224: Chapter 224 The Greatest Zero-Yuan Purchase

The shrill, frantic sound drowned out the sea breeze and the crashing waves. It also transmitted clearly into the microphone of President Trump's phone, which was live-streaming to the entire internet.

In front of two hundred million screens, that small gray dot disappeared completely into the depths of the clouds.

In the sky over Kadena, only a straight white contrail pointing eastward remained.

The Secret Service agents instantly went into a frenzy.

Four suit-clad thugs lunged from four directions, directly surrounding President Trump into an impenetrable human iron barrel.

"Protect the President! Level one combat readiness!"

"The car! Bring that armored car over!"

Chief of Staff Mark was sent stumbling by two agents, still clutching the communicator that went straight to the control tower.

He watched President Trump being hustled down the steps, his mind buzzing.

He had run away.

A Japanese pilot, flying America's most advanced F-35, right in front of the President, right in front of two hundred million netizens worldwide, had run away.

This was more absurd than a script written by a Hollywood screenwriter on drugs!

President Trump was pushed and shoved into the car by agents.

He was still struggling.

"My phone! Mark! My phone!"

The Chief of Staff snapped back to reality, grabbing the custom phone that had fallen onto the chair.

It was too hot.

The live-streaming app was running at high load, and the back of the phone was hot enough to fry an egg.

Mark didn't have time to think; he shoved the phone into his suit pocket and bolted toward the motorcade.

The screen went pitch black.

But the microphone wasn't off.

The screens of two hundred million netizens worldwide went black instantly.

The scrolling comments paused for a second.

Then, a data torrent ten times more terrifying than before erupted.

[Holy shit! It went black!]

[Don't panic! There's sound! I hear sirens!]

[Immersive experience of a US military base at level one combat readiness! This ticket was worth it!]

[Was that an air defense siren just now? Definitely an air defense siren! I've heard this sound in Call of Duty!]

[Did that Japanese guy really run away? Flying towards the East? Did he defect?]

[The top donor just gifted an F-35! This gift is too hardcore!]

[I declare this the greatest zero-dollar purchase in human history, bar none.]

The microphone in the suit pocket faithfully recorded everything around it.

The chaotic sound of leather shoes stomping on metal steps.

Agents roaring into their walkie-talkies.

The irritable roar of car engines.

And President Trump's highly recognizable bellowing.

"Investigate! Investigate for me! Who exactly is this guy named Yamada working for!"

"Did the Japanese Prime Minister send him to assassinate me?!"

"Take off immediately! Return to Washington! I don't want to stay on this shitty island for even one more second!"

The motorcade tore through the heat waves, heading straight for air force one at the other end of the airport.

Ten minutes later.

air force one.

The cabin door closed heavily, and this Boeing 747-200B, known as the Flying White House, began to taxi on the runway.

The President's private lounge.

Mark stood in front of the desk, cold sweat dripping down his temples.

President Trump loosened his signature red tie, the knot skewed to one side.

He leaned his hands on the desktop, his body tilted forward, spittle flying everywhere.

"This is betrayal! This is naked betrayal!"

"The President of the United States, at this shitty base, inviting them to watch a flight performance!"

"I even swiped my black card for them!"

"And the result?"

President Trump slapped the mahogany desktop, making the water glass jump.

"He took my fuel, flew my plane, right in front of my face!"

Mark swallowed hard.

"Sir, the control tower is already organizing a pursuit..."

"Pursuit?" President Trump interrupted him, "An F-35 cut off its transponder within our radar network! You tell me how to pursue it?"

He paced around the office irritably.

"Contact the Japanese Prime Minister immediately! I want him to give me an explanation!"

"If he can't explain it clearly, I'll triple the military spending for the US forces in Japan! No, tenfold!"

The door to the lounge was pushed open violently.

Mark's assistant stumbled in, face pale, without even knocking.

Mark turned around and cursed.

"Get out! Who let you in? Do you know the rules!"

The assistant couldn't care about his boss's rage; he held up a tablet, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

"Sir... something happened."

"What else could happen!" President Trump roared, "Has the sky fallen?"

The assistant stammered.

"Your... your live stream... wasn't turned off."

The air in the lounge froze instantly.

Mark's brain went "buzz" and exploded.

He reached out and touched his inner suit pocket.

Burning hot.

That custom phone was lying quietly in his pocket, the live-streaming app still running stubbornly in the background.

Mark took out the phone.

The screen lit up.

Two hundred and fifty million online viewers.

The comments were already completely crazy.

[LMAO! So this is how the US President curses in private!]

[Zero-dollar purchase! Officially certified zero-dollar purchase!]

[Military spending tenfold! The Japanese Prime Minister is on his way with a knife!]

[This guy is so miserable, spent money to treat guests to a show, and ended up having his stage smashed.]

[Historic moment! I took a screenshot! I recorded it!]

Mark's legs went weak.

He turned his neck stiffly to look at President Trump behind the desk.

President Trump stared fixedly at the phone.

The muscles on his face twitched violently.

His rosy skin turned the color of pig liver at a speed visible to the naked eye.

"Click."

Mark's hand shook, and the phone hit the carpet.

"Turn it off..." President Trump squeezed out from between his teeth.

