Chapter 873: On the Method of Hijacking a Cruise Ship — Step One

In a clean, well-lit office, a sergeant was reviewing some mission reports.

Blackstone Security had firmly established itself in the private military contracting industry, with personnel deployed both domestically and internationally.

After every operation, the team leader was required to submit a report detailing the events that occurred during the mission.

If there were any decisions that needed justification—such as preemptively engaging a perceived threat—the report had to explain the reasoning behind such judgments.

It was a tedious job. Day after day, he read through reports where lives were reduced to a few lines, treated almost like jokes, disappearing from the page as if they weighed nothing.

Life, it seemed, wasn’t valuable. Not even as heavy as a sheet of paper.

The office door opened. A blonde girl peeked her head in and made a gesture mimicking a phone call.

“Sergeant, you have a call…”

The sergeant, dressed in a formal uniform he disliked, got up. At Blackstone Security headquarters, formal attire was standard. They weren’t on the frontlines; they didn’t need bulletproof vests or to be ready to draw a weapon at any moment. They just needed to sip coffee and wait out the day.

At first, the shift in lifestyle was difficult, but eventually he got used to it. More importantly, he was about to become a father.

He now had more time to spend at home. He didn’t know which moment had brought him such luck, but he and his wife eagerly awaited the arrival of their child.

He had even learned to smile.

He smiled at his secretary and thanked her, then picked up the phone and pressed the flashing green button.

Different departments had different markings. On the President’s desk alone, there were over a dozen buttons of various colors.

“Sergeant… sir, this is the City Telegraph Office. I’m relaying a telegram from Mr. Lynch. Let me know when you’re ready to take it down…”

A few moments later, the sergeant furrowed his brow and called the other operations departments to share the contents of the message. Everyone quickly agreed: the sergeant would personally oversee this mission.

It was obvious that Mr. Lynch had encountered trouble. Mr. T was most likely Mr. Truman, and this trouble appeared to be serious.

Less than fifteen minutes after the call, two teams—fourteen fully armed Blackstone Security operatives—boarded vehicles headed for the train station. Their destination: a port city where they would catch up to the cruise ship Lynch was on.

The sergeant went with them. He had a bad feeling. Something big was about to happen.

After dinner, a girl assigned to the night shift at the telegraph room arrived at her post.

To prepare for emergencies, the telegraph room always had someone on duty overnight—from 9 p.m. to 6 a.m. A nine-hour shift like that was considered an easy job in the Federation.

All she really had to do was watch the machine for movement and have a basic understanding of how to read telegrams.

Even that wasn’t strictly necessary—she could just call someone who did understand them.

Six hundred Sol a month for less than twenty workdays? It was a great job.

Once she entered the transmission room, she drew the curtain and checked to make sure no one was around. Then, she bent down and began trying to disable the telegraph machine.

If she didn’t destroy the equipment, people on the ship could contact the coastal cities at any time. That would be fatal to their plan.

After a night of brewing tension, the atmosphere on the ship seemed to relax a bit.

At breakfast, Lynch sat at the edge of the upper-level dining room. He hadn’t brought Penny with him. The girl had become unusually obedient, staying in the cabin instead of running around.

While eating and observing his surroundings, Lynch suddenly sensed someone standing behind him.

Without drawing attention to himself, he picked up his fork. Many people thought a knife would be more suitable in this situation, but that was a mistake.

A dinner knife’s tip wasn’t sharp enough to do serious harm through clothing. It was meant for cutting, and its edge was on the side.

Sure, it could slice a throat, but how many people could do that quickly and accurately?

A fork, on the other hand, was much more useful. Its tines could easily pierce fabric and flesh. The chest was a good target.

If it hit a rib, the target would be instantly incapacitated. If not, a hard twist could still disable them.

Stabbing the abdomen could reach vital organs with just two or three centimeters of penetration.

And stabbing a neck with a fork was far easier than trying to slash it with a knife.

Lynch tilted slightly and glanced up quickly. Then he set the fork down.

It was the young man from the casino yesterday—the one who gave up his seat. Clearly, he wanted to talk.

