Broken Arrow

Navab Wahabzad sat on a stool at the bar, smoking in silence. The bartender gave him a disgusted look but did not drive him away. Even after retiring from the air force, Navab was still powerfully built, which was why the bartender did nothing.

Neon lights washed over his face like rolling rainbow waves. Soft, psychedelic jazz drifted around him. Men and women squandered their time as they pleased, trying to forget the pain of war.

"Ding!"

Someone pressed the bell on the bar counter.

The man sat beside Navab. Navab glanced at him; he looked like a local Ukrainian. The Ukrainian ordered a drink called Purple Helen, named after the precious "Purple Helen" grapes of Mu Continent. Since the Ninth Law-Ruler, those grapes had been practically declared extinct, with only a few vines remaining on other continents. But what stood before Navab was merely ordinary cheap wine, probably meant to commemorate the victims of Mu Continent.

Using liquor that numbed the mind to commemorate the dead... well, it wasn't impossible, Navab mocked himself.

Navab withdrew his gaze from the Ukrainian and continued smoking. Of course, he had not come here just to smoke. He was waiting for someone, though he did not know who.

The Ukrainian drained his Purple Helen in one gulp, stood up, and patted Navab on the back.

"Brother, you okay?"

Then the Ukrainian walked away without another word.

Navab turned his head impatiently and saw a briefcase lying beside his barstool. His annoyed expression eased for the moment. In the end, he followed the Ukrainian's lead and ordered a Purple Helen, draining it in one gulp as though it took all the strength he had ever possessed.

At last, he carried the briefcase out of the bar. The bartender watched Navab hesitantly, seeming to remember that this strange man had entered empty-handed.

Navab rounded many corners, gradually moving away from the illusory colors of the neon lights. The color of night slowly swallowed him. Soldiers saw him hurrying down the deserted street, yet none stepped forward to inspect him. They all knew where he had come from. The bar violated the curfew, but it had been allowed to remain open. If a single bar could keep civilians obedient, then let it stay open.

Navab returned to his hotel. He had lived there ever since being dismissed from the air force. A considerable amount of his savings had already been spent, and roughly half of them had gone toward what he carried in his hand. The rest were for one of his plans.

Sitting on the hotel bed, the soft sensation gave him a sudden, inexplicable dizzy spell. Navab pressed the switch, and the room was instantly flooded with gentle yellow light.

He undid the clasps on the briefcase. Inside, a transparent capsule wrapped in bubble wrap was filled with grayish-green liquid. He took off his gray coat, exposing arms where faint purple veins could be seen. Tearing open the bubble wrap, he swallowed the capsule.

Navab had Honkai disease. When he had been bathing and suddenly noticed faint purple streaks on his back, he had wisely chosen not to report it to the military, because he knew there was only one fate for Honkai disease patients: death. Especially for those in the military—before they could die naturally, a bullet might arrive first.

Through connections, Navab found an unregistered clinic. Before his diagnosis was confirmed, he still clung to the hopes common to patients. But once he was diagnosed with Honkai disease, only one thought filled his mind: I can't die. At least not now.

At a time like this, Navab thought of his wife and child. His wife had been unemployed for over a year, and his child was still in college. This was when the family needed money most. Even if he had to die, he had to leave enough money behind for them.

That was when the underground clinic told him something. Medicine that could completely cure Honkai disease was incredibly precious, that much was true. At the very least, Navab's entire family could not afford it. But there was another medicine that could delay death. Its ingredients were the same as those of the complete cure: antibodies produced by patients who had died of Honkai disease.

Completely curing Honkai disease probably required the lives of a thousand people, while delaying death required only a far smaller amount. Even so, the medicine was still extremely expensive for an ordinary family. Navab's savings could only buy two pills, and each pill could only extend his life by one month.

Thus, Navab began planning how to make his death meaningful. While piloting a transport plane, he deliberately lost the cargo aboard and was naturally dismissed. Using his retired status and his network within the military, Navab became an intelligence consultant for certain ill-intentioned people.

Secret former United Nations military arsenals, abandoned Fire Moth aircraft—so long as the price was high enough, Navab could use his connections to obtain the locations of such places.

Knock, knock. A soft knock came from the door.

Navab placed one hand on the doorknob and gripped a silenced pistol in the other. Pretending to be impatient, he said, "What is it?"

A salesman's voice came from the other side of the door. "Sir, want some liquor? Cheap liquor."

