novelSusiti Chapter 166 Who is the prey?
Chapter 166 Who is the prey?
At dusk, the setting sun was like blood.
The orange-red light cast an eerie glow over the entire Smyrna harbor. Pier 3 was deathly silent, save for the howling sea breeze blowing through the abandoned warehouses, like the sobs of ghosts.
Two black carriages appeared precisely at the end of the dock, kicking up a cloud of dust. The convoy came to a stop, and Petaras alighted from the first carriage. He was dressed in a sharp suit and bow tie, his demeanor composed. He was accompanied only by four tall bodyguards, also dressed in suits, who looked more like entourage than warriors.
Petaras glanced up at the silhouette of the massive cargo ship slowly approaching on the distant horizon, a satisfied expression on his face. Ignoring the eerie silence around him, he strode towards the very front of the dock, as if he were merely attending a routine welcoming ceremony, completely oblivious to the deadly danger that was about to befall him.
A perfect trap.
The perfect prey.
Around Petaras, on the towering warehouse rooftops, in the shadows of piled-up shipping containers, a dozen assassins lay in wait like venomous snakes. Their Mauser rifles and sharp scimitars gleamed with a bloodthirsty coldness in the fading sunlight.
At the highest point of the warehouse, Hassan lay prone behind a dilapidated wooden crate, holding a German-made hunting rifle. The sights were firmly fixed on Petalas's back. He could even clearly see the texture of the fabric of Petalas's suit.
With just a flick of his finger, this Greek who had stirred up the whole of Smyrna would collapse on the dock like a blood bag being squeezed.
A cruel smile crept across Hassan's lips. He licked his chapped lips, preparing to savor the thrill of the hunt.
It's now!
He was about to pull the trigger.
In that instant, a deadly sense of danger struck from behind! His instincts, honed by years of navigating the dangers of the blade, made him abandon his aim and violently roll to the side!
"Bang!" The wooden crate he had been lying on was kicked to pieces from the inside! A dark figure pounced out like a cheetah, the military dagger in his hand drawing a cold arc, landing on the spot where he had just been lying.
"An ambush!" Hassan's pupils contracted sharply. He rolled to the ground, drew the short knife from his waist, and stabbed the shadowy figure with a backhand thrust! At the same time, he opened his mouth to shout, wanting to warn his companions.
But the shadowy figure moved faster! After the dagger missed its target, the shadowy figure flipped its wrist, gripped the hilt in reverse, and used its arm guard to forcefully deflect Hassan's dagger with a crisp clang. Its other hand, like an iron clamp, firmly covered Hassan's mouth!
The two engaged in a silent but deadly struggle on the narrow rooftop.
Ultimately, the Greek agents, with their superior strength and skill, precisely plunged the tip of the dagger into Hassan's throat. Blood stained his hideous scar.
The moment of counterattack has arrived!
Almost simultaneously, muffled "thump-thump" sounds rang out from all directions of the dock. It was a revolver, conducting a silent roll call.
An assassin, who was about to rush out from behind the pile of goods, was shot between the eyebrows and fell backward.
Another gunman, who was lying on the warehouse beam, had just adjusted his firing angle when a hand reached out from the shadows behind him, covered his mouth, and a sharp blade sliced across his neck.
Before the assassins hiding in every corner could react to this sudden turn of events, they were eliminated one by one by the ghosts that emerged from every corner in the most calm and efficient way.
These "ghosts" are Constantine's true trump card. They are retired agents handpicked by Alexandros from the Royal Guard, disguised as ordinary employees of the Petalas Company, dockworkers, and even mingling among the crowds welcoming the new ship. They have already infiltrated every corner of Pier 3, laying a net to wait for their prey to take the bait.
This silent war was over in less than three minutes.
Throughout the entire process, there was not a single alarm or shout; only a few muffled groans suppressed in the throats and the sound of heavy objects falling to the ground.
When the Ottoman patrol in the distant port heard some strange noises and slowly made their way over, everything on the dock had already returned to calm.
Petaras and his four "bodyguards" stood unharmed, as if nothing had happened. In the shadows beneath their feet lay more than a dozen unidentified corpses. Blood silently seeped from beneath them, seeping into the cracks of the dock's stone slabs.
The patrol captain, upon seeing this scene, turned pale with fright. He stammered, "What...what happened?"
A bodyguard from Petaras stepped forward, handed over a special pass stamped with the British consulate seal, and, speaking with an old London accent and fluent Turkish, replied expressionlessly:
"We were attacked by a group of pirates. They have now been subdued."
The patrol captain looked at the corpse on the ground, then at the several cold-faced "British men," swallowed hard, and dared not ask a single question. He immediately led his men to retreat far away.
The assassin leader, the arrogant Albanian Hassan, did not die immediately.
Alexandros's agent displayed surgical precision. The cut only severed his vocal cords and part of his neck muscles, rendering him unable to call for help or resist, yet allowing him to remain conscious and feel the fear of his life slowly slipping away.
He was captured alive.
In the hold of the newly arrived cargo ship "Athena," Hassan was tied to an iron post. Bucket after bucket of icy seawater was poured over his head, keeping him from losing consciousness. A Greek military doctor injected him with a drug that amplified his senses but rendered him immobile.
Next came the interrogation.
There was no torture. The agent simply dragged the corpses of his men one by one in front of him, and then, with the dagger that had slit his throat, he traced the locations of the cuts on his body.
Under the combined effects of the icy seawater, amplified fear, and extreme dread of death, Hassan's psychological defenses completely collapsed.
With trembling hands, he picked up the pen and confessed everything on a blank sheet of paper. From how he received Muradbay's commission, to the details of the deal, to the entire assassination plot. Finally, he pressed his blood-red fingerprint onto the detailed confession.
Having obtained what he wanted, the agent did not hesitate for a moment and ended his life with a single blow.
Petalas neither reported it to the police nor went to see the two-faced governor of Smyrna.
He returned to the hotel overnight and personally prepared a document.
This document contains:
His official credentials as the chief representative of "Helios Shipping" (a British-Greek joint venture registered in the City of London and funded by the Greek Royal Fund).
The confession, signed by the Albanian assassin Hassan, detailed the whereabouts of every single gold coin.
An autopsy report issued by the ship's medic proved that all the deceased were "Ottoman armed bandits" who were illegally possessing weapons, and that the weapons they used were closely related to the standard equipment of the Ottoman army.
Each piece of evidence is like a meticulously polished steel nail, linked together to form an irrefutable chain of evidence.
This thick document was contained in an exquisite envelope with a subtle pattern of the British Royal Arms.
Early the next morning, the envelope was sent by a Greek agent disguised as a messenger on the fastest passenger ship to its rightful destination—Athens.