“Mr. Lynch, we meet again.”

Lynch picked up his napkin, wiped his hands, stood up, and shook the man’s hand. Then he gestured for him to sit.

“You know me, but I don’t know you.”

“My name is Sindel…”

“Mr. Lynch, it’s a pleasure to speak with you. I’ve learned a lot about you through various channels—things like the financial warfare. You’re a man of ideas and capabilities. I’ve always admired that… until I learned more about you.”

Sindel’s flattery was deliberate and unapologetic. He made no effort to hide his intentions. That alone revealed he was likely a successful man—or at least came from a successful background.

Anyone who held onto moral purity could never truly succeed.

If you can’t exploit workers, can’t take money from ordinary people, can’t evict people from their homes to claim their property—when will you ever become rich?

Lack of morals. Shamelessness. These are the foundations of success.

Lynch gave a slight nod. Federals liked to claim credit for what they had done—they had no concept of humility.

“Mr. Lynch, where do you think the next wave of development in the Federation lies?”

Lynch answered without hesitation, “Scientific research.”

They chatted for a while. Sindel seemed genuinely interested in everything Lynch said. When Lynch brought up the idea that technology is the primary productive force, Sindel got so excited he looked like an ape seeing a woman for the first time.

What kind of ridiculous metaphor was that?

After breakfast, Lynch didn’t return to his cabin right away. Instead, he wandered around the ship.

There were fewer crew members walking about today, but security was tighter than ever.

At key passageways, at least two or three crew members were stationed at all times.

They appeared to be offering routine services, but were in fact scanning the crowd for hidden threats. Lynch even noticed they were armed—a bad sign.

They didn’t seem to be considering outside help as a solution to the current crisis.

Lynch could understand this. After all, one of Marilo’s most powerful warlords was backing them. Involving the federal police or military would bring serious consequences to the company.

They thought they could handle it. But could they really?

Lynch didn’t think so.

If they could, they wouldn’t be this nervous. Clearly, they were in serious trouble.

Back in the cabin, the girl came running up to him immediately. Lynch had been assuring her everything would be fine, but she was still clearly anxious.

She didn’t ask anything—just looked at him.

Lynch patted her hand and they sat together on the couch.

“Things haven’t improved much. I walked around the first and second floors. There might still be intruders onboard who haven’t been discovered.”

Penny asked, “Why don’t we tell the others on the ship?”

Lynch looked at her as if she were slow. “Tell who?”

“Anyone. I just think we can’t keep doing nothing. It’s too passive. We need to act.”

Her emotions were starting to fray.

Understandable—after more than a day of constant tension, anyone would lose their patience and composure. The fact she hadn’t lost control was already commendable.

Lynch held her hand tightly. “The Sergeant and his team already know. They’re taking action.”

“Telling the other passengers would do nothing but cause panic. Worse, it could trigger the threat prematurely.”

“More importantly, EveryMoment is a publicly listed company. Right now, there are many influential millionaires on board. Even knowing there’s a problem, the Sergeant hasn’t docked or called in federal authorities.”

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Lynch’s tone was light, almost casual, but his words made Penny’s heart sink.

“This involves tens of millions, even hundreds of millions in profits. They won’t make a move unless they have no other choice.”

“If you tell the others, all it will do is make things worse. We’ll lose the little control we still have. Do you get it?”

He stroked her hair, trying to offer some comfort.

If they docked now and admitted there was a danger on the cruise, the first consequence would be a massive loss of credibility for EveryMoment. How could they have let infiltrators aboard without knowing?

Second, these influential guests were personally invited to attend the Spring Gala. If their safety was compromised, they wouldn’t just let it go. They might cancel their custom contracts with EveryMoment.

To avoid massive losses, the company’s executives—and the warlord behind it—might not remain calm.

Whoever exposed the current situation would become the enemy.

They might even choose to make certain people disappear just to preserve the illusion of control.

At that very moment, in the Sergeant’s room, the Sergeant’s expression was so dark that people avoided him from a distance.

“Gentlemen, we’ve lost all external communication!”