"Taken care of?"
Uncle Hong didn't speak; instead, he pressed the muzzle tighter: "How many of you came?"
This time, Song Guanchao didn't interrupt.
He knew that this fearsome-looking older man wanted to confirm the numbers.
Conveniently, he could also check against his own count to see if they matched.
If they matched, it meant no lies had been told.
If they didn't, Uncle Hong would really fire his gun!
"Eighteen."
Uncle Hong looked up at Song Guanchao.
Song Guanchao nodded: "It matches."
Uncle Hong stood up, put away his gun, and asked, "What about the two girls?"
"They're hiding."
He didn't know Uncle Hong, nor did he know his background.
But judging by his deft movements and marksmanship, he must have come from the military.
He was quite curious; where did the city police find such an impressive character?
Uncle Hong nodded, took out a satellite phone from his backpack, and dialed a number: "I've found the people. They're in good condition, no injuries."
