"You mean you need to use the Mind Reading Technique to deduce that the world's top mercenary going to the most dangerous City of Darkness isn't there to fix cars and sightsee?" Shiller retorted.
Deathstroke couldn't answer, so he awkwardly changed the subject: "We need to check out the coast. If a plane really makes an emergency landing on the water, we must rush to the rescue immediately."
"Do you know the exact model of the plane he's on?"
"It should be a wide-body Boeing 787," Deathstroke said after a brief pause, "just like the one that made an emergency landing on the water before."
"The probability of a water landing is low."
"How do you know?"
To avoid the patrolling troops on the street, they entered a dark alley. There was a food cart with no one around, so they hid beside its awning.
"Firstly, it's very difficult for a wide-body airliner to make a water landing; it requires extremely skilled pilots. Secondly, a large plane would have a significant fuel reserve. Instead of landing on the complicated conditions of the Red Sea, it would be better to head inland and attempt a desert landing."
Deathstroke breathed a slight sigh of relief, then said, "Is there a high likelihood of a successful landing at Hurgada?"
"Of course. Otherwise, we wouldn't have come to Hurgada."
Then Deathstroke realized. The bad news had muddled his mind; he should've already thought of the possibility of a desert landing. Mainly, he rarely operated in desert areas and was somewhat too anxious, causing him to forget considering the geographical factors.
A desert landing is undoubtedly safer. Although there are also undulations, many of Egypt's deserts have been developed for tourism; they aren't the primitive deserts and are relatively smooth, eliminating the risk of disintegration upon water landing. Thus, they should consider moving towards the desert, but when Shiller suggested going to Hurgada, he simply followed along without thinking too much.
Deathstroke glanced up at the sky. Several planes were already visible to the naked eye, hovering at low altitudes waiting to land. However, it's uncertain which specific plane the tower would allow to land, as it involves complex political maneuvering, and surely the more "useful" planes would be given priority.
While those that can't land aren't required to persist with this airport, there are other cities with airports nearby. But if the situation worsens further, such as turning into a hot war with full air control, then no airport would allow landings. Bigger planes could fly further, but smaller aircraft would be in trouble.
Thus, securing a landing slot at Hurgada is very important. Without thinking too much, it's easy to imagine that the channel is already in chaos. In this respect, smaller planes have an advantage: they are smaller with fewer passengers, less fuel, and many operate on domestic routes, which makes it unreasonable not to let them land. Large airplanes with ample fuel can easily fly further without much impact.
Deathstroke was about to head out. Shiller called after him: "Where are you going?"
"Of course, to find the tower," Deathstroke said. "I must have Joseph land first, or I'll kill them all."
Shiller caught up with him but didn't stop him; instead, he walked quickly by his side and said, "Don't you want to be a better father?"
Deathstroke slowed his pace and turned to look at him. When he wore his helmet, it was hard to see his expression. He was even more expressionless than Batman because Batman at least had a mouth and two eyes visible. Deathstroke, with his all-encompassing helmet, had only one eye visible; it would be strange to discern emotions. But when he removed his helmet, his expressions were richer. He raised an eyebrow and said, "What?"
Shiller smiled at him and said, "Does your son really need you to rescue him?"
"What nonsense are you talking about?" Deathstroke said. "The fight is about to break out on the ground, and he's trapped several miles up and can't get down. If I, as a father, don't save him, what should he do?!"
"Let's make a bet," Shiller said. "From now on, the first plane to successfully land will definitely be the Boeing 787 that Joseph is on. Want to bet?"
Deathstroke widened his eyes slightly, scrutinizing Shiller, unsure where his confidence came from. Again, the Boeing 787 is a wide-body aircraft with plenty of fuel, which isn't advantageous in this situation.
International flights from America, although backed by a major power, would prioritize appeasing domestic passengers if Egypt were dragged into a war spiral. Moreover, if America had absolute control here, the Red Sea wouldn't be in such chaos.
The wide-body international flight Joseph was on might, due to the significant number of passengers and their stature, ultimately receive a landing spot, but it doesn't seem it would be the first to land.
"Alright," Deathstroke agreed, then said, "Let's go to the airport first. If it still doesn't land, I'll threaten the tower."
As it was, Hurgada Airport was already in chaos, with ticket holders unable to depart, therefore stranded tourists; relatives of passengers circling in the air; airline crew, military, and police. They either crowded the hall or gathered at the security checkpoint. Shiller and Deathstroke easily blended into the crowd.
