Chapter 58: Do You Have Any Secrets?

When Ivan Vanko saw the doctor's astonished expression, turmoil surged in his own heart as well.

He had always thought himself mentally prepared, but when the confirmation truly came, it still felt like a dream.

He could hardly believe it—just a few seconds, and it actually worked! Ivan recalled once again the ease and casual manner of that mysterious man during his father’s treatment.

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that his choice had been the right one.

That mysterious man truly had remarkable skills—

Yet he had come to invite Ivan personally—what did he want from him? The man had not said.

For someone like Ivan, who was often somewhat arrogant, it was rare to find himself worrying as he did now... Could he really be up to the task?

Such feelings were indeed unusual for him.

After all, the mysterious man's abilities were nothing short of astonishing.

“How... how did you do it? Where did you receive this treatment?” The burly doctor shot to his feet, his face animated as he questioned Ivan.

But Ivan ignored him.

So the doctor hurriedly turned his attention to Anton Vanko, the old man.

“Do you have some special secret?” the doctor asked.

To his surprise, Anton Vanko actually pondered the question for a moment before answering, “Well, there is one...”

“What? What secret?” The burly doctor's face brimmed with anticipation, his grizzled mustache quivering.

To resolve late-stage cirrhosis without a liver transplant—this had to be some cutting-edge cell regeneration technology.

If he could master this technique... the doctor could already envision himself receiving the Nobel Prize in Medicine...

“Hmm...” Under the doctor’s fiery gaze, Anton Vanko thought carefully, searching for the right words. Even Ivan, standing to the side, paused and looked thoughtfully at his alcoholic father, wondering... what secret could he possibly have?

“The secret is... at least three bottles of vodka a day.” After a pause, Anton solemnly added, “You have to spin as you drink, or it won’t work!”

Burly doctor: ???

Ivan: =_=|||

“Let’s go,” Ivan muttered, dragging his drunken father toward the door... He couldn’t bear the embarrassment any longer!

“Wait!” the burly doctor suddenly called out.

Both Vankos stopped in their tracks and turned to look at him.

The doctor calmed himself and said gravely:

“Seriously, though, even though I don’t know what happened, Mr. Vanko’s condition has already improved significantly, and the area of cirrhosis has been reduced by nearly half. If he continues with treatment now, the odds of success will be much higher.”

“But if you just leave it like this, the illness will continue to worsen until it inevitably returns to the late stage...”

Hearing this, Ivan Vanko fell into deep thought.

So his father’s illness had only been alleviated—it wasn’t completely cured...

He drew in a sharp breath.

It seemed... he was starting to grasp the methods of that mysterious man...

——

Inside S.H.I.E.L.D.’s temporary base in Moscow.

Coulson looked at the rough, scattered gathering of people before him and couldn’t help but rub his forehead.

The pressure was immense—

Although S.H.I.E.L.D. was nominally an intelligence agency under the United Nations, everyone knew its main base of operations was always under the shadow of that eagle; elsewhere, their presence was much thinner.

Such was the case now in Moscow.

It had been five days since Director Nick Fury had sent Coulson to Moscow to establish this temporary base.

But as for the base’s progress...

To put it kindly, it was hard to describe.

As a spy organization, their surveillance and reconnaissance systems were little more than a shell; to pull up footage from a nearby street camera took at least half a minute.

Could anyone believe this was the speed of the world’s largest intelligence agency?

Even searching for someone’s information was painfully slow, reminiscent of the computers from the eighties and nineties—whirring and stalling, the progress bar forever frozen!

Yet, even this half-baked system was one of the better things about this temporary base.

The systems for dealing with emergencies and defense—those were truly a sight for sore eyes.

Staffing was just too thin... Coulson lamented inwardly.

Since five days ago, S.H.I.E.L.D. had begun pulling in agents from nearby, but as a vast global organization, there were countless demands on their manpower.

Even just to maintain ordinary operations, the number of personnel required was enormous.

As a result, there weren’t many people to spare.

After two or three days of transfers, they had only managed to bring in a few misfits—and even some interns—along with the original group Coulson had brought from Ingram Street, which wasn’t even enough to cause trouble.

Coulson even considered recalling agents from their vacations.

In truth, he wanted to do just that, but he lacked the authority; summoning agents on leave was Nick Fury’s exclusive prerogative, and if Coulson wanted to do so, he needed to file a request with Fury.

But what grounds did he have?

That Agent May, seriously injured, had overheard the enemy’s plans, so they’d come to Moscow to wait in ambush?

Not a strong enough reason.

More importantly, if he really did call those agents in from leave, only for them to arrive in Moscow and face nothing but a long, dull wait...

If those agents, geared up for mortal danger, found themselves with nothing to do, the resulting disappointment could easily lead to conflicts—some might even file formal complaints against Coulson.

Such things were only natural.

So, for now, Coulson decided to hold off on recalling agents from leave, choosing instead to wait until there was a truly intractable problem or concrete evidence before applying to Fury. That would be safer and more by-the-book.

The good news was that two days ago, after Agent May arrived in Moscow, the research team led by the brilliant scientist Fitz also came in from Ingram Street.

With the arrival of these true elites, the once lazy and disorganized base was transformed. At the very least, everyone had begun to work methodically.

Though the base was still not fully operational, everything was moving in a positive direction—something both Coulson and May could see clearly.

“How’s the investigation at the Kolpasek Prison on the outskirts of St. Petersburg?” Agent May approached Coulson, joining him in watching the agents busy at work below, then asked.

Hearing this, Coulson’s brow furrowed even more deeply.

“No leads at all. Neither surveillance nor eyewitnesses have turned up anything, and we can’t even figure out how the cell door was opened.”

“And that big hole?” May asked.

Coulson shook his head. “That’s even stranger. There’s no trace of explosives or shrapnel anywhere around it. It’s as if...”

“As if what?”

“As if a giant gust of wind had blown a hole right through it...”

“Oh, come on, that wall is at least two meters thick!” May’s expression stiffened.

But Coulson said nothing more. He simply stared silently at the agents below, moving and working like so many tireless ants.