The film starts with the Navy SEALs

Mike frowned after hearing what the woman said, and fell into deep thought, without any expression, carefully considering the pros and cons. His eyes were deep and complex, flashing an unfathomable light under the dim light, and his fingers tapped the table rhythmically.

Meanwhile, in faraway Macedonia, in Skopje, Kolemendi Hospital.

The hospital corridor was filled with the pungent smell of disinfectant, which was so strong that it made people feel suffocated. The lights were pale and dazzling, and the walls were monotonous white. Occasionally, there were a few old paintings hanging on them, adding a different sense of oppression to this cold environment. The tiles on the ground were cold and smooth, and the sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor, making it seem particularly empty.

"I have communicated with the doctor, and the doctor said it will take him several hours to wake up." Stonebridge called Colonel Coltrane. His voice echoed in the empty corridor, with a hint of fatigue and helplessness, leaning against the wall, looking lonely.

"Report anytime, he is the only clue, nothing can happen to him." Colonel Kechuan warned. His voice was deep and powerful, revealing an unquestionable majesty. He paced back and forth in the office, frowning.

"Sir, what happened before." Stonebridge hesitated. His fingers tapped the wall lightly, his face showed hesitation, and his eyes revealed a hint of uneasiness.

"We'll talk later." Colonel Kechuan hung up the phone and came to a corridor with lush vegetation, beautiful Roman columns on both sides, and a very historical look.

The stone pavement in the corridor is very old and has been polished smooth. Each stone pavement bears the traces of time. The sunlight shines through the dense branches and leaves onto the ground, forming patches of mottled light and shadows. The light and shadows sway in the breeze. The surrounding vegetation is lush and green, and the flowers exude a faint fragrance, which forms a sharp contrast with the depressing atmosphere in the hospital. The sound of birdsong echoes in this quiet space.

There was already a middle-aged white man waiting for him in the middle of the corridor. The man was wearing a neat suit, his hair was neatly combed, and he had a faint smile on his face, but his eyes were deep and sharp, as if he could see through everything, and there seemed to be a deep meaning hidden in the smile at the corner of his mouth.

"I guess you have questions, Alexander." The middle-aged man smiled faintly. His voice was gentle, but with an elusive feeling. He put his hands behind his back and his posture was elegant.

"First of all, I want to ask, why are the British researching viral biological weapons, and why are they related to the military? Why did they lie to me?" Colonel Coltrane went straight to the point. He stared at the other person, his face full of anger and confusion, and took a step forward, with an imposing manner.

"The short answer is... I don't know, and the detailed answer is... I don't have the right to know at this level." The middle-aged man was playing tricks. He shrugged, still with a faint smile on his face, as if all this had nothing to do with him, but there was a hint of panic in his eyes.

"Come on, James, you're already the second-in-command of the Intelligence Department," Colonel Coltrane sneered. The corners of his mouth slightly raised, revealing a sneer of disdain, his hands folded in front of his chest, his eyes full of contempt.

"So, even I, the second-in-command, didn't know about this. You know how high-level this matter is." The middle-aged man named James smiled, turned left and walked along the corridor while saying, "Now some damn idiots in power will call it a biological defense deterrent. Do you know the Marburg virus?" He tilted his head slightly and looked at Colonel Coltrane with a hint of scrutiny in his eyes.

James handed over a USB drive, and Colonel Coltrane took it and answered casually, "Viral hemorrhagic fever similar to Ebola."

"You're always so smart." After praising, James continued, "So the Serbs developed a weaponized strain during the Balkan conflict. And our excellent Dr. McCluskey completed the job better, stronger, and faster. In that case, I don't blame him." There was a hint of emotion in his tone, and his eyes revealed his complex emotions towards Dr. McCluskey.

"Doesn't your conscience bother you?" Colonel Coltrane asked. His eyes revealed a hint of anger and condemnation, as if questioning the moral bottom line of the man in front of him. He took a step forward, his eyes blazing.

