In his dazed sleep, Long Yun felt a little sleepy.

It was not until the sun shone into the small detention room and opened his eyes that he was sure that he had entered this familiar and unfamiliar world.

Get up, brush your teeth, and wash your face with cold water. Long Yun returned to the edge of the bed on the upper bunk and sat in a daze. Now he can do nothing except wait here: he has checked the door lock of the detention room and cannot be opened without any tools.

Just at his feet, the habitual thief in the lower bunk was still sleeping with his head covering. Long Yun didn't know that his snoring last night made this unlucky guy unable to fall asleep.

Should I just sit and wait like this?

Although the passing time here does not affect the reality, it is also a bit boring. However, when he had nothing to do, the sound of heavy and messy footsteps of leather boots came from the aisle, and then the fat figure with careful observation appeared at the gate of the iron fence.

Judging from the sound of footsteps, Long Yun knew that more than one person was coming. As expected, as the fence was opened, a man in ordinary clothes but with a smart look appeared in front of him, followed by his partner; the two of them stood at the door and looked him up and down.

Jean Pierre, an agent of the French local etiquette agency.

After receiving the report submitted by the Jingchao Bureau, they came here early this morning to prepare to take over the escort of the pilot in front of him. The absent-minded Jingchao made him slip away from his nose, but he didn't expect that he would participate in the robbery in the city and then be clumsily caught by Jingchao. It was really easy to get it.

"Let's go? Mr. Rezenov."

Hearing this Russian language with a strong accent, Long Yun had already learned their approximate identities through his consciousness. Okay, have you just stayed in the Jingchao Bureau and now you are going to the French agents again? But thinking about it is better than staying in this helpless cage. He walked out of the detention room with a swagger, and he still turned around and smiled at the usual person who had just woken up and looked puzzled.

The black sedan was driving smoothly on the road, and was pointed at by the agents beside him with guns. It felt quite uncomfortable in the narrow back seat; but Long Yun could only bear it and then find a way to escape.

But I don’t know where these two people are going to take him?

While driving, the phone rang in the car, and the agent who was driving took out his cell phone from his pocket. After saying a few words, he hung up and turned the car.

"What's wrong, Piere?" Poker sitting next to him was a little strange.

"The above told us not to leave and stand by here." Pierre waved his hand, and there was a irritation in his words. "The Americans also knew that we had found him; the above means that the person who handed him over to Cia."

...

A few hours ago, the city of Fontainebleau, fifty kilometers south of Paris.

The atmosphere in an inconspicuous apartment building in the city, and in the suite on the third floor was quite strange at this time.

In the small reception room, six or seven people were present at this time, sitting or standing. On the sofa next to the window, the man with neat shirts and straight trousers was holding a cigarette roll, spitting out faint smoke rings in the air.

Lindberg, deputy director of the Operations Department of the French Local Order and Rehabilitation Bureau, was not in a good mood at this time. He really didn't expect that these guys from Cia would come to the door so soon, and 80% of them were playing a role in the internal side of the bureau. When the battle situation was so tight, the Americans only thought about their own affairs and had no indication of helping France overcome the difficulties.

These Americans have a little bit of an ally in their actions?

With a light cough, Lindberg's tone was still low. "Gentlemen, we don't have the exact news about that person yet."

"Really, Your Excellency?"

Unlike the others in the room, the one sitting on the sofa opposite was actually a pretty young woman. Her plump breasts stretched her shirt, but her eyes were sharp behind her gold-rimmed glasses. She was a little dissatisfied with the Frenchman's answer, and she shook her head contemptuously.

"Mr. Lindberg, we don't have to go around the corner." At this time, the corners of the man's eyes twitched a few times. He didn't expect that the lady in front of him would know his real name. "——The professor and his research subjects are now under the protection of your local Jingjue Bureau. We are deeply grateful for this. But I am for my frankness, the Russians are now so close to us. Professor Lindberg's research has no practical use for your country."

How much does this woman and the Cia behind her know about this?

Lindberg had no idea, and he felt the pressure was increasing. At this critical moment, the Russian tanks had approached the outskirts of Paris, and KGB people were everywhere. He was also a little doubtful that, as the last barrier to French national security, the local Jingjue Bureau is worth spending precious manpower and material resources on the German?

To be honest, he is not sure now. But as the head of the Operations Department, he is now unable to receive instructions from Paris and is in a dilemma.

At this time, the person behind answered the sudden call and handed the phone to Lindberg, who was surprised.

"Hey?-Yes. Is that true?... OK, OK."

After hanging up the phone, Lindberg nodded and signaled to the woman opposite.

"Okay. Since your people have found his place, I have nothing to say."

"This is very good. On behalf of the CIA Operations Supervisor, I thank you." After saying such a polite word, the woman stood up and prepared to leave when she saw Lindbergh, and then continued. "In addition, we are also very interested in the Russian pilot who parachuted in the central part of your country the day before yesterday."

"Pilot?" Lindberg just stood up and raised his eyebrows a little confused. Where did the Russian pilots come from? Are these Americans already at the point where they have to care about everything in detail? "What pilot?"

"Oh, that's the man nicknamed "Warplane Butcher." Seeing Lindberg, he clearly had no reaction. The woman guessed that he didn't know the cause and effect of this matter, so she changed the statement. "He is called Victor Rezenov. Is this person in your hands now?"

After a moment of recollection, Lindberg did not remember that he had handled such a person. Victor Rezenov, who was he?

At this time, someone followed the entourage beside him whispered in his ear. "It was the Russian ace I encountered with the German the day before yesterday. Now our people are looking for him everywhere, but there is no news yet."

Oh? Lindberg seemed to remember it. It was the guy who was famous for the Russian air killer who almost intercepted Linger's plane?

But he was still a little confused. Why were these Americans interested in such a Russian pilot? The war was in full swing, and people would jump in the war zone every day. Is this person special? There are so many complicated things now that he no longer has the heart to care about any Russian affairs.
Chapter completed!