This mission was really bad. How long ago was the last time I encountered such a situation? Bond thought seriously.

Simply put, he exposed that this was the most deadly thing for them. This time his mission target was a terrorist organization, and he was not unfamiliar with the terrorist organization Bond. In his past mission records, there were definitely not a few terrorist organizations he had contacted, but this time it was different. The organization called Valaguine, the information he received alone was enough to shock.

What made Bond even more difficult was that after he spyed on "Valaguine", the people who came to pursue him actually had official police and army! Bond knew very well what this meant, and he could not imagine how much the other party in Turkey had penetrated!

Passports and credit cards naturally cannot be used, and they cannot take planes or sea boats, because Bond understands that this is just a trap. As a last resort, he can only contact Director M for assistance.

But, the old grandmother might be crazy - looking at the girl who was drinking juice in front of her, Bond thought so.

‘Grandma’ is the private title of Mi6’s agents to their immediate superior Director M. The title of ‘Agent’ seems pretty good, but in fact, more people’s descriptions of their profession are not that beautiful - spies. They will be abandoned at any time and will be denied even in all the country’s archives.

Even though M has said in front of him more than twenty times over the past few years that he wanted to 'clean' him, Bond never felt so absurd... Although M apologized in his own way at the end every time. Because he knew that the Prime Minister asked Mrs. M to 'clean' him twice as many times - for example, when he bombed the embassy of other countries in the UK.

What Bond really couldn't understand is why such a smart grandmother asked such a little girl to pick her up?

Seeing the girl take a few sips and finish the juice given by the bartender, Bond left his seat and stood up.

"Mr. Bond, where are you going?" Xiaofeng found that the other party did not walk towards the gate, but instead walked towards the depths of the nightclub, and had to ask.

"Go to meet a friend."

He spoke very easily, as if he was really just visiting an old friend he hadn't seen for a long time. However, it was obvious that the title of "friend" could not be unilaterally recognized, especially if the other party might not be able to recognize it. Walking to the stairs upstairs, two burly men blocked his way.

"Sir, the boss's private place upstairs is not welcomed."

"Give me a 'Frack'..."

"'Frak'? We haven't had this thing for sixty years." The bodyguard's man frowned and thought for a moment. Perhaps he was judging whether to use his fist to shut up this guy who was obviously here to make trouble or to see him as an enemy to keep him here forever.

"Okay, it seems you don't understand this, so why not ask your boss? Frak from Global Export, I think your boss will have it."

The two bodyguards looked at each other, and finally one of them turned around and the other stared downstairs, staring at Bond without turning his eyes. At this time, Bond's hand suddenly reached towards the collar, and the man subconsciously extended his hand to the waist of his trousers behind him.

"Okay, young man, you should relax. I want to say, the air here is so stuffy." Bond just loosened his collar and did not act extra. Seeing this, the man hesitated for a moment before letting go of his hand that was already holding the gun handle behind him.

After a while, the man who had gone upstairs before walked down, "The boss asked you to go up and follow me! But give me your passport first."

Bond shrugged and handed over his passport. The man took it and looked at it casually. He changed his expression slightly. He pretended to be careless and glanced up, but he lowered his head and led the way in front. As for the little girl following Bond, they ignored it from beginning to end.

Compared to the hustle and bustle on the first floor, the second floor is obviously much quieter. In fact, it can even be called "silence". The good sound insulation layer separates this place from the downstairs into two different worlds. The lights on the aisle are not very bright, but they are enough to make people see everything around them.

The man took the two to a door at the end of the corridor, knocked on the thick wooden door with his hands, and then gave them in after permission.

Xiaofeng thought that the person who runs such a nightclub would be a businessman full of stinky money or a gangster leader, but he didn't expect that the person who appeared in front of him would be an old man with gold-rimmed glasses. He was sitting in the deepest part of the spacious study, reading a heavy book with the desk lamp. The bodyguard man walked to the desk and whispered a few words to the old man. Then the old man raised his head.

"Mr. Bond? Well, I think this name can tell a lot."

"Hello, Mr. Bruce. I want to say that it is well run here, and it is rare to see such a prosperous place in Türkiye today."