"No, you can imagine the series of bad consequences that would arise from this. Anyway, putting aside the morality, fortunately we have been monitoring her. The bad news is that the Albanians are doing the same." James said. His tone was still calm, as if he was talking about something very ordinary, but his eyes revealed a trace of worry and concern.

"Do you know why they want that?" Colonel Coltrane asked. He frowned slightly, with a hint of doubt in his eyes, staring at James, trying to find the answer from his expression.

"The only thing we know for sure is that if he disappears along the Balkan trade route of the Black River, the next time we hear about him will be on the morning news, with biological and chemical weapons with British traces. That will become an international nightmare that we absolutely do not want." James' words were not alarmist, and the consequences would be even more serious than he said. His expression became serious, with a hint of worry in his eyes, his brows furrowed, and the wrinkles on his face deepened.

"So you want us to track down a weapon that the authorities created themselves, but which shouldn't exist at the official level?" Colonel Coltrane had a sneer on his face. He messed up himself, and he couldn't clean up the mess, so he let them do it. It's really funny! His voice rose a few notes, with a hint of anger and helplessness, and he was emotional, waving his hands.

"I've done this many times, it's very stressful, I believe you can do it." James said, speeding up and preparing to leave. His steps were hurried, as if he was running away from something, and his hurried steps brought up a breeze.

"One last thing." Colonel Coltrane called James.

After James turned his head, he said, "I think the driver we caught might be Branko Hajlovic." "Hajlovic was officially recorded as killed in action at the end of the war," James retorted. There was a hint of surprise in his eyes, and a puzzled expression on his face. He tilted his head slightly and looked at Colonel Coltrane.

"It is only presumed that he is dead. He is missing in action and his body was not found at the time." Colonel Coltrane's words made it clear what he meant. His eyes were firm, as if he was stating an indisputable fact. He straightened his back and looked serious.

"What's the result of facial recognition?" James asked. He narrowed his eyes slightly, revealing a hint of vigilance, and clenched his hands unconsciously.

"It shows that I guessed wrong." Colonel Kechuan's words are very intriguing. He clearly looks like the same person at the beginning, but the facial recognition now shows that he is not that person. This fully proves one thing, that someone tampered with the data behind the scenes. He changed the real one into a fake one. His eyes revealed a trace of helplessness and confusion, and he sighed softly.

"I know it's not easy to stay here, but it's a big trouble to stay alert and catch those chaos, so as to avoid a mountain of corpses here and we will be speechless when questioned." Some things cannot be revealed. James could only leave a few words in a warning tone and let Colonel Coltrane absorb and digest it by himself, and then left without looking back.

Colonel Coltrane was left staring at his back, frowning and looking uncertain. His eyes revealed a trace of confusion and helplessness, as if he was trapped in a huge mystery and couldn't extricate himself. He stood there for a long time, with a lot of thoughts in his mind.

In a quiet place on the outskirts of the city, Mike's magnificent villa stands quietly like a majestic castle. The exterior walls of the villa are made of simple bricks and stones, covered with emerald green ivy, swaying gently in the breeze, as if whispering stories of the past. In front of the villa is an open lawn, neatly trimmed, like a huge green carpet, surrounded by tall oak trees, with lush branches and leaves intertwined overhead, casting patches of mottled light and shadows.

At this time, Mike had cleaned the wound. White gauze was wrapped around his arm, and a trace of blood could be seen. He looked grim, and strode towards the gate with a bearded boy. The bearded boy was burly, with a full beard on his face like a ball of black flame. There was a hint of vigilance in his eyes, and he followed Mike closely.

At the gate, a curly-haired man was concentrating on practicing martial arts. He was in good shape, with his muscles faintly visible under the sunlight. His curly hair was like a small brown snake, swaying slightly with his movements. The man fighting with him was a thin man with tufts of hair. He was agile, with his neat tufts of hair swaying as he dodged and jumped, forming a delicate balance with his curly-haired figure.

