few items, immediately delighting the chief, who summoned his favorite white female slave to entertain them.
That night.
Sigmund and Baruch didn't leave, staying in the tribe.
There were rooms specifically for tourists.
"Sigmund, what do you think?" Baruch whispered.
"Can't be wrong—this female slave is one of the Sphinx operation's female agents. Though she's been missing for years, the traces of her long training haven't completely faded. Plus, I've seen photos of those missing female agents before. The one we saw today, named Yuna, was one of the action team's deputy leaders. But..."
Sigmund's voice grew hesitant. "I secretly flashed our Mossad internal recognition gesture at Yuna earlier—she had no reaction at all. Did she really lose her memory?"
"Damn, what the hell happened to them? Where did the others go?" Baruch's tone turned furious.
"Something must have happened—it's just... who did it?" Sigmund remained relatively calm.
He was pondering several key questions: Who captured our Mossad female agents and brought them to Africa? Is the mastermind still monitoring these agents? Are the others still alive? If alive, how to find them?
As for a "rescue operation" after finding them.
Sigmund wasn't too worried—Guinea, after all; though developing well now, its military strength surely wasn't on Israel's level.
The next day.
Baruch sought out the chief again, expressing interest in buying more handicrafts.
Meanwhile, Sigmund seized the opportunity while Baruch distracted the chief to sneak near the chief's harem.
Okay, calling it a harem might be a stretch—it was really just a larger thatched hut.
He happened to see Yuna standing outside the room, handling animal entrails.
Seeing this woman before him dressed in African primitive attire, her skin roughened by the savanna sun and winds, he couldn't help feeling heartache. These were elite agents their country had invested heavily in training—now serving as a slave to a primitive tribal leader. If I find out who did this, I...
Silently vowing in his heart, his face showed nothing. Sigmund's eyes swept over the woman, his peripheral vision noting no one else around. So he whispered: "Yuna?"
The Jewish woman looked up puzzled, fluently speaking French: "Hello, who are you looking for?"
Sigmund's gaze locked on the woman's eyes. "Yuna, have you forgotten who you are?"
"Yuna? Me? You know me? You know my past?" A flicker of urgency passed through the Jewish woman's eyes, then quickly calmed. She said flatly, "I don't know who Yuna is. You'd better leave quickly—the master doesn't like seeing me interact with outsiders."
Then the woman suddenly scratched a number into the mud with her fingernail, glanced up to signal Sigmund, and immediately wiped it away with her palm.
Sigmund left without another word.
In his mind, he memorized the number Yuna had written: "21."
8:50 PM.
The tribe fell silent.
The natives rose with the sun and rested at sunset; by now, most of the tribe was deep in sleep.
Sigmund and Baruch slipped out of their hut (yes, no door) and stealthily made their way to where they'd seen Yuna during the day.
After waiting about five minutes, a shadow crept over—it was Yuna.
"You're early." The woman whispered.
Baruch instinctively asked: "How do you know the time?"
The woman gave him an odd look, clearly surprised by the question, but explained: "Of course, because I look at the clock. Though this is a primitive tribe, the chief's room has plenty of modern items."
"Alright, no more useless talk."
Sigmund interrupted: "Yuna, do you really remember nothing from before?"
The woman shook her head. "I don't remember, but the name Yuna gives me a familiar feeling. So... you know me?"