The dark, stale ventilation ducts, which stretched long underground, seemed to have no end, enough to suffocate any normal person from claustrophobia.

Except for Sergey, he is not a normal person.

Or that he has an experience that is absolutely different from that of a normal person.

Born in Russia in the eighties, he spent his entire childhood in the last turbulent period of the Soviet Union.

Lived on the streets since he was a child, and survived by theft.

The darkness gave him not coldness, but warmth.

For him, compared to the dark abandoned subway station, the outside world is cold and cruel.

When he was a child, he was almost beaten to death for theft.

The man who beat him was a strong Russian man more than two meters tall, and for him Sergei was just a little rascal, a shameless thief, but he never considered him a man.

It also seems to have forgotten that people have to eat.

The need for a child to steal in order to survive is not his personal sorrow, but the sorrow of the whole world.

A few years later, Sergey stabbed him to death with a knife.

That year, Sergei was fourteen years old.

If he hadn't met the silver wolf, maybe he would have spent his life in prison.

Sergei shook his head, trying to shake out as many memories as he could from the past.

In this ventilation duct, it always reminds him of his old life.

He sniffed hard, discerning where the air was fresher, and quickened into action.

He was like a rat accustomed to surviving in the dark.

Soon he found a ventilation window, and Sergei quietly moved to the side of the ventilation window and looked out.

This vent is located in the upper part, through the shutter of the guò vent, and he can vaguely point out the situation below.

He had a gun mount, a simple wooden table, and an old-fashioned telephone.

Several Colombian guerrillas are conversing in Spanish.

A smile tugged at the corner of Sergei's lips, this was a partisan's dormitory, and he was playing cards on his table.

Because of the strict sentry outside, the security inside was relatively not too tight, and these guerrillas even played cards together.

Sergei retracted and squeezed himself into the ventilation pipe again.

It took him two full hours to figure out the structure of the entire underground fortification.

Most of the vents are of normal type, with a width of nearly 80 centimeters, and people can pass through the guò normally, but in some places heavy iron grilles are installed, and they are obviously added at a later stage.

Sergey was in the ventilation duct, gritted the flashlight with his teeth, and took out the drawings.

These things were not in the original drawings, and the later installation of these iron fences must have been to prevent people from passing through the air holes.

And several passages there are smaller, only thirty centimeters wide and narrow.

The purpose of this change must have been to detain prisoners.

Sergei frowned, although he could not get through, he could get into the fortifications from other vents, and although it was a bit dangerous to go inside, it was the best way for him at the moment.

Sergey took off the watch, and he still had more than two hours to spare.

That was enough time for him to go in and explore the truth.

Sergey put away the flashlight, took out a short knife from his waist, carefully moved to the side, pried open the blinds with a knife, rolled over and rolled in.

He closed the shutters of the vents silently.

The surroundings were dark, but Sergey was used to this darkness.

I touched it lightly and shone my flashlight on the surroundings.

It was an empty room with an iron door.

Sergei listened carefully to the movement outside, then pushed the door open and quickly hid himself in the darkness.

Outside was a passageway, and at the end of the aisle was supposed to be the FARC cell, with several heavy iron fence doors in a row.

Completely separated the area from the tunnel.

Sergey checked the lock on the iron door and quickly pried it open with a lockpicking tool, an old-fashioned mechanical lock that was nothing for a veteran lockpicker like him.

Don't be heavy and thick, it's solid, it's not really useful.

Sergei locked the door again as soon as he entered.

He walked alertly along the wall, little by little, inside.

It was indeed a prison, and there were at least seven or eight cells in it.

All were heavy iron doors with a small window opening on them.

It's dark inside, from the outside at all.

But Sergei could clearly hear that there were people inside, because their breathing was a little heavy.

He cautiously leaned over to the window and shone his flashlight inside.

Able to huddle on the side of the room, a man in a suit, apparently a hostage.

"Phew!"

Sergei whispered a little to the man.

The man looked up and looked at the window with some confusion.

The glow of the flashlight made him a little unable to open his eyes.

He blocked the light with his hand, and a tumbling dodge to the side.

Sergei's face was not what he was looking for, but he was dressed in a black suit and moved quickly.

It should be a bodyguard next to the target.

"Who are you?"

The man in the black suit shouted in a deep voice.

"Shhhhhhhh ”

Sergei whispered, "Where is that UN official being held?" The man in the black suit leaned over and came out vigilantly and whispered, "You're here to rescue our commandos?" Without further ado, where is that guy being held?" Sergei said in a low voice. "I know how to find him, let me out, I'll take you to him. The man in the black suit whispered. "It's not the time yet, man. I'm just coming in to explore the way, and we need to know the exact location of the target before we can determine the rescue plan. Sergei whispered, "Where is he being held?" "I'm his bodyguard, I'm injured." But before we were attacked, put the GPS tracker on him. Take this and you'll be able to find him. The black-clothed bodyguard struggled to authenticate. "You hid the locator?" Sergey reached out of the window to pick it up. The black-clad bodyguard also struggled to reach out and give him something. But as soon as their hands touched, the wrist of the black-clad bodyguard suddenly flipped and pulled Sergei's hand down. With the other hand, one handcuff was cuffed to Sergei's wrist with a "click", and the other end was handcuffed to the railing of the iron gate. Sergei was taken aback, but it was too late. He suddenly realized that he had been fooled. Even if this person is really the target's bodyguard, how can he not be searched after being captured, and how can he still bring a positioning device?