December 23, 2021.
107 Plank Street, South District, Altoona, Pennsylvania, M Country.
On the wall of a typical American three-story industrial building with a red brick exterior, there is a nameplate of [White Bull Information Network Service Company].
At 7:30 in the morning.
Tommy Blanco hung up his employee badge and walked into the office with a cup of Starbucks coffee in hand—just like an ordinary office worker.
"How's the situation?" Tommy put his backpack on his seat and glanced at the several screens hanging on the wall.
The on-duty colleague shrugged his shoulders and twirled a pen in his hand boredly: "Everything is normal." Tommy sat down expressionlessly, picked up the coffee he brought and took a sip, then stared at the screens on the wall for a while.
Three different split screens respectively display three different real-time satellite images.
And the target is the same area.
In a certain area of the high seas, a certain target is being monitored in real time by three different satellites.
Tommy stared at the screen for about a minute, then sat down and flipped through the on-duty monitoring records.
"You know..." The colleague walked up to Tommy, leaned on the back of his chair and said with a sigh: "...How long do we have to do this job? I've been in this place for three years already."
Tommy turned around and looked at this young colleague, and smiled: "Isn't this job good?
High salary, high benefits, all insurances are paid for by the company, and we go to and get off work on time every day. I really hope to keep doing this job—you really should see what the outside world has become like."
The colleague mumbled something, his tone tinged with a hint of unwillingness: "I fucking retired early from the navy and was transferred here, not to do such a boring thing that wastes my life."
Tommy sighed, stroked his somewhat graying hair: "When you reach my age, you'll understand how precious it is to have a stable job."
·
[White Bull Information Network Service Company]
On the surface, this is a very ordinary information processing company.
Its business scope includes: information consultation, information processing, providing solutions for network construction, etc.
According to the registration data of the municipal system, this company has been operating well since its registration eight years ago. Its accounts and tax status are so clean that even those vultures from the IRS (Internal Revenue Service) can't find any problems.
—Of course, Tommy knows that these clean and unremarkable accounts were actually created by those vultures.
In fact, this [White Bull Information Network Service Company] is just a cover.
Its true identity is a secret monitoring agency affiliated with Langley Building (CIA).
The monitoring team members, including Tommy, a total of eleven people, are all professionally trained monitoring and information analysis and processing personnel, as well as four security armed personnel transferred from the military.
In addition, it has the monitoring authority to mobilize six satellites at any time, and a layer of water-cooled high-density servers hidden in the basement of the building for information analysis and processing. And it has the red authority to access the federal highest security information network at any time.
Eight years ago, on the first day this company was established.
Tommy Blanco, who had just been transferred from a certain intelligence analysis department of the CIA at that time, watched the leader of this newly established monitoring team stand in front of him, pointing to his own eyes with one hand and to the monitoring screen with the other, roaring at him, and almost spitting saliva on his face.
"Our job has only one purpose!
All members are divided into three shifts. There is the time-sharing monitoring authority of six satellites!
All the targets are for only one thing: keep an eye on that damned guy for me!
Keep a close eye on him!!
Ensure there are no blind spots, no dead corners, all day long, all year round, keep an eye on him!! This is not my request! It's an order from the Langley Building, and it's an order from the White House!"
·
Yes, keep an eye on that guy. To be precise: in a certain area of the high seas, centered on a certain longitude and latitude, with a radius of no more than 200 nautical miles.
According to the order: the target is a ship, and there is a person on the ship... This person, this ship, must move within this range. Absolutely, absolutely, absolutely not allowed to exceed this activity area, otherwise...
Back then, Tommy, who had just joined the job, couldn't help asking his superior a question: What if he runs out?
Remember at that time, that fierce-looking superior suddenly froze for a moment, and a strange look flashed in his eyes.
"I hope that kind of terrible thing will never happen."
·
Eight years, 2,894 days and nights. 69,456 hours. Tommy has been staying in Altoona, monitoring this target.
And fortunately, the situation that his superior said has never happened.
But, eight years...
Monitoring a ship that has been going in circles in the same place.
Would anyone believe such a thing?
·
And what Tommy Blanco doesn't know is that in addition to the M Country, there are intelligence organizations of more than six countries and regional alliances around the world. On a certain night eight years ago, similar organizations were established simultaneously.
And their targets and missions are also very consistent: keep an eye on this ship!
·
Tommy drank the last sip of coffee, threw the paper cup into the trash can, and then looked at the time.
It's 8:01 in the morning.
There are less than ten minutes left until the 69,457th hour of his employment in this company.
He subconsciously stretched his body and took another look at the screen on the wall.
On the screen, the icon representing that ship is moving.
"It seems to be a bit fast?" Tommy couldn't help rubbing his eyes, doubting if he had seen it wrong.
Moreover, the moving direction of the target is getting closer and closer to the critical point of the 200-nautical-mile radius marked by the monitoring!