"Turn it off!"

Mark scrambled onto the floor, swiping wildly, and finally pressed the off button on the live stream.

The world was quiet.

The assistant swallowed, and with great awareness, backed out.

The moment the door closed.

A deafening roar erupted in the lounge.

Through the thick soundproof door, the assistant could hear the sound of things being smashed inside, and that American national curse word with a high mother-content.

Meanwhile.

Kadena Air Base.

The air defense siren was still wailing heart-wrenchingly.

The control tower command center was in chaos.

"Radar lost the target!"

"0047 has entered full stealth mode! Cannot lock on!"

"Where is the AWACS? Get the AWACS in the air immediately!"

Lt. Col. Reynolds stood before the large command screen, grabbing the communication microphone and roaring.

"F-22 squadron! Everyone take off immediately! Intercept 0047!"

"Absolutely cannot let him fly into the East's air defense identification zone!"

A desperate reply came over the radio from the F-22 leader.

"Sir, we can't take off."

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds was stunned.

"Why?"

The leader's voice carried a sense of wanting to die.

"Out of fuel."

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds' brain stalled.

"Just now, to execute that damn 'Operation Green Onion', we did two full afterburner vertical climbs at low altitude."

The leader gritted his teeth.

"This shitty maneuver consumes an astonishing amount of fuel! Now, twenty-five planes, fuel tanks are all empty!"

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds crushed the paper report in his hand.

"Then refuel! Do it now!"

"And weapons!" the leader added, "For the President's safety, we are currently carrying fake missiles! What are we supposed to intercept with? Ramming them with our heads?"

The tower fell into dead silence.

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds gripped the edge of the console tightly, his knuckles turning pale.

No fuel.

No ammo.

The twenty-five most elite fighter jets in the entire base were now twenty-five pieces of scrap metal.

"Ground crew!" Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds roared until his voice broke, "All ground crew, mobilize! Emergency refueling! Load live ammunition!"

The entire tarmac went completely crazy.

Fuel trucks were darting around with sirens blaring.

Armorers were running wildly pushing bomb carts.

Pilots were urging them frantically while sitting in the cockpits.

Time ticked away second by second.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen minutes.

When the first F-22, fully fueled and loaded with AIM-120 medium-range air-to-air missiles, finally taxied off the runway and pulled up its nose into the blue sky.

The radar operator in the tower took off his headset.

He turned to look at Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds.

"Sir."

"Speak!"

The operator looked at the faint signal on the screen that had just flickered once and then disappeared completely.

"Based on the last calculated speed and heading..."

"0047 has already flown out two hundred nautical miles."

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds collapsed into his chair.

Two hundred nautical miles.

The F-35's top speed is 1.6 Mach.

Flying less than eighty nautical miles further, it would be within the anti-aircraft missile range of the East Sea Fleet's type 055 destroyer.

Can't catch him.

That bastard named Yamada Ichiro had rubbed the entire Kadena Air Base into the ground, then wiped his ass, and dove headfirst into the embrace of the East.

Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds covered his face.

He knew his military career was completely over today.

At the same time.

Okinawa port, outer sea.

A giant cargo ship fully loaded with containers was breaking through the waves.

Heading due north.

Destination, Osaka Port.

In the third row from the back of the ship, inside an inconspicuous blue container.

It was pitch black.

Only a weak emergency flashlight in the corner emitted light.

Snowden leaned against the cold iron wall, wrapped in a US military standard blanket.

He held a can of cold meat in his hand, mechanically stuffing it into his mouth.

Opposite him.

That Russian spy officer wearing US military camouflage was sitting cross-legged on a wooden crate, playing with a paratrooper knife.

The blade flipped in the halo of the flashlight, reflecting cold light.

Snowden swallowed the last bite of meat and put the empty can aside.

He clasped his hands together, his thumbs against his forehead, and closed his eyes.

Muttering to himself.

The spy officer stopped his movements.

"What are you doing?"

Snowden didn't open his eyes.

"Praying."

"To whom?"

"God. Or anyone willing to listen." Snowden said clearly, "I'm praying that Li Li can leave that hellhole alive."

The spy officer sneered.

With a flick of his wrist, the paratrooper knife stabbed into the wooden crate under him with a "thud".

"Save your energy, programmer."

The spy officer took out a cigarette without a label, held it in his mouth, and took out a lighter to light it.

The pungent smell of tobacco permeated the narrow container.

"What is Kadena?"

"The largest air base in the Far East."

"Two hundred warplanes, three sets of anti-aircraft missile systems, five thousand heavily armed soldiers."

The spy officer exhaled a cloud of thick smoke.

"He is one person."

"No outside help, no intelligence support."

"What is he going to run with?"

Snowden opened his eyes.

"He is very strong. Didn't you see how he handled those four people in the elevator?"

"Fists and kicks can't save lives." The spy officer shook his head, "In front of modern war machines, flesh and blood are a joke."

He held the cigarette and pointed at the iron sheet above his head.

"The reason I'm helping him is because he can buy you time. He is a perfect bait."

"But the fate of bait is to be eaten."

"Stop dreaming, comrade."

"It's impossible for him to leave Kadena alive."