In the middle of the night, Charlie Lee, who had spent hours manning the anti-aircraft gun rack, had finally dozed off when a sharp ring shattered the silence.
Greta, utterly exhausted, remained in deep sleep. Meanwhile, Charlie threw off the quilt, groggily made his way to the living room, picked up the phone, and barked a rough, "Hello!"
"It's me," came Dwight's voice on the other end.
Hearing him, Charlie's tone softened slightly. "I thought you'd been sent to the moon."
"Almost. Damn Xia Yanshan…" Dwight began but then suddenly paused. After a moment's silence, he continued in a lowered tone, "What's the issue? I'll be starting shortly."
Xia Yanshan—that be the name of the secret base that had recently been established.
"When will your men arrive?" Charlie asked, deliberately ignoring the earlier remark and steering the conversation toward the second batch of veterans he was expecting.
Dwight, puzzled by his persistence, pressed, "What's the problem?"
Charlie replied without hesitation, "There's an African mission—some trouble involved." His tone carried a veiled threat: if you send the men, I'll send them to Africa. If you don't, everyone will be happy.
After a moment's thought, Dwight conceded. "By the end of the month."
"Alright. Be careful out there. When you're done, I'll treat you to some dagaojian." Charlie chuckled before hanging up.
At the other end, Dwight frowned, muttering the word "sword" to himself, trying to decipher its significance. Was it a code or a hidden meaning?
Charlie, now wide awake, succumbed to insomnia once again. Not wanting to disturb Greta, who lay peacefully in bed, he slipped on his shirt, grabbed a bottle of wine, and headed for the swimming pool behind the hotel.
Approaching the pool, he heard the sound of gentle splashes. His curiosity piqued, he stepped closer and spotted a snow-white figure swimming leisurely in the moonlit water.
"Harlow?" he called out curiously.
Startled, the figure froze before relaxing upon recognizing him.
"Mr. Lee, do you enjoy late-night swims too?" Harlow asked as she climbed out of the pool, her bath towel clinging precariously to her damp frame.
"No, I was woken up by a call." Charlie smiled bitterly, trying to maintain eye contact.
"Insomnia is terrible," she remarked, drying her hair. Her movements were deliberate, and the towel around her chest slipped slightly, revealing more than intended.
Charlie gulped audibly, his eyes betraying his thoughts.
Harlow, standing at around 1.6 meters tall, was a classic blonde beauty. Her blue eyes sparkled mischievously, and her figure was curvaceous yet symmetrical. Her recent rise to fame, following the premiere of her latest film, had been nothing short of meteoric. Newspapers had dubbed her the "sexy blonde," and she seemed destined to become Hollywood's next sweetheart.
Charlie, ever the opportunist, asked, "Care for a drink?" He held up the bottle in his hand.
"Egan 1921? My God, that's the best year from Luzarus! Yes, I need a drink—or two!" Harlow's eyes lit up with playful excitement.
Charlie poured them both a glass of the amethyst-colored wine. Harlow took a sip and sighed in contentment, launching into a detailed explanation of Luzarus' prestigious history.
Listening quietly, Charlie mused aloud, "Looks like I need to change my target."
"What target?" she asked, intrigued.
"I'm planning to buy a winery. I was considering Margaux, but now Luzarus seems more appealing."
Harlow stared at him in disbelief, her mouth forming a perfect "O."
"What's wrong? A top winery is worth, what, a few million dollars?" Charlie said nonchalantly, but his intense gaze gave away his thoughts.
Harlow's cheeks flushed as she tried to steady her breathing. "A few million dollars… I might never see that much in my entire life."
"Perhaps I can help you with that," Charlie offered, his tone both teasing and suggestive.
Harlow glanced down at his shorts, noticing his growing interest. "Are men like you always this straightforward?" she asked with a sly grin.
"Maybe you should find out for yourself," Charlie replied smoothly. With a gentle pull, Harlow found herself nestled in his arms, her teasing laughter giving way to gasps as their lips met.
Under the moonlit sky, the pair shared a passionate moment by the poolside. Charlie leaned back, savoring the embrace of the stunning blonde in his arms.
"This is the life a man of power deserves," he thought.
Harlow, for her part, saw the encounter as an opportunity. Hollywood was ruthless; fame was fleeting. A connection with a man like Charlie Lee—a wealthy and influential figure—might secure her future.
The night deepened, and the pair explored the buoyancy of the water, blending intimacy with playful spontaneity.
As dawn approached, Charlie escorted Harlow back to her room discreetly, leaving a business card and a $100,000 check on the table.
"DreamWorks could use talent like hers," he thought. Yet, he reminded himself to keep business and pleasure separate—a lesson learned the hard way in the past.
Later, as he returned to his suite, Charlie noted Greta still sleeping soundly. He lay on the sofa, reflecting on the silence from Ingrid. Had rumors of his escapades reached her across the ocean?
"Damn, not again," he muttered.
Before he could dwell further, his assistant Eva interrupted. "Boss, we have updates. The acquisition of Jeep and Shunfeng is complete, and your signature is needed. United Aircraft also has urgent matters."
Charlie groaned. "Contact Boeing. Confirm my midday flight."
Eva hesitated. "Boss, you mean United Aircraft and Transportation Company."
"Damn it," Charlie muttered. "I hate that name. They need to change it back to Boeing."
By noon, Charlie was aboard his private jet, heading back to Chicago. While in-flight, he turned to the monk seated nearby.
"Make sure Hans is ready for the second batch of veterans by the end of the month," he ordered.
The monk, ever diligent, made a note. "Understood, boss. Shall I prepare for the African mission too?"
Charlie gave him a pointed look. "Do you know why Africa is red?"
"Because of the red soil?" the monk replied, unsure.
"Red with blood," Charlie said grimly. "The land is cursed with endless strife, disease, and suffering. It's no place for a man to thrive."
The monk nodded solemnly, realizing the gravity of the situation.
As the plane soared through the skies, Charlie leaned back, lost in thought.