"Yes," Navab replied without hesitation.

"Do you sell cigarettes?"

The salesman said delightedly, "Yes. What kind would you like?"

"Soft Gold. Pass it under the door."

Rustling sounds continued outside for several seconds. The salesman slipped a pack of cigarettes through the gap beneath the door. Navab picked it up and glanced at it before opening the door.

The cigarettes the salesman had handed over were not Soft Gold, but a brand called Equatorial Africa.

"Come in, let's settle the bill." Navab opened the door but did not hide the silenced pistol, merely gripping it tightly. The salesman saw the gun in his hand, yet rather than being afraid, he strode in openly.

Navab closed the door, the muzzle of his pistol fixed on the salesman's eyes. "What do you want?"

"The last time you carried out a military assignment, you made a mistake."

Navab quickly understood what this "salesman" wanted.

"You want those weapons?" His last mission had been to transport weapons from Sri Lanka to Azerbaijan, but he had deliberately dumped them into a lake on the Iranian Plateau. The copilot, Maxon, had also been bought off by him, and Maxon and Navab still shared interests now.

The salesman nodded. "Yes."

Navab shook his head and said sincerely, "To be honest, I don't remember. At the time, I had no intention of selling arms intelligence. Even if I marked the location for you, those weapons would have already gotten damp and become unusable."

Then Navab changed his tune. "However, I know where more weapons are stored, and they're definitely usable. Naturally, the price would be higher."

"Cut the crap, Navab." The salesman looked at him coldly. "You marked it long ago."

"You were diagnosed with Honkai disease ten days before you retired. I have reason to suspect that while carrying out that mission, you were already making plans for the future." The salesman slapped Navab's retirement certificate and patient file from the underground clinic against his face.

"No..." He gritted his teeth and cursed inwardly, Damn doctor, he clearly said he wouldn't keep any records!

Navab forced a smile. "Sorry, sorry. I'll mark it for you right away."

Only now did Navab understand the value of that transport mission. Driven by a merchant's instinct, he put on a humble smile and said, "Since you know the value of those crates, then shouldn't you also...?"

"Fine! You greedy bastard."

Navab rummaged through the hidden compartment in the wardrobe, found a map, and drew a circle on it with a black permanent marker.

"Look, those crates are in this lake." He placed the map in the salesman's hand, rubbing his palms together with a smile.

The salesman glanced at the map, rolled it up, and smiled back at him. There was just something strange about that smile.

"Navab, Navab... you shouldn't have been so greedy."

"You seem to take me for an idiot. That flight route didn't pass over the Anatolian Plateau. It passed over the Iranian Plateau, didn't it?"

The salesman grabbed Navab by the throat. Navab instantly pressed the silenced pistol against the salesman's chest and pulled the trigger hard, but the man before him did not fall. The bullets seemed to sink into sticky asphalt, then clattered to the floor.

"If I could find your files, why couldn't I find your flight records?" Qin Su sneered. "You noticed there was definitely something wrong with those supplies. Otherwise, I wouldn't have come to make a deal with you."

"Let me tell you! Your superior started down this path long before you did, and among the cargo you transported was an important item hidden away. Think carefully now." Qin Su pointed at his temple. "What was wrong back then? What made you deliberately throw those low-value, small-quantity supplies somewhere nobody knew about?"

In his terror, Navab suddenly remembered why he had marked those crates. Stammering, he said, "Those crates were tightly sealed. There were no warning labels on them. And my superior told me they were ordinary weapons. Besides... I needed startup capital."

Qin Su released his throat. Navab lowered his head dejectedly. "Fine... I'll mark it for you..."

"But can you tell me what was inside?"

Qin Su looked at him, then spoke.

"Nuclear Bomb Components."

PS1: In 1956, a B-47 bomber took off from an air force base in Florida, planning to land at an air force base in Morocco. Before beginning its second refueling, it failed to make contact with the tanker aircraft and subsequently disappeared. At the time, the B-47 was transporting two different nuclear weapon cores. The French military, British Navy, Spanish military, and Moroccan military all stated that they had been unable to find the aircraft wreckage, crew, or nuclear weapons.

PS2: Broken Arrow refers to an accidental incident involving nuclear weapons, warheads, or components that does not create a risk of nuclear war. From 1950 to 1980, the United States Department of Defense officially acknowledged at least 32 "Broken Arrow" incidents.

PS3: 3K, belated compensation.