As the last of the commandos left the lounge, Welbe turned and walked briskly towards a small inconspicuous door.

The action has begun, he has done everything he has to do, the Eye of Odin has invested enough money for this operation, and the rest is only up to God's arrangement.

Welbe is a professional intelligence officer, and he is only concerned with completing the tasks assigned to him by his superiors, and other issues are not on his radar. However, when he got the detailed documentation of the mission, Verbe had a slight doubt about his boss's intentions for the first time. Although the immediate boss would often give some confusing orders at a glance, after careful consideration, Verbay could always discern some general intentions.

However, this time, Verbe couldn't see what tricks the lieutenant colonel wanted to do, and what benefits the empire could gain from a long-overdue ** former leader.

Welbay's doubts were limited to this, a professional spy should know that any attempt to find out the truth of his mission is unwise and dangerous, because it often involves the top secrets of the state, and the better the agent, the better he should know how to protect himself.

Verbet opened the small door and walked into the study next door to the lounge. The villa's previous owner, a Mexican banker, is said to have suffered a fatal blow in that nightmarish economic crisis, eventually committing suicide by swallowing a gun while holding a court summons in this study. The villa was then seized by the court, but because the owner's fate was so tragic that superstitious Mexicans believed that it was cursed, it remained vacant for more than a decade until Verbay bought it a month ago as an American nouveau riche. The Mexicans, on their part, felt that they had slaughtered a foreign sheep, while Verbe, on the other hand, rejoiced that the first step of the plan had been completed so easily, and both sides were very happy.

Welbay walked over to the wall of the study and uncovered the botched landscape painting on the wall to reveal the safe in the back. Carefully opening the combination lock, Verbe quickly stacked all the contents of the safe on the desk, took out a leather bag from under the desk, and put the thick stack of passports, identification documents, a delicate black velvet cloth bag, and more than thirty bundles of rolled up dollars in the pile of things on the table. Verbet scrutinized the remaining papers, picking out a few important deeds and documents, as well as correspondence, and stuffing them into his purse. Then he opened the drawer of his desk, took out a paper bag of papers, and put all the remaining documents into the paper bag. After doing all this, Verbe easily lit a cigarette and buckled the lock of the leather bag, and then walked out of the study with the leather bag in one hand and a document bag under his arm.

Following the stairs next to the study, Verbert carried a leather bag to the roof of the villa. It's a very spacious platform, with a few tables and chairs, and even a fancy swing rack, where the previous owner may have taken the family to enjoy a cool, quiet Mexican evening after dinner. The platform is surrounded by an elegantly decorated white plaster fence, and in the corner there is a beautiful wooden dovecote, painted in snow-white paint.

Verbet looked around with a cigarette in his mouth, and then went into the loft with his leather bag.

The interior of the pigeon house has been renovated, and there is nothing to be seen in connection with its predecessor except for its appearance, and on the side facing the street is a small chair and a table with a magnet telephone and a high-powered telescope.

Verbe walked over to the table, put down his purse, dragged his chair to the wall and sat down, he took out his pocket watch from his pocket, looked at the time, then removed a moving baffle from the wall, and took up his binoculars to look into the street.

The street still looked the same, the fierce sun was still trying to drain the last drop of water from the asphalt, the two Mexican inspectors in front of the small door of the villa opposite had retaken refuge in their booths, and Gonzalez was still arguing with the painters, the sound was so loud that even here could be heard, what an energetic subordinate.

Verbay saw two of his assault crews, who were now quietly lurking by the walls of the main entrance and side door of his villa, waiting for the signal to attack.

It was a nice feeling that everything was under control, and Welbay shook the handle of the magnet phone a few times before picking up the handset.

"Captain, everything is ready, how is it on your side."

Verbay picked up his binoculars and continued to observe the situation on the street.

"I'm on standby, Major."

A muffled answer came from the phone.

"How's the target now?"

"The target went around the garden two minutes ago, and now it's back in the house."

"Today is not a good day for a walk, I think we ...... Here they are, captain, get ready, remember, keep the target safe no matter what. ”

As he spoke, two black sedans appeared on the street and stopped more than twenty meters from the villa opposite.

"I understand, Major."

