Chapter 21: The Raid

After Carman got out of the vehicle, Joga took out his Beretta 92F pistol, loaded it with subsonic ammunition, and attached a suppressor to the barrel. In the confined environment of the hotel, Joga felt more confident using a handgun.

The so-called hotel was actually a small, two-story building made of brick and stone. As Joga circled to the back, he noticed that among the dozen or so rooms on the second floor, only one had its light on.

To his side was a balcony, with gaps between the balconies barely 50 centimeters wide—easy to cross with a step. The room with the light was at the far end of the second floor on the east side. As Joga silently approached, he was surprised to find an off-road vehicle covered with tattered tarps parked directly below the balcony, right against the wall of the hotel kitchen.

The vehicle faced the street, and Joga carefully lifted the tarp. To his astonishment, he found the keys inside, two AR rifles on the back seat, and an RPG-7 in the trunk. The tire marks on the ground indicated that the vehicle hadn't moved at least today.

Looking up at the three-meter-high balcony, Joga realized that this vehicle was likely prepared for a quick escape by someone in the second-floor room. They could easily climb onto the vehicle's roof from the balcony and drive away quickly.

Impressed by the professionalism, Joga decided he needed to be more cautious in the future and always leave himself an escape route wherever he went.

Quietly removing the tarp and gathering the weapons into his multipurpose tool kit, Joga then climbed onto the vehicle's roof and stealthily made his way onto the balcony.

The balcony was accessed through an 80-centimeter-wide wooden door, with a window beside it. Given the hot weather, there was no air conditioning, and the window was open.

As Joga entered the balcony, he heard a man and a woman talking inside the room.

"Damn it, my people haven't reported back yet..."

"Tomorrow, we'll meet with the Dinka people. Their president is unreliable, but we can exploit the Dinka's greed and ignorance. South Sudan will announce in a month that the rights to exploit 7 billion barrels of oil will be handed over to a Chinese oil company. At that time, the Dinka president is likely to compromise, affecting our oil and mining interests. We need to stir up chaos in South Sudan, and this is a great opportunity. A Chinese person selling weapons to the Dinka's enemies..."

"Hey, what about me? If I offend a so-called superpower from the Third World, my business in Africa will be finished. Pay me first, or our plan is doomed, and I'll leave this damn place tomorrow."

"OK, we'll provide you with a new identity. Ten million dollars will be deposited into your designated account in an hour. After this is done, you can return to Sardinia and enjoy life."

Joga, listening intently, felt a chill down his spine. He never imagined that selling a few AK-74s to a local would lead to such a big mess. The Siruk man, Kersa, knew he couldn't compete with the Dinka, so he wanted to incite Joga to attack the Italians, cutting off the Dinka's weapon supply and eliminating the troublemaker. Kersa had long betrayed his position. Whether Joga attacked the Italians or not, the conflict was inevitable when he arrived in Wau.

The most ridiculous part was that both sides suspected Joga's Chinese background. The Siruk saw him as their lifeline, while the Italians and the unidentified woman saw him as the spark for the conflict.

Regret was too late now. To avoid being the start of trouble, Joga had no choice.

Covering his nose and mouth with a mask, Joga kept his Beretta close to his chest, slowly edging toward the window along the wall. The Italian had no value now, but the woman might still be useful—at least to warn his fellow countrymen about the situation.

Using the reflection from the window glass, Joga saw a tall, armed bodyguard holding a briefcase standing in the corner of the room. Despite lacking experience in such raids, Joga knew he couldn't miss this chance. He acted decisively.

"Pfft, pfft." He fired twice, hitting the bodyguard in the head and the Italian in the eye.

The sudden shock startled the woman. As she reached for her gun, she saw Joga's gun pointed at her. Noticing Joga's finger raised to his lips in a "quiet" gesture, she instinctively raised her hands to show she posed no threat.

As Joga steadied himself on the window sill to enter the room, the door burst open, and two tall men in black combat gear burst in with their guns drawn.

"Pfft, pfft." Two gunshots interrupted their actions. 

The woman, who had planned to counterattack, saw Joga's gun pointed at her again and resignedly raised her hands over her head.

Joga's shooting speed was too fast for the woman to react. Four people, four bullets, all in less than five seconds.

With the subsonic ammunition and suppressor, the Beretta's firing noise was like two chopsticks being struck together. It could be heard up close, but beyond 15 meters or through walls in a complex environment, it was almost inaudible.

A bullet to the head meant no time for a scream. While subsonic ammunition might not penetrate the skull, the terrifying effect of the bullet ricocheting inside the head would turn the brain into mush. The sound of bodies hitting the ground was more noticeable, which is why the bodyguards outside rushed in so quickly.

Keeping his eyes and gun trained on the woman, Joga carefully crossed the window sill, moved along the wall to the door, kicked aside the fallen bodies, and closed the door.

After a few minutes of silence and no other signs of movement, Joga finally relaxed and looked at the woman in the UN staff uniform, who was reasonably attractive. He said, "Carefully put your gun on the ground, don't try anything funny."

Then Joga swiftly shifted his gun and fired additional shots into the heads of the four bodies, which the woman had not even reacted to.

Realizing she had no chance to escape, but still hopeful due to Joga's mask and tactical glasses concealing his appearance, she remained calm. As a seasoned intelligence operative, though her combat skills might be average, her mind was clear.

She slowly lifted her skirt, pulling out a small, silver PPK pistol from her thigh with two fingers. She placed it carefully on the ground and kicked it toward Joga.

Joga stepped on the pistol, aimed at the woman's head, and said, "Strip."