The two men fought back and forth, punching and kicking with great force. The curly-haired man threw a straight punch, and the man with tugging hair dodged quickly, and at the same time, he kicked the curly-haired man's waist. The curly-haired man reacted quickly, crossed his arms to block the attack, and then squatted down, and kicked the man with a sweeping kick towards his legs. The man with tugging hair jumped up lightly and easily avoided it.

Seeing Mike and his men coming over, Curly didn't stop immediately, but shouted, "Wait for me." There was a hint of stubbornness and persistence in his voice, and then he continued to spar with the man with the hair. Every time he threw a punch, the curly man let out a low shout, as if he wanted to release all the dissatisfaction and depression in his heart.

Mike didn't say anything, his face was gloomy, his eyes were like the dark clouds before the storm, depressing and dangerous. He gave the hairy man a look, that look was like a sharp dagger, the smile on the hairy man's face disappeared instantly, and he walked aside obediently. The hairy man's steps were a little flustered, as if he was afraid of touching Mike's thunderous anger.

"You have to speak English in front of the staff, and if you want to learn fighting, you should come to me, not your bodyguard, and stop complaining to your mom about the wedding." Mike lectured the curly-haired man, his voice deep and powerful, echoing in the air like a bell. Every word was full of unquestionable majesty, as if declaring his absolute authority to the curly-haired man.

The curly-haired man was not afraid but rather frivolous. He raised his chin slightly, with a rebellious light in his eyes, which was like the cold stars twinkling in the night sky, with a hint of stubbornness and indomitable spirit. From their relationship, it is not difficult to see that the curly-haired man is most likely Mike's son.

"I can't do it. I barely know that girl, let alone fall in love with her." The curly-haired man lowered his head, but said words of resistance. His hands were clenched into fists, and his knuckles turned white because of the force, as if he was fighting fiercely with the helplessness and anger in his heart.

"She is from the Veroni family. You must marry her. This is business." Mike's voice became colder and colder, as if it came from an ice cellar, without a trace of warmth. After he finished speaking, he walked to the cabinet next to him. The cabinet was made of dark walnut wood, exuding an old and noble atmosphere. Mike took out a small box from it and handed it to the curly-haired man. The surface of the box was carved with delicate patterns, and it shone with a mysterious luster under the sunlight.

The curly-haired man asked in confusion, "What is this?" His eyes were full of curiosity and confusion. He looked at the box in his hands as if he was exploring an unknown mystery.

"These are your grandfather's ashes. He was not buried in the family cemetery. It's all his own fault. He caused the blood feud between us and the Veroni family. But now you are going to marry a member of their family, so that our family will finally be free." As a father, Mike said a lot of earnest words. His eyes revealed a trace of fatigue and helplessness. The years have left deep marks on his face, and those wrinkles seem like scars of family history.

But he found that the curly-haired man's expression remained unchanged, still showing a resistance. The curly-haired man's lips trembled slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but he finally held back. His eyes were firm and stubborn, looking directly into Mike's eyes, without any retreat.

He had to say helplessly again: "Smile, for the sake of this damn thing, one day, all of this will be yours, this is helping yourself." After saying that, Mike walked back into the house. His back looked a little lonely, and his steps were a little heavy, as if he was carrying the burden of the entire family. Only the curly-haired man with a complicated expression was left standing there, looking at the urn in his hand, with mixed feelings in his heart.

At the same time, in the hospital on the other side of the city, the atmosphere was tense and depressing. The walls were cold white, and the smell of disinfectant filled every inch of the air, making people feel suffocated. The whole class gathered here, and lying on the bed was the injured Jovan. Jovan's face was as pale as paper, his lips were chapped, and his forehead was covered with fine beads of sweat, showing that he was in great pain. (End of this chapter)