"Tell your Russian boss," Lin Mo stuffed the blood-stained blade into Jack's mouth, "next time send some decent trash my way." As he stood, his tactical boots intentionally crushed a severed hand, the sound of bones shattering was exceptionally clear amidst the blood-scented darkness.
Catherine struggled to express her gratitude, but saw the man examining an EMP device. A string of digits faintly visible on his neck revealed a tattoo: 011235813. This Fibonacci sequence reminded her of words from a medical school professor — some secret forces use mathematical sequences as identity codes.
"You..." She barely started speaking when interrupted. Lin Mo pressed a tiny device against her collarbone, its icy touch sending a shiver through her body. "Nano tracker," he adjusted the focus of his lens, "it will last for 72 hours. If the scum's accomplices come looking for you..." his words cut off by the sudden vibrating of his encrypted satellite phone.
