Milosh took a deep breath.
In the command room, three communications officers from the "Musicians" company were already standing against the wall with guns pointed at them.
On the surveillance screen, the entire mercenary camp was being systematically controlled.
"My boss is on an external mission, with an indefinite return date, and his location is classified as mission-critical."
Milosh opted for the most standard response: "All encrypted communications are archived on your military server in Baghdad as per the contract. Feel free to check them."
"Is that so?" Ryan's lips moved slightly, which was not a smile but a habitual twitch of his facial muscles: "Then until he 'returns,' I'm in charge here. Now, take me to his accommodation and where he stores his personal belongings."
This was not a request.
The soldier behind Ryan stepped forward, moving his finger from the trigger guard directly onto the trigger.
Milosh was silent for two seconds, then turned: "This way."