Of course, just staying outside wouldn't allow them to judge the flight situation. Fortunately, the chaos now meant airport staff were overwhelmed. They effortlessly reached the boarding gate area. Upstairs, there was a terrace that allowed simultaneous views of the control tower and the runway.
Deathstroke surveyed the scenery and then said, "The person who designed this building is truly a genius. It's as if not placing a sniper here would be a disservice to his ingenious design."
Shiller just looked toward the direction of the control center. Deathstroke followed his gaze. It was a bit too far, so nothing was clear to the naked eye. But he believed Shiller might have seen things beyond ordinary comprehension.
Deathstroke's Adam's apple moved slightly. He felt a bit tense, like the nervousness of approaching one's hometown. So, he leaned against the railing of the rooftop and asked, "Why make this bet?"
"Are you asking me to tell you about the origins of gambling?"
"I mean, why do you think that his plane would be the first to land? There's no evidence for that, right?"
"It only seems that way to you." Shiller turned to him and said, "Even though you've already branded me as a liar in your mind, I still have to tell you: you might not understand your son as well as you think."
"That's my son," Deathstroke said somewhat helplessly, "I've been with him for over a decade, not every day, but you haven't even met him, and you claim I don't know him?"
"It's not about him; it's about me," Shiller said, "Do you guess how I can make moves under the Justice League's nose while Batman is missing and they don't dare to pursue me?"
Deathstroke was completely stunned. The information was overwhelming: first, he didn't know Batman was missing; second, he didn't know the Justice League knew Shiller was behind it; lastly, he couldn't understand why the Justice League didn't launch a strong action against Shiller.
"Because Batman warned them," Shiller said, "Once you spot me, pretend you don't see anything, and then find another me to deal with it. This is the perfect solution to all the trouble I cause. So far, only Batman has figured it out."
"Sounds like some ghost story," Deathstroke said, "Why did Batman disappear? It can't be related to you, can it?"
"See, you're more concerned about Batman than Joseph."
Deathstroke slammed the railing hard, "I am not! You changed the topic first!… Fine, let's talk about Joseph instead."
"Then let's pick up from our last topic," Shiller said, "Many congenital defects can be corrected through postnatal education. That's what I meant by three wars. Obviously, there were issues in the first two, which led to your congenital defects not being fully compensated…"
"What three wars, aren't those just things you made up?"
"That's just an integration of some theories from psychoanalysis and theology for you to understand," Shiller said very patiently, "Otherwise, if I just said you lost without reason, would you believe it?"
Deathstroke pressed his lips together, unwilling to argue this point further with Shiller. So he asked, "So does this relate to how I don't understand Joseph?"
"Of course. Because you're merely playing the role of a good father. I don't deny you love him—among all humans, your emotional investment in him is the highest. But even everything you have to give isn't enough. Moreover, the way you express it has significant problems."
"Then tell me what's wrong."
"I said, you're just acting as a good father. You've constructed this role by integrating your imagination with the general perception. In your imagination, you strive to be different from your father, so you conceal your real profession to avoid bringing those conflicts home. This is understandable."
"As for the general perception of a good father, perhaps you had some references, maybe other male relatives or neighbors. But overall, he should be a carefree, easy-going, slightly macho type who loves outdoor activities like a Boy Scout leader. He enjoys fixing cars or playing ball with kids, plays the host at family gatherings, and always supports his wife and kids."
The more Shiller said, the wider Deathstroke's eyes opened. He was about to say something but remembered Shiller had previously told him there was no need to respond to these words; just understanding in his heart would suffice.
Actually, Shiller was right again. During Deathstroke's childhood, there was indeed such a person, their family neighbor. They were a very perfect American family: the dad was an engineer, the mom a housewife, with two sons and a daughter. The dad perfectly fit all the traits Shiller described.
He was also compassionate, helping Deathstroke's family after his father passed away and inviting them to family gatherings. He spoke confidently at gatherings and commanded the respect and obedience of those around him, leaving a deep impression on Deathstroke.
But their contact was short, and it was so long ago that he hardly remembered that person. It was Shiller's precise description and the fact that Deathstroke had only encountered one such person that brought him to mind.
"You mean I'm imitating Mr. Sanders?"
"Of course, you might not have realized it yourself. And it didn't start just when you became a father—do you really like football?"