The taste of money pervades even the coffee they drink — at least, that's how some in the DGSE jokingly put it.
When ten bigshots holding the lifeline of the global economy gathered in the most secret and secure underground conference room at DGSE, their weary and anxious eyes thoroughly erased the once insufferably arrogant halo that each of them used to exude. Now, they were just parents who had lost their children, no different from any ordinary person.
Everyone, including André and Mu Yeliang, probably never imagined they would have such an "honor" to gather in the same room with these influential figures, and all in an atmosphere of absolute equality.
All parents of the kidnapped kids had received an express delivery 24 hours ago, containing a USB flash drive and a letter. The content of the letter was brief — please arrive at the Mortier HQ in France within 24 hours. If you're late, please carefully preserve the attached video; it will be the last trace of your precious darling in the world. Thank you.
In the video, the hostages sat in front of a silver-white wall, holding up a newspaper from that day in their hands, and the camera clearly showed the date on the newspaper. Everyone appeared healthy, with no signs of hardship.
Within 24 hours, parents from around the world showed up at Paris unexpectedly. DGSE's small airport received dozens of luxury helicopters within a day. The entire DGSE was on high alert, and not even a fly was allowed to enter or leave at will.
Ten letters were neatly placed on the conference room table. The contents of the letters were the same, but they were handwritten in different languages. Whether in English, Chinese, Russian, or Arabic, the handwriting was elegant and proficient.
Relevant departments swiftly investigated the source of the express delivery and subjected each letter to numerous high-tech tests, examining everything from the paper and composition of the ink on the paper to the attached fibers. They even consulted handwriting experts to analyze the psychological state of the letter writer. However, no useful information was found. In the end, the handwriting experts could only say, "These letters all come from the same person. Intelligent, composed, and even... a genius."
The room fell into silence. Mu Yeliang walked over to look at the letter written in Chinese. Indeed, every character was vigorous, displaying a dignified style. He couldn't help but mutter, "Looks like we're dealing with a cultured kidnapper."
"How do you plan to handle this?" One of the wealthy individuals stood up, his face stern. "You're not going to waste time sipping afternoon tea with us, are you?"
"If taxpayers' money is wasted, they probably won't be too pleased." Another wealthy individual, with a round and fair face, had his chubby cheeks flushed with anxiety and suppressed anger. When he saw the group in front of him still insisting on saying, "We are actively investigating, please remain calm," his fists clenched tighter. If given a bottle, he might have smashed it onto the head of the head of the security department or police chief in the next second.
As a seasoned police officer, André had never felt so humiliated. "We fully understand how you're feeling right now. There are flaws in every case. Please be patient. Trust the police..."
Before André could finish his sentence, his collar was already grabbed by the Russian who suddenly jumped up. A string of angry and not-so-standard English rang through the room, "Trust? My son has been missing for ten days! You useless bunch can't solve the case even in ten days! And you still have the nerve to ask for our trust?"
Mu Yeliang lightly pried off the Russian man's fist and smiled at the man, saying in fluent English, "Sir, please don't be quick to call others useless. If the police are useless, then the so-called top-notch bodyguards you arranged for your children, aren't they even more useless? What does speaking in anger achieve other than making everyone more unhappy? Wouldn't you rather sit down, calm down, and carefully analyze why the kidnappers only demanded that you all gather here without any other demands?"
Looking at Mu Yeliang's neither humble nor arrogant face, the Russian lowered his fist. There was a sense of oppression usually buried beneath sincerity in this Chinese man's eyes. As a seasoned player in the financial world, the Russian man had read countless people, and he only felt this kind of feeling when facing a truly formidable opponent.
André let go of the Russian man's hand, refraining from getting angry. He only said, "I too have a daughter!"
The atmosphere in the room eased slightly. The high-ranking officials, whose status far exceeded that of Mu Yeliang, breathed a sigh of relief and silently thanked this Chinese officer who had been submerged in the crowd and had not drawn their attention at all before.
At this moment, various tones of cell phone message alerts almost simultaneously filled the air, and the rich and powerful individuals took out their phones in tandem. It was a mass text message: "DGSE's coffee is quite good, isn't it? You might as well stay for another 48 hours. The moms and dads are asked to prepare what you consider most precious and wait in front of the most beautiful Mona Lisa at the Louvre. Irrelevant individuals are also welcome to join."
And the most recent abductee, Charlotte Beroul's father, received an additional message beyond the mass text: "Mr. Beroul, don't you want to redo your shirt buttons?"
The always impeccably dressed Luc Beroul had the second button of his shirt fastened on the third buttonhole, a detail he hadn't noticed on his way. Of course, no one else had paid attention to this minor detail either. Who would pay attention to such a trivial matter at this time? However, if the first text message was a bomb, then the second message was an atomic bomb. The fact that the abductors were aware of something unnoticed by those around, and that too in the highly secure DGSE secret conference room where not even a fly could enter, made the expressions of all the officials turn pale. André and Mu Yeliang couldn't hide their surprise, exchanging glances in dismay...
As the "irrelevant individuals" mentioned in the kidnappers' text message, two hours later, almost half of Paris's police force headed towards the Louvre under the pretext of being an advance team.
"Won't the Louvre soon turn into a can? Packed with police," Mu Yeliang observed the long line of police cars in front, their flashing lights casting a chaotic glow on the gray road, his expression flustered and confused.
André took a deep drag of his cigarette and stepped on the gas, "We've never encountered such an opponent. This ba$tard should be torn apart into pieces and dumped into the Seine!"
Mu Yeliang smiled and looked away, seemingly bored as he gazed out the window at the rapidly receding scenery. A touch of loneliness floated in his eyes, like the mist covering a full moon.
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