Frankie Mire felt a fear he had never felt in his life. He had never been afraid of anything since he was born, but he didn't have the courage to step into this miserable room at the moment. He stared at the corpse on the bed and tried to rush over immediately, but his feet felt like they were being nailed to the floor.

The adrenaline was secreted sharply, the cheeks were as unbearable as a fire, and a large amount of stomach acid instantly poured into the stomach, which rushed down the esophagus and straight into the mouth. The hot body, the burning heart, the chest that seems to be about to burst, make this secret policeman, who has been trained mentally for three years, about to reach the brink of sanity collapse.

He timidly walked into the bedroom, where even a mouse could scare Frank Mire. Finally he saw the scene he didn't want to see, he knew from the beginning that it would be like this, and he still didn't want to accept it.

Tears slipped down the expressionless face, to the tip of the nose, and to the corners of the mouth. For as long as he can remember, Frank Miir has forgotten the taste of tears. He took a deep breath, sat stiffly on the bed, and hugged Larissa's body into his arms. He pursed his lips, the muscles in his face twitching, and he could still smell Larissa's faint scent in the pungent smell of blood.

The moonlight outside the window penetrated into the room, shining on Lalisa's transparent face, and the blood that had already crystallized on her frozen lips reflected a sparkling light, like a little star in a bright starry sky, adding a little bit of moonlight sadness to the lonely room.

Frankimir gently brushed Larissa's loose hair, his dull face gradually changing. His expression became more and more solemn, and his resentment was unconcealed.

Anger, guilt, confusion, and confusion were like angels flapping their wings towards him. He wants to break the murderer into pieces, but who is the murderer? Who did this? There he is? Why was Larissa so brutally killed, and what was his purpose? Rob? Is there another picture?

Frankimir frantically searched the house, he wanted to find the vicious murderer, and he wanted to cut the murderer with a thousand knives. Francill searched every room, every nook and cranny, and finally found nothing. The only thing he can do is to call the police and let the police help him find out the whereabouts of the murderer.

Frankimir returned to his bedroom, and he carefully examined his wife's body, a beautiful body that had been tortured and abused. In Lalisa's chest, Francier discovers a wound of strange shape. It's the "Southern Cross" bullet! Only the "Southern Cross" bullet can cause such a wound, which is an excellent weapon used by the KGB to assassinate political dignitaries, and neither the police nor the military have such special bullets.

The "Southern Cross" series of equipment was developed by the KGB in World War II, the latest assassination weapon, and Beria was the one who should have developed it, and was directly responsible. It is impossible for the bandits to have such an assassination weapon, could it be that the person who killed Larissa came from inside the KGB, what is going on? What are they so blatant and unabashedly revealing their identities for, and what is their purpose?

There was so much going on today that Frankimir couldn't figure it out. He tried to think of an answer in confusion and uneasiness, even if it was an answer that could only deceive him, but he could not think of anything.

At this time, there was a knock on the door downstairs. Frankie Mill knew it was the police coming. He ran downstairs and hurried to open the door for the police.

After receiving the alarm, they rushed over two middle-aged policemen, they had guns hanging from their waists and body armor, perhaps because of the murder, both of them were very cautious.

They followed Frankimir into the room and told him that in about ten minutes, a group of police officers with professional tools would arrive. Frankimir led the police to Larissa's dead room, where two police officers carefully identified the room in the dark.

At this time, all three of them heard a voice coming from downstairs, could it be that there was someone else in the house? The police look at Frank Mire, who says there is no one in the house except him, and there are no pets.

The two policemen looked at each other, and they clearly remembered that when they entered the house, the door was locked. A policeman pulled out his pistol from his waist and walked cautiously downstairs with bated breath.

Soon the screams of the policeman came from downstairs, and another policeman quickly pulled out his gun and rushed downstairs, and after a long time, the downstairs was always quiet, without a trace of movement, and the policeman who went downstairs did not come back upstairs.

Frankie Mill picked up the silver candlestick from his desk and walked cautiously downstairs, taking it one step at a time, not letting go of every moment and every detail.

He walked down the stairs and saw two policemen lying on the Persian carpet, and next to them stood a woman in black with long hair. This is a beautiful woman, about thirty years old, who exudes condescending conquest and is an innate leader. She stood quietly in the room, her graceful curves were set off by the dim moonlight.

"Who are you? How is it in my house, what's going on? Frankimir asked cautiously, not daring to let his guard down.

"Like you, I'm a 'mountain mouse', and the 'bull' knew you were in danger, so he asked me to come overnight, hoping it wasn't too late. A beaver has come ashore and you have become the 'ball' of the game. The woman said in a delicate voice. Her eyelashes are long and rippling with a voluptuous **.

Judging by the woman's beautiful appearance, extreme figure and stunning temperament, she resembles a KGB swallow. And the language she uses is a code language that only they know. The "mountain rats" are the agents who carry out the mission, the "bulls" are the cadres at or above the department level, the "beavers" are the agents sent by the CIA, and the "ashore" are the targets of the "leather ball" mission that lurk inside them.

"Why are they targeting me?" General Frank Miir asked, incredulous.

"Think about what you've done this year? You have contributed a lot about North Korea, and you have caused a sensation in Japan. This is just the beginning, and everyone knows that your future is limitless. Strangling you in the cradle before you can really spread your wings is probably the best strategy in the eyes of the cunning old foxes of the CIA. The woman squirmed as she walked to the pantry.

"Am I that good?" Frankie Mill frowned.

"Didn't you ever notice that someone was always jealous of you? That's enough to prove that you're good. The daughter turned back and smiled at Vladimir.

"Maybe you're right, so what do I do? And what about these two cops? Vladimir shook his head in frustration.