Afghanistan, 9:00 a.m.;
Sharia Enterprises;
"F*ck! F*ck!", Aftaab Ali swore as he listened to the person on the other end of the phone, enraged, launching his phone against the wall beside his office entrance. Abram Orlov had just stepped in when the device was smashed into tiny little pieces. Something told him that this little spectacle had something to do with his beloved Alpha. What had she done now?
Raising his brows, the man looked at Aftaab Ali, putting on a pretense of his alias, Albert Fedorov, "Is everything alright, brother?", he asked worriedly.
Loosening his tie, the man replied, "That bi*ch, Rong Xinghe. She killed all our men who were going to carry out our plans for the next few months in Country X."
"She did?", Orlov smiled internally. Of course, she did it. "How can I help you?"
"Tell me something, Fedorov, how willing are you to take risks for us?", Aftaab Ali asked, unsure, "For our mission. For Ahmed Ali Fadhil?"
