Mogadishu International Airport.
Nearly 3:00 AM. A flight landed on the runway, taxiing several hundred meters before stopping at its designated position under the guidance of ground crew.
Beneath the passenger stairs sat a four-wheel-drive G. Patton. Its black paint was crystal-coated, reflecting a glossy shimmer under the airport floodlights.
As the cabin door opened, a young man who had been waiting in the passenger seat for a long time pushed open the car door and stood before the vehicle.
The rhythmic "tap-tap" of high heels hitting the ground stopped in front of the car. The young man stepped forward to open the rear door, bowed slightly, and gestured to the newcomer: "President Yan."
Yan Sui casually handed her bag to the accompanying assistant, pressed down the corners of her long trench coat with both hands, and leaned into the car.
In the dim interior light, she lazily lifted her eyes and gave a soft "Mm."
—
Shortly after leaving the airport, the car cut onto a side road.
The yellow sandy road was uneven, and jagged mud pits slowed the vehicle's progress. The heavy armored car moved through the night like a prowling tiger or bear, restricted by the terrain.
"President Yan, there will be support once we get off this small road." He glanced through the dark window, where the ruins of broken walls on both sides of the path were faintly visible under the moonlight.
Somalia had been in a state of war for a long time; even on the streets, militants equipped with heavy weapons were a common sight.
Although it was early morning and all was quiet, it was far from safe.
Yan Sui did not respond; she had been exceptionally silent since getting into the car.
The interior was quiet enough to hear the soft crunch of gravel beneath the heavy armored tires, invisibly heightening the tension that had begun to solidify the moment the plane touched down.
Somalia is the most dangerous country in the world, and its danger knows no time or place.
—
After driving for nearly three minutes, Yan Sui focused her attention on the roadside.
Tens of meters ahead, the headlights of a car parked by the road suddenly flickered to life, forming two beams of light that shot straight toward a thatched shack piled with miscellaneous debris.
Immediately after, the engine roared. The high and low beams flashed repeatedly, and the rugged wheels pressed into the sand, quickly crossing a mound of earth to rush in front of their car to lead the way.
"It's the security detail," the young man explained. "Once we hit the highway, another car will take up the rear to ensure our safe arrival at the helicopter landing pad."
Yan Sui lowered her gaze and remained silent.
"There's a refugee camp nearby. They're scattered all over the city here, full of all sorts of people. Gangs congregate mostly in the northern part of the city; most conflicts and skirmishes happen in northern Mogadishu." The young man looked back at Yan Sui, only to meet her upward gaze.
Those eyes remained bright in the night. Her gaze was indifferent, and a coldness consistently hung about her features. She showed no trace of fear or nervousness. Even her sitting posture was casual and lazy, lacking any sense of pressure or dread.
The young man swallowed the words of comfort he had intended to say and fell silent.
The yellow sand kicked up by the security car danced like ghosts in the headlights. Fine grains of sand blown by the wind hit the windshield with a rhythmic pitter-patter.
About ten minutes later, the window of the lead car’s driver’s seat rolled down halfway, and an arm emerged to make a gesture.
In an instant, several forks appeared in the seemingly endless road. After turning through a narrow alley, they quickly reached the highway.
As soon as the road smoothed out, a black Cruiser quietly followed them out from a gas station on the left side of the road.
Only then did Yan Sui let out a breath. She kicked her legs, which had grown stiff from sitting cross-legged, and patted the headrest of the passenger seat, asking: "What’s the situation now?"
Two days ago, the Yan'an, a merchant ship under the Yan Group, was intercepted by pirates while sailing through Somali waters. The vessel and its twenty-two crew members, including the captain, were all taken hostage.
"It’s still a standoff. The dozens of pirates holding the Yan'an are fully armed and experienced. So far, they haven't harmed the hostages, though they are demanding a ten-million-dollar ransom."
Yan Sui’s brow furrowed slightly and then slowly relaxed. Her low voice carried the biting chill of the night, though it had shed some of its fatigue: "As long as the hostages are safe."
She leaned back against the seat, deep in thought for a moment. Her fingertips tapped lightly on her knee as she asked again: "What about the Navy?"
The young man turned from his seat, pursed his lips slightly, and reported softly: "The Yan'an contacted the company and the Chinese Navy immediately after encountering the pirates. The warships initiated a rescue mission instantly. They are currently negotiating with the pirates..."
So, there had been no progress...
A sense of powerless exhaustion washed over her. Yan Sui closed her eyes and forced a sentence from deep in her throat: "Wake me when we arrive."
"Yes."
...
—
Yan Sui only napped for a short while before waking up on her own.
Her nerves were pulled tight. Even while asleep, it felt as though someone were holding a string in her chest, pulling both ends taut. If her breathing deepened even slightly, her heart felt as if it were being squeezed and crumpled into a ball.
She opened her eyes and looked out the window.
The accompanying assistant, Xin Ya, was talking to the young man in the front. Fearing she might wake Yan Sui, her voice was hushed: "I heard that once the pirates put down their guns, they're actually just Somali fishermen. Is that true?"
"Not entirely." The young man chuckled softly and explained patiently: "Pirates are divided into organizations and factions. They have leaders, structures, and strict management. They used to use traditional tools like ropes, nets, machetes, and spears, but now they’ve kept up with the times. A portion of the ransom money is used to upgrade their equipment..."
After a pause, the young man’s tone grew heavier, as if he were avoiding something, and his voice dropped even lower: "This time, the Yan'an was hijacked by the largest local pirate force. These pirates are equipped with heavy weapons and have hostages in hand, which is why they are so brazen as to demand ten million dollars upfront."
Xin Ya had been dragged out of bed by Yan Sui in the middle of the night for this business trip. She had followed her to the airport in a daze, and only then did she learn that this urgent, temporary itinerary was because the Yan'an had been hijacked in Somali waters.
Yan Sui was the President of the Yan Group and the owner of the Yan'an. Whether it was for negotiations or paying the ransom, she had to be present.
Xin Ya had originally thought they were just going to haggle, pay the ransom, and be done with it. It wasn't until she heard that the pirates were the largest force in Somalia and were fully equipped with heavy weapons that she realized... the matter was not going to be as easy to solve as she had imagined.
Ten million US dollars...
Xin Ya clicked her tongue in shock.
She remembered the phone call Yan Sui had taken before the plane took off. Yan Sui was taking off her coat at the time, and Xin Ya had held the phone for her. Being close, she had vaguely heard the ransom was ten million.
But since it was muffled, Xin Ya hadn't even thought about it being in US dollars. Looking back now—her big boss hadn't even blinked an eye at the time...
However, if the young girl knew that President Yan was this calm only because she planned not to pay the ransom at all, she would likely cough up five liters of blood.
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