"You are right, but some industries will not be destroyed by war. In fact, they have existed for thousands of years, and may be more tenacious than humans themselves." The old man said with a sarcastic smile. He took off his gold-rimmed glasses, and the eyes in his deep eye sockets were unseen.

"Well, it's hard for me to imagine how Türkiye will be. Even though I joined the Eurasian Federation fifty years ago, I haven't seen anything better yet. So, can I know where you are still on?"

"Where do you think you are standing on? The regime is exchanged every few years. I don't think such a problem is meaningless..."

"I think, at least you should still remember who you are, or you have quit Cia?"

The old man stopped his voice and smiled bitterly, "Of course, I have no choice to quit, just like you, Mr. Bond of Mi6. But I prefer my current work. Compared to those in the past, the guests downstairs are as clean as the streams in the Alps."

"No matter how the regime changes, I don't think a terrorist organization can bring any light to this place. I guess I should be able to get some help from you, right?"

The old man did not answer, but lowered his head and was silent. Looking from the second floor, blue and red police lights flashed outside the window.

"Okay, I think I understand your choice."

The conversation should have ended, as it should have been, but the old man with his head down suddenly raised, "I can cooperate with anyone, Mr. Bond, including you. You can leave through the back door, and this is just a gift to leave."

The old man handed over a black box with a thin magnetic piece lying inside, which was an electronic storage card.

"Thank you very much, sir." Bond glanced at him deeply and turned away decisively. "I hope you can have a quiet old age."

The sound of carnival downstairs was quickly covered by screams, and the vibration of leather boots stepping onto the second floor. Two minutes later, the door of the old man's study was opened again, and a row of armed personnel with guns and ammunition were walked into.

"Mr. Bruce, thank you for providing us with clues, now, where is ‘he’?"

The old man pointed to the direction of the back door, "You know, sir, I have my difficulties."

"Of course, I understand very much that you are a good law-abiding citizen. I will leave it to us next. I am sorry for disturbing your business."

Unlike the magnificent entrance of Paradise City, there is an almost disrepaired small door behind it. The door opens on the second floor, connecting a narrow and painted steel escalator. It makes a "dongdong" and an overwhelmed "crunch" sound when you step on it.

Taking advantage of the time when they went downstairs, Bond put on a pair of sunglasses and put on a fake beard, and his temperament looked completely different. In fact, when they walked around the front door and walked past a police car without any concealment, the several agents holding Bond's photo in their hands did not come up to stop them.

If Bond had given people the feeling of being a keen hunter before, he was like a honest deacon, following closely behind his master. As the "master", Xiao Feng also changed it at the right time. In fact, there was no need to disguise. Even if he was wearing a simple dress, the mystery and unique noble temperament of the witch were impressed.

Bond knew very well that they needed a car at this time, and the electronic navigation unmanned taxis could be seen everywhere on the road were useless. He carefully and pretended to be calm and casually glanced at the parking lot, and was immediately attracted by a red sports car.

Unlike other vehicles, that car is obviously a gasoline car. At a time when oil scarcity has long been exhausted, transportation generally uses solar energy or electricity provided by nuclear power plants. Gasoline cars have long disappeared, and those who can drive such cars are either rich or noble.

In this war-torn country, ordinary people's daily expenses are very tense, and the gap between the rich and the poor is so huge.

"Damn rich man." Bond muttered softly that did not match his deacon's temperament. The sound could only be heard by Xiaofeng in front of him. However, Bond thought that the car matched their outfit at this time. He walked to the car and saw no movement. The originally locked door opened quickly.

"Please get in the car, lady." Bond reached out and pulled open the door of the back seat. He made a gesture of asking for help. After closing the door of the back seat, he sat in the driver's seat by himself.

Unlike the current locks of electric vehicles, gasoline cars in the AD era can be started by using wires and ignition. I didn’t expect that this technology would be useful for one day. Bond thought so, and was about to move, but he was shocked to hear a "drip" sound, and the headlights lit up.

A hand stretched out from the back seat, holding a key in his hand.
Chapter completed!