Chapter 452: Crossing the Atlantic! I'm heading to Geneva to Collect the Bill!

The air in the elevator is so thin it makes one gasp for breath.

The metal cabin descends smoothly, and the mirror‑smooth wall reflects four completely different faces.

Lu Qingshan's expression is blank; he merely adjusts the collar of his black coat, moving with unhurried composure, as if the event he is about to attend is not a world‑shaking banquet but an ordinary business cocktail.

Ye Ning, Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru stand side by side, their bodies rigidly upright, like three veterans about to go to war.

On their faces, fear, excitement, bewilderment, exhilaration… a tangle of the most extreme emotions intertwine, forming a bizarre, surreal tableau.

Ding.

The elevator reaches the ground floor.

The doors slide open slowly.

Outside, it is not the familiar, plush‑carpeted, luxurious lobby of Saint Remo Apartment.

Instead, rows of burly men in black suits, wearing sunglasses and communication headsets, wear grim, lethal expressions.

They line both sides, forming a straight corridor that stretches from the elevator opening to the outside of the apartment entrance.

The apartment's doorman and security guard have long been ushered into an inconspicuous corner, trembling with an expression as if looking at aliens, staring nervously toward this side.

"Mr. Lu."

A leading white man steps forward; he shows no identification, yet the crisp aura of a federal agent cannot be concealed at all.

"The convoy is ready. Please."

Lu Qingshan strides out of the elevator.

Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru follow closely behind; they feel as if they are not walking on a soft carpet but stepping on clouds, each step feeling unreal.

Outside the apartment, Central Park West, usually bustling with traffic, is completely cleared at this moment.

Over a dozen black Chevrolet Suburbans, flashing warning lights, form a massive, lethal escort convoy.

Further away, NYPD police cars block every intersection, turning the area into a complete no‑go zone.

Countless reporters are held back outside the security line; the flashbulbs on their cameras flicker like a sudden burst of stars in the night sky, frantically flashing as they try to capture this world‑shaking scene.

"My God..."

Zhang Qianru covers her mouth; she sees a federal agent pull open the door of the armored vehicle in the middle for Lu Qingshan, the respectful gesture as if welcoming a king.

Lu Qingshan bends and climbs into the vehicle.

Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru also sit inside right after.

The doors close, cutting off all external clamor.

"To Kennedy Airport, Hangar Seven."

Lu Qingshan addresses the driver in the front row with an uncompromising tone, ordering.

"Understood, sir."

The driver asks no questions, responding briefly.

The convoy sets off, guided by police cars, roaring like a black dragon as it charges into New York's night.

Inside the vehicle, Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru watch the street scenery flash backward through the window, observing the startled expressions on pedestrians disturbed by the convoy, their minds still in a half‑dazed state.

"Boss..."

Li Junjie's voice is a bit hoarse, "We... are we now considered to be under protection of the United States of America?"

"Protection?"

Lu Qingshan glances at him, then signals Ye Ning to hand the four freshly printed documents to the several people.

"No."

"We are escorting them toward the execution ground."

Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru lower their heads, looking at the documents in their hands.

The shocking headlines, the lines written in blood and sin, make them instantly feel the paper in their hands as heavy as a thousand pounds.

They finally understand what kind of "gift" their boss intends to bring on this trip to Geneva.

The convoy does not take ordinary roads, but drives straight into a temporarily closed dedicated lane.

In less than twenty minutes, the massive outline of Kennedy Airport appears in view.

However, the convoy does not head to any terminal; it turns onto a heavily guarded internal road, finally stopping before a huge, unmarked hangar.

The hangar doors open slowly.

Dazzling light streams out from within.

An aircraft painted entirely black, its shape bizarre like an alien craft from a sci‑fi film, sits silently at the center of the hangar.

Its flat, elongated fuselage, knife‑sharp wings, and the Stars and Stripes badge representing the United States of America together create a heart‑pounding, violently aesthetic tableau.

SR-71, the "Blackbird" strategic reconnaissance aircraft.

A pinnacle of human aerospace engineering from the Cold War era.

At this moment, it is Lu Qingshan's "personal aircraft".

