Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 70 Betrayal and Conspiracy by Arms Dealers

Inside the steamy sauna, the wooden walls were damp, and birch branches dripped water from iron hooks.

A slightly balding man, wrapped in a bath towel, sat back on a stool with his legs apart, in a relaxed posture.

"You're still the same, Misha, quiet as a cat."

The person called Misha was a little further away.

His towel was tied tightly, his back was slightly leaning forward, his eyes did not dodge, but he did not seem particularly close either.

“I’m not a cat, Boris,” Mikhail said carefully. “It’s just that things have changed recently.”

Boris laughed when he heard this: "If Igor heard you talking like that, he'd definitely sneeze."

Mikhail did not respond.

His gaze fell on the bottle of vodka that Boris had unscrewed, the glass surface fogged up.

Boris noticed and tilted his head to gesture for him to pour a glass.

Aren't you going to ask me why I contacted you?

“I can guess,” Mikhail said. “Your men have been watching me for almost two months.”

“Well, you’ve dragged this out long enough.” Boris took the vodka and poured himself a glass. “Most people would have jumped ship long ago, especially someone as cautious as you.”

Mikhail gave a sarcastic smirk. "I'm not stupid, Boris."

Boris took a sip of his drink, frowned, and thought it tasted spicier than he remembered.

“I know you’re not stupid. You’re someone Igor brought up from the old system. He trusts you more than anyone else, including his own brother.”

"He entrusted you with managing all the inventory along the Black Sea coast; no one else can touch it."

Boris paused for a moment, then said, "That's why I came to find you."

Mikhail didn't speak, but simply twirled the wine glass in his palm.

After a few seconds, he said, "I'm sorry, I can't give you what you want."

Boris squinted.

His skin was flushed and he was slightly sweating from the steam, but he still looked relaxed.

"Stop joking, Misha."

"The fact that someone like you would come to a place like this to meet me means you've already started to have doubts."

This time, Mikhail did not deny it. "So, you've come to ask me if I'm willing to betray Igor and side with you?"

"No, Misha, I prefer to call it—whether you want to be taken seriously."

“Igor Sergeyevich also takes me seriously.”

Mikhail replied instinctively, but paused for a moment after speaking.

Boris turned his head to the side.

“Look,” he said softly, “even their names are pronounced so formally.”

Mikhail didn't rush to refute, but simply brought the cup to his lips without drinking it.

After a two-second silence, he put down his cup and spoke again, his tone less forceful: "He did treat me well in the past."

Mikhail realized he had used the word "past" and also sensed a slight hesitation in his heart.

It felt like stepping on a lake that wasn't completely frozen yet; you didn't dare to put too much pressure on it, but you also couldn't back up.

"Really, Misha?"

"You've worked together for many years, that's a fact, there's no mistake."

"But have you ever thought that he uses you simply because you never cross the line, never make demands, and never ask for anything excessive?"

Mikhail's expression was somewhat stiff.

At this moment, Boris moved a little closer to him:
“I’m not Igor. If you really want to sit at the table, I won’t just let you serve the drinks to other people.”

A creaking sound came from outside; someone was adding water to the steam room next door.

Mikhail was silent for a moment, then asked, "Do you trust me?"

"What do you think?"

“I think you believe I can give you crucial information, but you don’t believe I would risk my life for you.”

“No,” Boris said softly, “I believe you’re willing to risk your life for yourself.” Mikhail looked up at him, his gaze deepening.

Boris continued, "Igor looks like a pathetic old dog now."

"The warehouse has been inspected, the port has been flagged by customs, and the funds in his accounts are stuck in a Cypriot bank. How much longer can he hold out?"

“He still holds a considerable amount of inventory,” Mikhail said.

"You mean Herson's goods? He himself doesn't even know if those things can be shipped out."

Boris curled his lip. "How many people have changed at the top in the last six months? You and I both know that."

"The new group of people don't owe him any favors, so they'll drag things out and push it away as much as possible. Who's going to take the initiative to speak up for him?"

Mikhail remained silent, knowing that most of what he said was true.

He knew better than anyone how struggling Igor had been in recent months, with permits, escorts, and ports constantly changing.

In addition, Boris and his newly risen group took advantage of the shift change to both consume resources and block roads.

“If you want to stay on his shabby ship,” Boris slammed his glass down, “I won’t stop you.”

"But you have to understand, when war comes, no one cares about your loyalty or not, they only care which side you're on."

The steam rose again.

The door was pushed open a crack, and a man wrapped in a bath towel peeked in and nodded to Boris.

Then he glanced at Mikhail and closed the door again.

Mikhail's fingers twitched involuntarily. "What would I get if I joined you?"

“There are two ways,” Boris said.

"First, become my representative for the eastern region, responsible for channels and warehouses in the central and southern regions. The compensation is commission and quarterly bonuses."

"Secondly, it's not mine, but we cooperate. I'll give you some of the goods, channels, and port permits. You do the work yourself, but you have to gradually transfer control of the customers to me."

Mikhail pondered for a moment, "Either surrender, or cooperate until the end and then surrender? Are these really options, Boris?"

"Which one do you choose?"

"I'm still thinking about it."

Boris nodded, not at all surprised.

He propped himself up and casually screwed the cap back on the vodka bottle. "You have seven days left."

"After that, I'm going to take action and won't wait for you."

Mikhail's expression was inscrutable.

"Do you regret it?" Boris suddenly asked again.

Mikhail did not answer immediately.

“I’ve regretted it,” he said, “but I regret not being able to pull people out of the mud.”

So you're still in the mud.

"At least it's still warm."

Neither of them laughed.

After a while, Boris walked to the door, turned his back to him, and said, "Do you know what your biggest mistake has been these past few years?"

“Igor never treated you like a human being, and you treated yourself like a tool, obedient, punctual, and quiet.”

Boris's voice was somewhat cold. "But if the tool is broken, just replace it."

The door closed with a soft click, then returned to the warmth and the scent of birch branches.

Mikhail remained motionless.

He sat there, breathing slowly, the smell of vodka still lingering in his nostrils.

He didn't know if he would ultimately make a choice.

But he knew that some things might be about to change.

　Parallel worlds have absolutely no relation to real-world time, place, people, or political structures.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)