220: Chapter 220 Comrade, we also have a staff at Kadena.

Less than three meters.

Nine-millimeter caliber, M9 pistol, fifteen-round magazine.

At this distance, even a private who failed marksmanship training could turn someone into a sieve.

Li Li's mind raced.

Behind him was the cold metal wall of the elevator. To his left lay three unconscious U.S. soldiers. To his right was the blood-nosed Snowden. Directly in front was a pitch-black gun barrel.

A two-by-two meter iron box; no cover, no blind spots, no way out.

His current combat ability was indeed absurdly strong. But no matter how absurd, he was still mortal.

Beyond thirty paces, fists are fast. Within seven paces, guns are accurate and fast. The copper-cased bullets propelled by gunpowder gas don't care about martial arts.

The officer held the gun very steadily. Holding it with both hands, his right index finger rested on the inside of the trigger guard.

A veteran who had received formal training.

Snowden moved in the corner.

This former senior CIA programmer was dragging his trembling legs, inching forward. Knees bent, center of gravity pressed forward.

He wanted to block the line of fire.

Li Li cursed under his breath.

A 140-pound skeleton who couldn't even walk straight, blocking what? Does he really think this is a Hollywood blockbuster with stormtrooper aim and a health cheat?

Li Li raised his left hand, pressed down on Snowden's shoulder, and forcibly shoved him back into the corner.

The muzzle didn't move a millimeter.

The three of them stood in a stalemate.

The corridor outside the elevator was empty, the President's speech drifting over from several buildings away, leaving only the buzzing tail end of the electrical signal.

The officer's wrist moved.

The muzzle slowly lowered.

Forty-five degrees, ninety degrees.

Pointing straight at the ground.

His right index finger moved off the trigger and back to the outside of the guard.

The officer didn't even look at Li Li. He stared at Snowden and spat out a sentence in Russian.

"Рассвет над Невой."

Dawn over the Neva River.

Li Li didn't understand Russian, but Snowden did.

He froze. Not out of fear, but because his brain had crashed.

Snowden stared intently at The Caucasian wearing the U.S. military camouflage, his lips trembling, and replied in the same Russian.

Li Li tilted his head.

"What does it mean?"

Snowden swallowed, his voice trembling.

"A code."

"The code I used when I met with the Russian agent in the U.S."

Snowden's eyes turned red.

"Friendly."

The officer holstered the gun and clicked the safety on.

"That's right, comrade."

He switched back to English, with a very faint Eastern European accent; if you didn't listen carefully, you would completely mistake it for the slurred tone of a Midwestern farmer.

Li Li didn't lower his guard.

"Why should I trust you?"

The officer looked down and picked up the phone that had fallen on the floor, his thumb brushing over the cracks on the screen.

"Sir, let me be blunt."

He looked up.

"If I weren't a spy, I would have just pulled the trigger."

He held up two fingers and waved them.

"Two high-value targets on the blacklist. One second-tier CIA wanted criminal, one defector carrying top-secret intelligence."

"If those two heads counted toward my performance review, I could coast for the rest of my life. Triple my retirement pension, buy a seaside villa in Florida, fish and drink beer every day, and live to be eighty."

He stuffed the phone back into his pocket.

"But I didn't shoot."

Li Li stared at him.

Logical closure. If the other party were a normal U.S. soldier, the most logical action would have been to empty the magazine and then sound the base-wide alarm. With a promotion and a huge bonus right in front of them, no one would put down their gun to chat.

Li Li turned to Snowden.

"Are you sure?"

Snowden wiped the blood off his face.

"I set that code myself; only I and the contact person I met in Virginia knew it."

"The contact mentioned they had someone at Kadena, but didn't say who."

Li Li turned his gaze back.

"Fine."

The officer adjusted his collar.

"Not much time. The President's speech has at most ten minutes left. Let's skip the reminiscing."

The three of them stepped out of the elevator.

The three soldiers and the sergeant were still lying on the ground. The one clutching his crotch was still twitching unconsciously.

Li Li bent down and pressed the fault button on the elevator's control panel.

"Click."

The elevator lights flickered twice and switched to emergency mode. The doors closed slowly. Without a maintenance engineer coming by with a key, this door would not open again, nor would it trigger an alarm. The system would only record a routine mechanical failure.

At the end of the corridor was a fire exit. The officer led the way, moving very quickly, knowing the base's layout like the back of his hand.

The three turned into a narrow equipment corridor. Both sides were filled with pipes and cable trays, the emergency lights overhead dim and yellow.

The officer slowed down and lowered his voice.

"You are Li Li."

A tone of certainty.

"How do you plan to withdraw?"

Li Li helped Snowden lean against a rough pipe.