A tall Air Force major in flight suit stands beside the aircraft; his face shows no expression, yet his blue eyes are filled with complex emotions.

There is the obedience of a soldier, pride in this legendary plane, and also humiliation and bewilderment at the absurd mission he is about to undertake.

"Mr. Lu."

Colonel Davis strides forward, saluting Lu Qingshan.

"I am Major John Green, the pilot for this flight."

Lu Qingshan nods, his gaze passing over him to rest on the Blackbird.

"Ready?"

"Ready to take off at any moment, sir."

Major Green's voice is calm and professional.

"Very good."

Lu Qingshan stepped toward the gangway.

Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru inhaled deeply and followed closely.

They felt they were not boarding a plane, but stepping into history.

The Cockpit of the Crow was narrow and complex, filled with all kinds of gauges and switches.

With Green Major's help, the three of them struggled into the two rear seats and fastened the intricate safety belts.

"Mr. Lu, we are about to take off."

Green Major's voice came through the communicator, "The overload during takeoff will be great; please be prepared."

Lu Qingshan gave no response.

He only looked out through the tiny porthole.

Outside the hangar, Davis Colonel and a group of American soldiers stood in formation, seeing them off.

On each of those faces was written humiliation and bewilderment.

"Ignition."

Green Major pressed a button.

Two J58 variable‑cycle engines emitted a low rumble, and the fuselage began to tremble slightly.

The Crow slowly slid out of the hangar and onto the runway.

"Tower, this is 'Messenger One', requesting takeoff."

Green Major's voice rang on the communication channel.

"Messenger One, the runway is clear, you may take off. Wish you… a smooth flight."

The tower controller's voice carried an unmistakable oddness.

Green Major pushed the throttle lever.

The two terrifying engines instantly roared like thunder!

A thrust so powerful it was suffocating slammed the four of them into their seats!

Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru's faces turned deathly pale in an instant, feeling as if their internal organs were about to be squeezed out.

The Crow, like a black arrow released from its string, accelerated wildly on the runway, then abruptly pitched up at an almost vertical angle, soaring straight into the clouds!

The myriad lights of New York City beneath their feet quickly turned into a dazzling sea of light.

Minutes later, the Aircraft pierced the clouds and entered the stratosphere.

Outside the window, the familiar blue sky and white clouds were gone.

Instead it was a deep, almost black indigo.

Beneath them was Earth's clear and massive arc.

They were flying at the edge of space.

"We have reached cruising altitude; current speed, Mach 3.2."

Green Major's voice sounded again, with a barely perceptible hint of bragging.

Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru turned their heads with difficulty, gazing at the breathtaking scene outside the window, feeling as if they were in a dream.

At that moment, Lu Qingshan's voice calmly sounded in their ears.

"Take a look at the documents."

"When we reach Geneva, we need to sit down with them and settle this account properly."

The three snapped back to reality and hurriedly grabbed the documents in their hands.

The cold lines of text instantly pulled them from the splendor of space back to the darkest, most humiliating chapter of human history.

The cockpit fell into silence.

Only a faint engine roar and the sound of pages turning.

The Crow, like a silent Ghost, at thirty‑thousand meters altitude, sped beyond the speed of sound toward the storm's center.

At that moment.

Inside the cockpit, a communication channel that should have remained silent forever, classified at the highest military secrecy level, suddenly emitted a faint "zzzz" sound.

Green Major's eyebrows knit sharply.

This is impossible!

This channel can only be accessed one‑way by the Pentagon's top command center!

He was about to report the anomaly to his superiors.

A male voice with a thick Russian accent, leisurely as if chatting in his own living room, came clearly through the channel.

"Green Major, relax, don't be nervous."

"I just want to ask you to give Mr. Lu in the rear seat a message."

Green Major's body froze instantly, cold sweat seeping from his forehead.

The voice paused, then in a near‑chanting, mockingly playful tone, said slowly:

"Tell him that Victor Ivanov, code‑named 'Crow', in Geneva, sends his regards."

"And also, convey to him…"

"His daughter's favorite bedtime story is 'The Little Mermaid'."

"We look forward to telling him in person the true ending of the Little Mermaid, the one that turns into Bubbles…"