The other end of the phone continued to answer calmly.

"Very well, you can do whatever you want."

Without waiting for an answer, Verbe put down the phone, and through the binoculars, he could clearly see a guy in a raincoat climbing out of one of the cars, and then slowly walking down the sidewalk towards the villa opposite.

Raincoats? This Spanish idiot, how could anyone wear a stormcoat on the streets in such weather, how could the NKVD of the USSR train such a thing.

Verbe watched angrily as the figure slowly walked towards the small door. But what happened to him, the two Mexican inspectors actually opened the door and let this guy in with no matter how he looked at it.

They even greeted him with a smile! Is the quality of Mexico's Jingcha all like this? ”

Verbe was stunned and put down the heart he had just raised.

Thank God! Verbe drew a cross on his chest, and it was thanks to the two who were slow enough to disrupt the plan of action.

"That's the number two target? What a crappy assassin! ”

Just as Major Verbe thanked God, Captain Koenig let out an exclamation.

Through the quadruple scope, Captain Conig carefully watched his primary target. The other party wears a hood on his head, and his face is not visible, but he is very young in terms of body movements. According to the information, the Spaniard, named Melkart, was only in his twenties, had special training, and was a member of the special task force of the NKVD of the Soviet Union.

Captain Conig had never seen an Assassin before, but he was sure that there would never be a more lame Assassin in disguise than the one in front of him. Judging from the way he walked and the unusual shaking of the hem of his trench coat, it could be seen that the guy had hidden something quite heavy in the pocket of his trench coat, which should be a weapon.

Seeing his target walk into the room, Koenig turned his scope to the room where Target One was.

Captain Conig had been temporarily transferred to Mexico by the High Command to participate in the operation, and he never dreamed that he would be so far from home. Conig had participated in the last war and was an extremely experienced veteran, and because of this, he was fortunate enough to stay in the army after the last war and became a member of the 100,000 Army. He's a mountain combat expert and a top sniper. Although the Captain has always known himself as an expert in mountain tactics, all who know him agree that his mountain tactics are nothing compared to his sophisticated sniping skills.

Hans. Captain Conig served in the 1st Mountain Infantry Division before being thrown to Mexico by the High Command, serving as a company commander of a mountain infantry company, and was one of the first recipients of the Iron Cross of the First Class after the war. But just when he was standing in the foothills of the snow-capped Alps and was full of ambition to continue his efforts, the command ordered him to be transferred to the heat of Mexico.

The captain had heard of the spy profession before, and when he was young, he had a longing for that mysterious and exciting life, but he never thought that he would one day become one of them, he was a little worried that he was forty-two years old, and it was a little late to change the stove. However, when he met Major Verbey, he realized that he was not asked to be a spy, but to take a fancy to his sniping skills and let him complete a special sniper mission. The captain breathed a sigh of relief, but he felt a little regretful in his heart.

The sight showed the number one target of the operation, gray hair, a handful of beautiful goatees like his comrade-in-arms Lenin, and a pair of huge glasses, the great founder of the Red Army was now hunched over at his desk.

Captain Koenig had been watching him for a week, and the old man did have an admirable charisma, especially when he was meditating, and sometimes he gave people an invisible sense of oppression, and he was very powerful, worthy of being a man who had mastered the armed forces of the country.

The Assassin was ushered into the study by the guards, who humbly handed Trotsky a piece of stuff and stood to the side as Conig gently unloaded his Mauser 98 shotgun.

Trotsky seemed to be in a good mood today, and after a few casual conversations with the Assassin, he turned to his desk with his share. Trotsky put on his glasses and read the item as the Assassin began to move quietly behind the old man's back.

Koenig moved the muzzle of his gun slightly, pressing the gloomy young face against the top of the T-line of the scope. The Sniper Expert adjusted his breathing, his fingers on the trigger, and he watched as the young assassin slowly pulled the murder weapon out of the pocket of his trench coat.

It was an ice axe, and as a mountain infantry expert, Conig was very familiar with this climbing tool. The brass pickaxe, the wooden handle of which the killer had severed in order to hide in his trench coat, was now slowly raised against Trotsky's old head.

Without hesitation, Koenig buckled the trigger, and the gunfire was crisp and loud.

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