Tommy subconsciously opened his mouth.
A few seconds later, when the icon of that ship finally touched the critical point marking line on the screen... Tommy suddenly jumped up as if he had been electrocuted, and his expression was terrified.
"WTF!!"
Tommy suddenly felt a rush of blood to his head... It seemed that his eight years of work had been waiting for this moment somehow.
At this moment, as a civilian intelligence officer, Tommy didn't realize more. Besides being shocked, there was even a trace of absurdity in his heart.
...Actually, it really happened?
Tommy reacted immediately, and in a flurry, he picked up the phone on the desk and pressed a button.
"BOSS, something's wrong."
"What?
What?" The voice of the superior came from the phone.
Tommy swallowed a mouthful of saliva, and his voice was a bit dry: "Red alert." On the other end of the phone, there was an angry curse—it seemed that the superior had spilled the coffee.
·
Four minutes later, in an office of the Langley Building (CIA headquarters), a gloomy-looking middle-aged man picked up the phone, listened, then put it down silently, and cursed: "WTF!"
Eight minutes later, in the largest office of the White House, a white-haired old man picked up the phone, listened, and couldn't help uttering a curse as well: "WTF!"
·
Three hours after the "red alert" occurred.
On the British-owned Loneshire Island in the South Pacific Ocean.
At the entrance of a local shop on the hillside.
A middle-aged man wearing a sweatshirt is sitting on a stone smoking a cigarette.
The middle-aged man sat on the stone and turned to look down the hill. It was not until a silver yacht beside the wharf slowly sailed away that he lit another cigarette.
But after taking only one puff, he began to cough violently.
However, the middle-aged man didn't seem to care. Instead, he turned around and waved to the vendor sitting beside a shop full of fruits not far away.
The vendor seemed to be taken aback for a moment.
"Alright, come here." The middle-aged man frowned, took a puff of his cigarette and sighed: "Tell your people to come out too."
The vendor seemed to hesitate for a moment, but finally gritted his teeth and slowly got up and walked over.
As he walked, he took off his coat, revealing the tactical vest inside. At the same time, he made two gestures. One was to let his companions show themselves.
The other was to raise his hands high to show that he had no intention of attacking.
Centered around the middle-aged man, on the hillside, at the nine o'clock direction and three o'clock direction around, a group of fully armed soldiers quickly emerged one after another from the bushes and behind the hillside.
The middle-aged man examined them and whistled: "Six tactical teams. Are there any others?"
The vendor slowly walked up to him: "There are four snipers aiming here. There is a naval submarine in the water nearby on standby. As soon as I give the order, your ship won't be able to go far. We will sink it!"
The middle-aged man smiled and actually pointed at his own ship in the distance: "Come on, give the order to sink it."
The vendor: "..."
The middle-aged man curled his lips in disdain: "Put away your boring intimidation. You little minion don't have the right to give such an order."
"You shouldn't have torn up the agreement. You've stepped out of the safe zone we agreed on!" The vendor's face was gloomy: "The Langley Building and the White House are very dissatisfied with this."
The middle-aged man shook his head: "Then let those dissatisfied guys go to hell. Now, let me talk to the person who can really make decisions."
The vendor gritted his teeth, turned around and took out a satellite phone. After connecting it, he whispered a few words, subconsciously stood up straight, then turned around and handed the phone over with a complicated expression.
The middle-aged man held a cigarette butt between his fingers and took the phone.
He looked at the distant coastline, as if he didn't care.
"Hello, Mr. President... Hmm... Hmm... Hey! Don't swear! If you swear again, I'll swear back! "
The middle-aged man was smoking a cigarette while talking on the phone: "Any agreement will eventually expire. I've given the M Country enough face by staying at sea for these eight years. And now, I just want to step on the soil on land and smoke a cigarette."
"...There's no need for us to beat around the bush. You know my physical condition very well. You check every potato my ship purchases. You also know very well the medicine I use regularly. Your medical experts must have deduced my physical condition and the progress of the deterioration of my illness, right?"
"Then let's make a deal. Yes, this is the last time!"
"The sixteen nuclear bombs I stole from you will all be invalidated. All the detonation procedures will be automatically cancelled in three months. My request is very simple: within three months, you must not take any measures to hunt down my people.
My people will dive underwater and then disappear completely from this world." "This is my final condition. If you accept it, we can open a bottle of champagne remotely to celebrate. If you don't accept it...
BOOM! The explosion of a nuclear bomb on the mainland. Exciting, isn't it?"
The middle-aged man held the phone a little away from his ear, and it seemed that there were roaring sounds coming from the phone.
The middle-aged man listened with a smile for a while, then his face became serious and he said: "Alright, stop slapping the table. Put away your acting skills for Congress. I'm just asking you one thing now. Deal? Mr. President?
If it's a deal, now tell your dogs to send over a decent bottle of champagne, and we can celebrate our pleasant cooperation."