"Original plan: find a two-seater fighter jet and fly him out."

The officer shook his head.

"That won't work."

"All two-seater models at the base were transferred twenty days ago. F-15Ds, F/A-18Fs, EA-18Gs—not a single one left."

Li Li paused.

Twenty days ago.

He had been sent to Kadena to undergo "Zhang Nan" training exactly two weeks ago.

These Americans were specifically guarding against him stealing a plane. In that Alpha-7 file from the CIA, his record of flying an F-18 in the Middle East was definitely highlighted and bolded in red.

"So the tarmac is all single-seaters now?"

"F-22s, F-35s, all single-seaters." The officer leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Even if you managed to steal one, you could only leave by yourself."

He glanced at Snowden.

"This guy can't be stuffed in."

Li Li was silent.

He could run in a single-seater just fine; with his piloting skills and the assistance of the East Sea Fleet, the entire Kadena anti-aircraft missile defense might not be able to stop him.

But Snowden couldn't be strapped to the wing to catch the Pacific sea breeze.

The officer proposed a plan.

"I can take him."

"There is a logistics supply route on the west side of the base, and supply trucks leave port at 4:30 every day. I have the authority to issue shipping documents. Hide him in a container, ship him by sea, and he'll reach a safe port in seventy-two hours."

The route was clear, the timing precise; he had obviously scouted it out long ago.

"But," the officer looked at Li Li, "you, I can't take."

"Your face, height, and build have been studied with magnifying glasses by at least twenty people in this base. If you take any conventional route, you'll be identified within three minutes."

The officer paused.

"Besides, it will take time for me to get him out. It requires the entire base's attention to be drawn away by something else."

Li Li understood everything.

Bait.

He had to cause a big enough commotion at Kadena, drawing the attention of all the military police, agents, and fighter jets onto himself to buy a window of evacuation for Snowden.

Li Li looked at Snowden.

Snowden was leaning against the pipe, his chest heaving violently, his blonde hair a mess, dried blood on his lips, so weak he looked like he could collapse at any moment.

But his eyes were clear.

"Do you trust him?" Li Li asked.

Snowden stared at the officer for five seconds.

"The code matches. The logic holds up. If he wanted to sell me out, he could have just shot me earlier."

"I trust him."

Li Li nodded.

"That's the plan."

The officer turned to take the person away.

Snowden suddenly reached out and grabbed the sleeve of Li Li's flight suit.

"Wait."

"That hard drive I gave you on the plane."

Li Li nodded. He had hidden the hard drive in an absolutely safe place.

"The files inside are all encrypted." Snowden bit his lip. "I never told you the password, afraid they'd pry it out of me if I got caught."

He looked at Li Li.

"In case I don't make it out..."

"Shut up." Li Li interrupted him. "Tell me the password."

Snowden took a deep breath.

"The password is based on your Chinese Pinyin."

"jiangrumuNB666."

In the narrow equipment corridor, there was dead silence.

Li Li's expression completely froze.

Shock, absurdity, speechlessness—several emotions ground back and forth across his face.

"You, a Princeton-educated elite CIA programmer."

"Carrying top-secret data capable of shaking the entire Western intelligence system."

"And the encryption password is: Jiang Rumu NB666?"

Snowden wiped his nosebleed, sounding righteous.

"The security is extremely high."

"No one would guess that a CIA hard drive password is the Pinyin of a Dongda female celebrity plus internet slang."

"This is called reverse social engineering defense."

Li Li stared at him.

"You're just her fan, aren't you."

Snowden avoided his gaze.

His ears turned red, which was extremely conspicuous against the dried blood on his face.

The officer urged from the front.

"Gentlemen, you have six minutes."

Li Li carved that absurd password into his brain.

He held out his right fist.

Snowden paused, raised his trembling hand, and bumped his fist against it.

"Get out alive." Li Li said.

"You too."

The officer led Snowden toward the west corridor, the two figures becoming smaller and smaller in the dim light.

At the corner, Snowden looked back once, then disappeared completely.

Li Li was the only one left in the equipment corridor.

The emergency lights overhead flickered on and off.

He looked down at the slightly tight Japanese pilot uniform he was wearing, tossed the helmet in his hand up, and caught it steadily.

The Dongda fleet was holding the line three hundred nautical miles away.

The U.S. President was speaking on the front tarmac.

And he was going to light a fire in the largest U.S. Air Force base in the Pacific.

Li Li put the helmet on his head.

He pulled down the visor.

He tightened the chin strap.

He turned and walked in the direction of Hangar No. 1. His pace was steady, his rhythm unchanged.

Five minutes left.

Enough to steal an F-35.

No, not steal—trick.