King Of War: Starting with Arms Dealer

Chapter 356 Impossible, absolutely impossible!

CIA agent Frist could never have imagined that he would face a fatal strike just as reinforcements arrived.

With his left hand clutching his grenade-shrapnel-torn right shoulder, the seasoned agent struggled to lift his pistol, but his right arm was like a damaged machine, unresponsive to his commands.

All Frist could feel was his mind about to explode, his ears deaf to the outside world, filled only with a buzzing noise, his shoulder wound not particularly painful, but his heart was growing cold...

The assailants who had launched the surprise attack were too professional, too vicious, two soldiers in combat gear shooting their rifles, ensuring a follow-up shot to the head of the Titan Company's mercenaries as they moved.

No calls, no communication, no mercy, all their actions seemed solely aimed at killing everyone present.

P·B, the powerful military contracting firm!!

In the past few hours, Frist had already dug up the dirt on Joe Ga, after all, Joe had never thought to hide anything.

His dreadful battle in New York had turned the FBI into a laughingstock, allowed the DEA to reap huge rewards, and then a joint bulletin from the FBI and DEA let Frist know who he had ordered the air strike on.

Frist was not afraid before; he didn't think a military contracting company would dare to offend the CIA.

But to be cautious, he wasn't satisfied with just the arrival of Titan Company's black squad; he also had Sinaloa Group's people on standby at the border, hoping to take out all of P·B company's people in one go, but now...

Watching a Titan Company mercenary scream in despair as he was turned into mush, the two experienced soldiers switched their rifles to their left shoulders and then motioned with their right hands for the machine gunner to stop; they began to finish off the wounded and corpses on the ground.

Frist yelled, trying to lift the gun in his right hand...

"Bang"

Joe Ga, passing by, didn't take a close look. Finding that there was a fat boy in a suit still alive, he simply kicked away the pistol in his hand, then shot him in the knee.

"FUCK YOU!! You're dead!!"

Overtaken by intense pain, Frist yelled angrily, trying to intimidate Joe...

"Bang"

This time Joe drew his 'Super Jager' and shot his other leg.

Wave after wave of agony kept Frist from fainting, then snapping back to consciousness.

Having undergone interrogation training, Frist could not even manage to faint from the pain; he was like that black guy on the roller coaster, alternately lucid and unconscious, repeating more than a dozen times, until someone gave him a shot, which finally knocked him out...

When his consciousness recovered slightly, he found his shoulder and knee had been rudimentarily bandaged and he was thrown inside a moving vehicle.

Frist, well-trained, did not fully open his eyes as his first conscious act; rather, enduring the severe pain, he squinted a little gap to start observing.

It was a van, and a few surviving CIA technicians were locked in with him, all bearing injuries from bullet grazes to shrapnel wounds from grenades.

Those P·B bastards weren't aiming to take any prisoners; only those who didn't resist and were lucky enough survived.

Upon noticing mostly allies inside the van, Frist let out a pained grunt, startling a female technician next to him who was continuously crying.

A CIA field agent, even if they were a technician, was not a naive damsel, but the cruel assault they had just experienced had broken this flower that had yet to endure a raging storm.

The survivors had watched those devil-like enemies execute severely wounded comrades with a shot to the head, then forced them to pack the dead in body bags and load them onto CIA's own truck.

Now those bodies were neatly stacked at the back of the vehicle, 25 corpses in total, piled 1.5 meters high, with body bags that had torn during transport continually oozing blood...

The atmosphere inside the vehicle, illuminated by a dim light, could no longer be described as merely gloomy, as a cloud of despair loomed over everyone's head.

The blonde damsel, seeing Frist waking up, tearfully propped up her boss and choked out, "Sir, are you okay?"

Frist really wanted to curse out the idiotic woman pressing on his wound, but he needed the strength of everyone united, so he endured waves of agony, smiled at the blonde's hand, patted it, then assessed the other captured individuals...

Most of them were CIA technicians, and at the moment of the surprise attack, they didn't even have the chance to think of retaliating before they were taken down by flashbang grenades and hand grenades; of the eight, only five survived, each one injured.

All were in a state of despair, except for a middle-aged man sitting in the corner of the van, who was observing him with a cold sneer.

Frist knew he could not rely on his own people; he moved his wounded leg with difficulty, looked at the blonde, and said in a hoarse voice, "Where are we?"

The blonde was beyond rational thought, replying through her sobs, "I, we're in a vehicle..."

