Chapter Fifty-Two: Ram, the Tattletale

Page 1/3

Belgrade was over fifty years old, with a head of white hair, tall and lanky, with a long face that seemed always ready to smile, his mouth stretching exaggeratedly wide when he did. In Liu Yunfei’s impression, a man like this—if not as cunning and shrewd as old fox Lawrence—should at least be sharp and competent, looking something like the current president, Bush. Yet the director of the CIA, the head of the American intelligence system, gave the first impression of being honest and simpleminded, the very picture of a fool when he smiled.

After exchanging a few pleasantries with Belgrade, the man took his leave, claiming much work awaited him. Liu Yunfei, eager to make the acquaintance of this spymaster, invited Belgrade to stay at the Knight’s Castle as if he were the host. But the old man replied he had already reserved a hotel in Florence.

Once the simple-minded old fellow had departed, Liu Yunfei hurriedly turned to the old prince. “You didn’t tell him my real identity, did you? Or about my special abilities?”

“No, no, rest assured. Your secret is known only to me and the king. If you don’t believe me, I’ll swear to Allah. My son-in-law,” the old prince said, now particularly mindful of his relationship with Liu Yunfei.

“No need for oaths, I trust you, Brother Salih,” Liu Yunfei replied, quickly reclaiming the upper hand in their banter.

“Do you find Belgrade honest, a bit foolish even?” The old prince, unable to win the last exchange, shifted the topic.

“You think so too?” If the old prince hadn’t brought it up, Liu Yunfei wouldn’t have mentioned it—he wasn’t one to gossip or speak ill of others behind their backs.

The old prince burst out laughing. “Then you’ve been deceived. He’s sharp as a tack—countless people have been fooled by that ingenuous face of his, only realizing it after suffering at his hands. He was once the best agent in the CIA.”

“Oh? If you hadn’t told me, I’d have worried the American intelligence service might be outwitted by terrorists. I’ll have to watch out for him.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” the old prince said mysteriously. “This November, he’ll be running for president as the Democratic candidate.”

“Oh, the future president? Then why didn’t you help me persuade him to stay here? We should have tried to win him over.”

“You’re still too inexperienced, my son-in-law,” the old prince seized his chance to regain the advantage.

After listening to the old prince’s lengthy explanation, Liu Yunfei understood: it was impossible for someone like Belgrade to stay in another’s home. First, as a key figure in the U.S. government, and given the CIA’s intense enmity with America’s enemies, many terrorist spies watched his every move. Where he stayed was dangerous both for himself and his host. Second, his operations and meetings were often highly secret, critical to the success of missions and even the reputation of the U.S. government; staying as a guest would subject him to invisible scrutiny and risk leaks. Even if he personally wanted to stay, it would require approval from the Secretary of State, along with security checks and protection by assigned agents.

Page 2/3

“So complicated—he’d need the Secretary of State’s approval just to stay one night? Did he get approval to come here with you?” Liu Yunfei asked.

“He came on official business, on my private jet. The CIA and the Italian National Intelligence Service have set up a joint agent training base, and he’s here for the ribbon-cutting. I invited him to help investigate the Buyano family. Since we’re considering a joint venture, we need to verify their strength and credibility, not just take them at their word.”

Liu Yunfei nodded. After all, the old prince was seasoned in business—he’d probably sent someone to investigate Gao Renhou as well. However, Liu Yunfei believed there would be no dissatisfaction there; after all, Henry’s kidnapping of the old prince was a hired job, and the old prince had said he wouldn’t pursue the matter.

“I’m impressed, brother—you even got the CIA to do your business investigations. Truly, there’s always someone more capable out there,” Liu Yunfei said, flattering the old prince.

“No, no,” the old prince finally had the upper hand, his bushy mustache twitching with laughter. “My relationship with them is nothing like what we have. Why do they help me? Interest, of course. Look at why America does all those dirty deeds for Israel—because those inferior Jewish dogs throw money at America. They back the Republicans, so we back the Democrats. This time we’ve thrown over a billion dollars into ensuring Belgrade gets elected.”

“You really are wealthy. Any news on Hadina? Has that old leader been found?” Liu Yunfei asked.

“Hadina seems to be getting desperate—kidnapping people left and right. We suspect he may try to sabotage this OPEC summit. As for the old leader, we think he was once a Qur’an teacher in Awali; he’s under surveillance now.”

Suddenly, the old prince noticed the fine wine in front of Liu Yunfei, leaned in like a dog sniffing, and exclaimed, “What a wine! Must be from the seventies, if not earlier.” Without waiting for permission, he took a sip. “Excellent! I’ve never tasted anything so rich and mellow. Is there more?”

“Aren’t you Arabs forbidden from drinking?” Liu Yunfei asked curiously.

“Yes, yes, but what can you do? I travel the world and sometimes indulge. Once you start, it’s hard to stop. Where did you get it?”

“You can’t buy it; a friend’s family brews it themselves. It’s been cellared for over six hundred years,” Liu Yunfei replied, leading the old prince to a small room and letting him pour his own.

“So much—wonderful,” the old prince mumbled, filling his glass to the brim and settling on a wooden barrel to savor it.

“Drunkard,” Liu Yunfei muttered, shaking his head as he prepared to leave.

Page 3/3

“Hey, wait! I heard you’ve gotten involved with another Chinese beauty. What about my daughter?” the old prince called out.

“No problem. In Saudi Arabia, you can have four wives—I’ll just move there after graduation,” Liu Yunfei joked.

“That’s no issue—four wives are perfectly fine. Come to Saudi Arabia; any condition can be arranged. Where’s your Chinese beauty? Let me have a look. I’ve seen all kinds of beauties and won’t steal yours.”

“She’s gone to a piano lesson with Lam,” Liu Yunfei said. Since Lam had nothing to do at home, Yu Qing had heard there was a famous teacher’s piano class in Florence and now took Lam along every afternoon.

Speak of the devil—just as they mentioned them, Yu Qing and Lam returned, chatting affectionately, hands clasped as they walked.

Liu Yunfei pulled Yu Qing over to introduce her to the old prince, who, upon seeing her, brightened considerably and chatted enthusiastically with Yu Qing. Little Lam, meanwhile, tugged quietly at Liu Yunfei’s sleeve and gave him a look.

Following Lam to a deserted staircase, Liu Yunfei heard her say, “Brother Awahid, Sister Yu Qing went out with that man again today—they were gone a long time.”

This little informant always made secret reports to Liu Yunfei when she returned—sometimes saying Yu Qing flirted with some man, or that she held hands with him for too long, and often claiming Yu Qing would sneak off with an Arab man during piano lessons, only to return just before the lesson ended.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Liu Yunfei admonished sternly. “If you keep tattling, Uncle Awahid won’t like you anymore. Reporting behind someone’s back is a terrible habit! If you have a problem, say it to their face, understand? This kind of two-faced behavior is disgraceful—I don’t want to see you grow up that way.”

Perhaps Liu Yunfei was too harsh—Lam pursed her lips, and at last, unable to hold back, tears streamed down her face.