Chapter 311
Luna White's fingers trembled slightly over the phone buttons. She took a deep breath and dialed the number she knew by heart.
"Hello, is Instructor Andrew available?" Her voice quivered.
"Oh, it's you, Mrs. Smith! Hold on, I'll get Captain Andrew right away!" The young soldier on the other end boomed cheerfully before his footsteps faded away.
The receiver picked up the sound of hurried running and the rustle of fabric.
"Luna?" Andrew Smith's voice came through the line, slightly breathless.
Luna's nails dug into her palm unconsciously. "Andrew..." Her voice caught, unsure where to begin.
"What's wrong?" His tone instantly sharpened.
Luna looked down at the crumpled telegram in her hand. "It's William... my brother-in-law's younger brother..."
A brief silence stretched on the other end. "What happened?"
"I need your help." She bit her lower lip. "The telegram says he's being held captive in the mountains of a neighboring province..."
"Wait for me." Andrew hung up without another word.
Thirty minutes later, the office door burst open. Andrew strode in, his military jacket still carrying the chill from outside. His sharp eyes immediately locked onto Luna's pale face.
"Where's the telegram?" he asked firmly.
Luna handed it over with shaking hands. Andrew scanned the contents quickly, his frown deepening with each line.
"Do you think... could it be..." Luna's voice was barely audible, "organ trafficking?"
Andrew's head snapped up, his gaze razor-sharp. "Don't jump to conclusions." He grasped her icy hands. "I'll report this immediately."
Luna clutched his sleeve desperately. "My sister Iris won't survive this..."
"Leave it to me." He pulled her into a brief, reassuring hug. "I'll lead the team myself."
That afternoon, Henry Cooper arrived in the provincial capital, exhausted from travel. Luna had arranged for her eldest sister to house him at the family shop to keep him from spiraling into panic.
Meanwhile, the atmosphere in the military district meeting room was tense.
"This is a sensitive situation—we must proceed with caution." The commander rapped his knuckles on the table. "Andrew, take two men for reconnaissance first."
"Sir!" Andrew saluted crisply.
In the locker room, three grown men stood before mirrors, deliberately disfiguring their appearances—unkempt beards, tattered cotton jackets, and grimy scarves wrapped around their heads.
"Remember," Andrew lowered his voice, "we're lost farmers. Keep your eyes downcast, hunch your shoulders when walking."
The two younger soldiers immediately hunched over, transforming into perfect images of timid country bumpkins.
"The strike team will hold position on the perimeter." Andrew did a final equipment check. "Move in the moment you see the flare signal."
As night fell, three shadows melted silently into the mountain paths. Luna stood by the window, staring at the distant silhouette of the peaks, the telegram in her hand damp with sweat.
(To be continued)