The other end of the phone fell silent. The middle-aged man whispered a few more words to the other end of the phone and returned the phone to the vendor.
The vendor took the phone, listened for a while, and then hung up with a complicated expression.
After a while, a bottle of champagne was brought over.
The vendor opened it himself, but the middle-aged man directly threw away the glass and took the bottle.
"The taste is just so-so." The middle-aged man took a sip from the bottle, curled his lips: "Considering the tight time and urgent task, and that you can immediately produce a bottle of champagne instead of mouthwash, I'm satisfied with the work efficiency of the Langley Building."
As he spoke, he raised the champagne bottle and made a toast gesture to the sky.
"They're watching us with satellites, aren't they?" The middle-aged man smiled.
"So, is this the last moment?" The vendor suddenly sneered: "Are you giving your last words?"
"Do you seem to have a grudge against me?" The middle-aged man smiled and looked at the vendor. The vendor shook his head, his tone full of sarcasm: "I, along with three departments of the Langley Building and more than four hundred elites of the intelligence department, have all been 'serving' you for the past eight years."
When he said the word "serving", this guy gritted his teeth.
"Hahaha." The middle-aged man laughed loudly: "I just like your expression like this: you can't stand me, but you can't get rid of me."
"This is not a joke." The vendor sneered, with a hint of hatred and sarcasm: "Lucifer!"
"Luc..." The middle-aged man was silent for a second, and suddenly became annoyed: "Damn Lucifer! Do you M国人 give people such embarrassing and childish nicknames? Do you know that this kind of nickname will make me laughed to death by others!"
The middle-aged man directly started cursing.
"According to the tradition of my hometown, I prefer others to call me... Yanluo! Although it's also a bit childish, at least it's more local, okay?"
The middle-aged man put down the champagne bottle and lit another cigarette.
But this time, his fingers were already trembling slightly.
The vendor's eyes froze, and he secretly made a gesture. The armed personnel around tried to move closer.
"It's useless." The middle-aged man smiled and pointed to his head: "The brain tumor cells have spread to the cerebral cortex and are pressing on the right spine. Moreover, I have also taken some medicine that allows me to accurately control the time of my death. I have left... "
The middle-aged man looked down at his watch: "Ten..."
"Nine."
The vendor exclaimed: "Back off!!"
The armed personnel quickly dispersed. The vendor rushed forward in one step and supported the middle-aged man.
The middle-aged man looked up and smiled sarcastically: "How could a person like me let myself be captured by you? The guy in the White House has already understood, but you don't. Five..."
The vendor gritted his teeth: "Fuck!! I will catch all your companions! I swear!!"
The middle-aged man looked disdainful: "You don't have that ability, and your president doesn't dare to give such an order either... Two... One."
"Zero!
Hell... Here I come... Ha..."
The middle-aged man slowly closed his eyes and lost his breath...
The vendor let out a sigh and waved his arm.
The armed personnel quickly rushed up, and the prepared medical staff swarmed up as well.
The vendor cursed in a low voice, then tore off the tactical vest and threw it to his subordinate. He grabbed a medical expert: "I don't know much about medicine, but he said that the brain tumor cells have spread to the cerebral cortex and are pressing on the spine... For a person like this..."
The medical expert had a strange expression: "I can only say that even a Siberian white bear, in that situation, can only lie in a hospital bed and can't move a single finger."
The vendor had a complicated look in his eyes: "But just a minute ago, he was still smoking a cigarette, drinking champagne, and even swearing at our president over the phone."
"...I can only say that this is a miracle." The medical expert stammered.
"Huff!"
The vendor let out a long sigh and his expression was solemn: "Fortunately, this miracle... has ended!
It's a great fortune for the United States! This devil has finally gone to hell... No, it should be said that he has returned to hell!
He originally belonged to that place."
·
At 11:45 a.m. on December 23, 2000.
No. 8 Middle School, Jiangning District, Jinling City, Sudong Province, China.
Class 6, Grade 11
A young man suddenly woke up from a sound sleep with his head on the desk.
At the podium, the math teacher was pointing at a problem on the blackboard.
Given that log₃(x - 2y) + log₃(x + 2y) = 1 + log₃x + log₃y, find the value of log₂x - log₂y...
The math teacher threw away the chalk, then scanned the classroom with his eyes, fixed his eyes on the young man, and pointed at him. "You, Chen Nuo! Come up and solve this."
"..." The young man was dazed for a moment, then his eyes slowly focused. He looked at his classmates around, looked at the classroom, and then at the blackboard...
The afternoon sun, the shabby classroom, the whitewashed walls...
Looking at that string of math problems on the blackboard...
Well, he couldn't understand it!
"emmmm... This is really... Hell."
The young man suddenly smiled bitterly and sighed. His eyes were as bright as stars.
After wandering for half a lifetime, when he returns...
He is still a young man.