Salim led the group into the camp, where no electricity was available, and a large bonfire provided the main source of light.
As soon as he appeared, dozens of militants greeted him enthusiastically, their eyes burning with fanaticism.
Ethan scanned the area. Besides the various vehicles, he noticed numerous wooden crates stacked nearby—obviously weapons shipments.
However, none of the crates seemed large enough to contain air-launched SS-22 MIRV warheads.
As he casually observed, he noticed something else unusual—four massive wooden crates near the bonfire.
They were much larger than the warheads he was looking for.
Salim ignored Ethan, chatting with his subordinates.
Pretending to be disinterested, Ethan turned away, but his ears were keenly tuned to their conversation.
He understood Arabic and Hebrew, but this language was something different.
Occasionally, though, he picked up a familiar word—"Owen."
Owen?
Of course, Ethan knew who that was—the CTU agent he had seen earlier, the one who had captured Salim.
Clearly, Salim hadn't forgotten about him.
Unlike before, Ethan didn't have Luther with him—he had ordered him to stay hidden.
Luther was an electronics expert, but undercover work wasn't his strength.
As the conversation ended, Salim's two subordinates walked away.
Then, as if suddenly remembering Ethan, Salim smiled.
"Mr. Hunt, I have something special to show you."
Ethan smiled back.
"Of course. I was starting to think you'd forgotten our agreement."
Following Salim, Ethan moved toward the large crates.
With a snap of Salim's fingers, his men sprang into action.
A chainsaw roared to life, cutting through the crate seals.
Wooden panels fell away, revealing something wrapped in thick oil cloth.
Even with the covering, Ethan could tell—these were statues.
As the cloth was removed, his suspicion was confirmed—they were massive stone sculptures.
Persian style.
Ethan recognized the artistic design but lacked the expertise to determine more.
In normal circumstances, his miniature camera—hidden as a shirt button—would transmit footage to Luther, who would then research the statues and feed him information via his earpiece.
But since arriving at Keyes Island, Ethan had received zero communication from Luther.
Something was blocking their signal.
Still, Ethan wasn't supposed to be an art dealer—he was a terrorist.
It was reasonable for him not to know much about statues.
Feigning interest, Ethan studied the five-meter-high sculptures.
Just then, a woman approached.
Juno walked gracefully, her hand caressing the stone surface.
"Aren't they magnificent?" she mused.
"These are called the Four Horsemen.
They date back to 500 B.C., from the Persian Empire under Darius I."
Juno's fingers traced each statue, a devoted admiration in her eyes.
Then, she turned to Ethan with a smile.
"The Four Horsemen are priceless treasures.
Unfortunately… these are all fakes."
As if on cue, Salim gestured to his men.
Several strong militants climbed onto forklifts, starting the diesel engines.
Chains were fastened to various protruding parts of the statues.
With a rumbling groan, the forklifts pulled—and the statues cracked apart.
Ethan's eyes widened.
The statues were hollow.
Inside each was a large, green military container.
They matched the other green crates nearby—deep green, distinctly military, but these were significantly larger.
One of the militants drilled open a gap, allowing them to pry out a container.
Salim gave the order.
"Open it."
With a click, the lid swung open.
Inside, a massive warhead lay secured by iron brackets.
Nearly as tall as a man, it had a bulky, rugged design.
A red Soviet star was painted on its surface.
Undeniably Soviet.
Salim's expression turned almost reverent.
He ran his fingers along the warhead's casing, as if admiring a masterpiece.
To him, this was the true Four Horsemen.
"What do you think?"
Salim turned to Ethan.
"Of course," Ethan replied smoothly.
"An MIRV-6 reentry vehicle from the air-launched SS-22—a perfect weapon."
He played along, feigning admiration, while his mind raced for a solution.
Mission accomplished—they had found the nukes.
Now, they needed to survive long enough to act on it.
Salim smirked.
"Of course, it's perfect.
Each warhead contains 14.5 kilograms of enriched uranium and a plutonium trigger.
It can generate a 30-kiloton explosion—a true weapon of mass destruction.
It cost me a fortune to obtain these."
Then, he raised his voice.
"Colin!
Load one warhead onto the truck—for our allies, Cruel Angel!"
The man named Colin signaled his team.
They lifted one of the green containers onto a truck, preparing for transport.
Ethan's heart pounded.
The nuke was being moved.
"Wait," Ethan interjected.
"There's no need.
I'll drive the truck myself.
Give me an account number, and I'll wire the payment.
After today, Cruel Angel will be your friend forever."
He reached for the truck door.
But Salim raised a hand.
Immediately, several militants moved to surround Ethan, their rifles aimed at him.
"Salim… this isn't what we agreed on."
Ethan kept his voice calm, but he knew—he had been exposed.
Salim chuckled darkly.
"Oh no, no, no, Mr. Ethan Hunt—or whatever your real name is.
One thing's for sure…
You're not with Cruel Angel."
The truck carrying the nuke drove off.
Moments later, the distant sound of helicopter blades filled the air.
Time was running out.
"Who are you, really?"
Salim smirked.
"CTU? FBI? Some other agency?
I've been wondering about Jack Bauer.
Did you really kill him? Or was it just some clever trick?
Even now, I still can't figure it out."
A mysterious smile crossed Salim's face.
The execution had been so convincing—the wounds, the blood, the body.
It was too real to be fake.
"You've been in contact with Cruel Angel before, haven't you?"
Ethan narrowed his eyes.
So that's it.
Salim and Cruel Angel had already made a deal.
His whole act had been useless.
He hadn't deceived Salim—he had played right into his hands.
His "sacrificial act" had only helped Salim escape CTU.
Now, Ethan's only hope was that Luther realized something was wrong and sent a distress signal.
But after so long without contact, Ethan wasn't optimistic.
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