Getting angry now wouldn't solve anything; Frist said raspily, "Don't panic, think about what you learned at the academy, think carefully, we're in a vehicle, it's moving, which direction is it heading?

Think hard..."

"I, I don't know..."

The blonde girl said as she completely broke down, crying out, "Sir, that man said he would sell us to terrorists to make up for his losses.

Sir, we can't fall into the hands of terrorists, we..."

The words of the blonde girl made the four technicians opposite her break down as well, Americans falling into the hands of terrorists was bad enough, but a CIA agent in the clutches of any YSL terrorist would end up experiencing the eighteen levels of hell before being beheaded to boost morale. Your next read awaits at My Virtual Library Empire

Seeing several male technicians begin to cry, Frist was taken aback for a moment. He shook his head with difficulty and said, "Don't worry, P·B Company is even less popular with terrorists than we are, he's just trying to scare you.

Did you tell them anything?"

The blonde girl shook her head repeatedly and said, "We didn't..."

The middle-aged man, who had been crouching in the corner looking disheveled, suddenly spoke up, "That's because they never intended to ask, recognizing your CIA identities is not that hard."

Frist, using the dim light inside the carriage, watched the middle-aged man warily and asked, "Who are you?"

The middle-aged man propped up his upper body, revealing the bandages with blood on his chest and the wounds on his thigh, and said with a sneer, "Gary Lineker, you're here to kill me, and you don't recognize me?"

Upon hearing this, Frist looked at Lineker's blood-stained face and then burst into a bitter smile, "It seems I really did something wrong, I should have killed you when you made contact with Seta's men."

As he spoke, Frist looked at the wound on Lineker's left thigh and then looked down at the wound on his own thigh, confirming that this man had encountered the same treatment as himself.

Frist was silent for a long time, looking at Lineker who seemed to lack the strength to speak, and said, "P·B's people didn't kill us, what do they want?"

Lineker looked at Frist with a mocking glance and said, "Didn't you hear what your man said? That Hu Lang wants to sell you off.

A CIA agent can fetch 300,000 US dollars from holy war terrorists, and there are six of you.

Hu Lang doesn't even need to leave America, because I gave him the phone number of a jihad organization contact."

As he spoke, Lineker watched Frist's expression grow rigid and sneered, "This is my greeting to you bastards, remember to think of me when you're being skinned. When we meet in hell, I hope you fare worse than me."

Lineker's words caused those technicians to cry even louder...

"Why would you do this, you madman..."

The blonde girl, in a state of collapse, threw herself at Lineker and began pummeling his chest, causing the bloodstains on Lineker's chest to spread...

But Lineker didn't seem angry at all, nor did he stop the blonde girl's actions; instead, he grinned like a dying lone wolf, laughing, "Don't be afraid, it's not time for you to be scared yet, hahaha..."

Lineker's ghastly appearance finally made Frist begin to believe the seriousness of his predicament.

He leaned forward to pull away the blonde girl who had wet her pants and, despite the intense pain, tried to rally the devastated technicians, "Don't be afraid, it's not the end yet.

P·B Defense Company is a legitimate company, they wouldn't dare sell out people from the CIA..."

Lineker seemed to loathe Frist's attitude, and with a pained smile, said, "The person who sent you to kill me, Harlotte, sold two Delta Force to Libyan terrorists, and that's no news in the industry.

And are you sure you're still employees of the CIA?

Don't be naive, you're working for a private cause, and now that you've failed, you're worthless..."

With that, Lineker let out a triumphant, grim laugh, "I was once a spy too, I know the fate of those who face this kind of predicament.

I'll definitely hold out until the day you're filmed and posted online, because I'm still useful, hahaha..."

After listening, Frist turned pale and fell silent, aware of the situation he was in.

He was just a CIA field operations manager, but he had ended up caught in the political struggle between two heavyweights.

Lineker was right, he was still useful, as long as he was willing to cooperate, he would become a bargaining chip for the power behind Eric to accuse the other side.

But his team of CIA agents was useless, because the CIA wouldn't acknowledge their existence, otherwise they would become chips used to attack the people on Harlotte's side.

Realizing something was amiss, Frist suddenly exclaimed, "It's impossible, they won't hand us over to terrorists because we're CIA operatives, we still have value!

If they do that, they will face endless retaliation!!

P·B has a deep hatred for ISIS, they have no precedent of cooperating with terrorists."