EeeeeeEEeeeeeEE EeeeEEeeEEeee

The blaring television woke Xin Tuyong up the next morning: "... Fan Qentian's trial date has not yet been confirmed..."

Xin Tuyong opened his eyes at the sound of the familiar name. He turned over with a groan and looked on the screen.

Fan Qentian and at least eighteen others were arrested for tax fraud and multiple accounts of embezzlement, as well as suspicion of dealing with cartels.

Huan Mao entered the room as she dried her hair with a towel.

"Music to my ears," she smiled.

"Your doing?" he asked.

"A little." She continued watching with clear interest.

"... suspected connection to a chain of other crimes through the underground Black Syndicate, here we have an unnamed witness on the scene..."

Black Syndicate, huh...

Huan Mao's sharp voice brought him back to reality. "You have a solo* today with a client from Vietnam. You'll be negotiating a contract renewal for ammunition supplies on our end. Di Gaohun has the paperwork. Have it and be ready to go by nine."

Xin Tuyong glanced at his watch on the bedside table. At was almost eight. His eyebrow twitched in surprise.

He couldn't recall a single time he'd been given a same-day task — Huan Mao always gave him at least a night of notice, and he rarely went solo.

"Is it an emergency? Why so soon?"

Huan Mao turned as she was about to leave and a brief indiscernible expression crossed her face. After that flicker of hesitation, her normal smile returned. "Something like that."

...

Xin Tuyong turned off the engine of the car at the end of the dirt road. In front of him stretched endless jungle and nothing much else.

He squinted in confusion at the map in front of him. The map clearly marked a path to a building, but the dense foliage ahead was impassable. Unless...

Xin Tuyong groaned and lightly banged his head against the steering wheel, remembering Di Gaohun's parting words to him: "Wear comfortable shoes. It's a long way out."

He would have to walk the remaining distance through the soggy jungle. Nice.

Xin Tuyong sighed as he tucked his gun discreetly in his waistband. In one hand, he held the large orange envelope; in the other, he held the map.

Thirty minutes later, Xin Tuyong arrived in a clearing. Still no building, but there was a picnic table in the center.

He had fifteen minutes to get to where he needed to be, and lost in the middle of nowhere, he started to panic. He sat at the table and slumped over, rubbing his temples in an attempt to clear his dizzy head.

He would not panic — he would make it on time just fine.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, he felt something sharp stab into his back, and in seconds he began losing feeling in his limbs.

"Shi-" He pulled his gun out tried to turn to face his enemy, but a knife was held to his throat.

"Drop the gun," a sharp female voice growled in his ear.

He had little choice; the gun slipped naturally from his fingers as they became almost completely numb. His heart pounded and a drop of sweat slid down the back of his neck.

"Get up!" she barked, forcing him to his unsteady feet.

She took his map and envelope and severe panic shook Xin Tuyong's bones. Huan Mao would actually murder him if he lost the files. That was confidential information that he needed to protect with his life.

That feeling overwhelmed him and his instincts took over. He grabbed at the wrist wielding the knife and pulled it away, releasing himself and spinning to face his opponent.

He stumbled unsteadily with the effort and found himself staring into the barrel of his own gun. His vision was blurring too much to see the face of the woman, but he could recognize that much.

He put his hands in the air in a motion of surrender, blinking hard to try to clear his sight.

"What do you want?" His tongue felt swollen when he spoke.

* solo = an assigned task with no assistance or backup; used for low-risk operations