Zayed's fingers impatiently tapped the tabletop, a layer of gloom already shadowed those shrewd eyes.
"Mr. Song, I hope your 'restroom' trip didn't encounter any trouble?"
His tone carried obvious displeasure and probing.
"In our line of work, suddenly leaving usually ans... unnecessary attention."
Song Heping took a sip of the slightly cooled coffee, his tone calm and steady: "Just a minor incident, it's resolved. Mr. Zayed, we don't need to waste ti on such trivial matters. Let's get back to the main topic—your proposed 15% commission plus a 5% 'special operation fee', that's too high."
Zayed leaned back, spread his hands, with a "that's the market rate" expression.
"High? My friend, you have no idea how many hoops we need to jump through to safely deliver a drop of Persian crude oil to the buyer! Customs, coast guard, naval patrols... every checkpoint costs money! Not to ntion we have to rent specially modified tankers, arrange for 'ghost ships' on the high seas to receive, and design complex navigation routes to avoid Arican satellites and reconnaissance planes! This 5% operation fee, every cent will be spent wisely, ensuring that your one hundred million dollar cargo safely turns into cash. 20% total cost, for such high-risk, high-difficulty business, is very reasonable."
"Reasonable?"
Song Heping let out a cold laugh, with a hint of disdain in his gaze.
"Mr. Zayed, I acknowledge the risks, but also understand that what I'm providing isn't a ship of goods of dubious origin, but goods with complete docuntation, top quality, and ready for extraction! This in itself reduces your risk and initial investnt. A 15% commission is already top-tier in the industry, and the additional 5%? Pardon my bluntness, but that seems like taking advantage of the situation. I'm not a fool to be easily exploited."
"Oh?"
Zayed raised an eyebrow, the rchant-like smile faded a bit, revealing the calculating face beneath.
"Mr. Song, you seem very confident in your cargo. But you need to understand, now it's you who urgently needs to cash out the goods, not , Zayed, begging you for business. In the entire Goa, even along the Western Indian Ocean coast, those capable and willing to take on your hot potato can be counted on one hand. And I am the fastest, most reliable choice among them. Without , your pile of docunts is re waste paper. 20%, not a cent less. That is the final offer."
The atmosphere instantly beca tense.
Zayed seed committed to his stance.
In this field, holding the resources ans holding the power to speak.
Zayed had seen that Song Heping was eager to sell this batch of crude oil.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have approached him through friends.
Normally, he indeed only took a 15% commission, but this ti was different. Since the other party was eager to sell, he might as well take a hefty cut.
Song Heping remained silent, his fingers unconsciously stroking the rim of the coffee cup.
He knew Zayed was partially truthful, the channels were indeed in his control.
But a 20% cut ant that two million dollars would vanish into thin air from the high-risk oil he obtained!
This exceeded his psychological limit and seriously squeezed the funding space for subsequent actions.
This greedy Indian clearly realized he seemingly had no other choice, wanting to take a big bite out of him.
"If that's the price, then I'm afraid I'll need to reassess the necessity of this deal."
Song Heping said slowly, his tone firm, "Perhaps I should visit those other 'fingers' you ntioned earlier."
At this, a flash of barely perceptible annoyance crossed Zayed's face, but he quickly resud his slick deanor, scoffing: "Be my guest, Mr. Song. However, I must remind you, ti waits for no one. I've done so research on your background, haha, don't think I'm a clueless hick from Goa, unaware of your precarious situation... The Persian situation, the Arican patience, and those who are waiting for their al back ho... they can't afford you to go one by one and negotiate. Moreover..."
He paused aningfully, "The terms offered by others may not be more favorable, their appetites could be bigger than mine."
He glanced at the gold watch on his wrist, stood up, and adjusted his flashy shirt.
"It seems we can't reach an agreent tonight. I'll give you so ti to consider, Mr. Song. Think about it, and contact if you're willing to accept my terms. Rember, my patience, like my offer, is limited."
With that, Zayed gave Song Heping no further opportunity to speak, turned around, and soon vanished into the bustling nightti crowd on the street.
Song Heping sat alone, his face dark as he watched the direction in which the other had disappeared.
The salty and fishy sea breeze blowing from outside now slled sowhat nauseating.
The negotiation had reached a deadlock, a situation he was most loath to see.
Zayed's greed and assertiveness exceeded his expectations.
He sat in the café for another ten minutes, ensuring no one took further notice of him and Zayed had indeed left far, before getting up to settle the bill and leave.
He quickly walked to the secluded spot where he had parked, opened the car door, sat in the driver's seat, but did not start the car imdiately.
His gaze fell on the underside of the passenger seat—where lay the cheap phone and folding knife taken from the tailing agent.
He had to determine the tailing agent's origin.
This directly concerned his safety, if it was a CIA informant, it ant he wasn't safe in the White Elephant Country either, and he must withdraw imdiately.
So, he started the SUV and slowly drove away from the waterfront area.
He didn't head toward the city hotel as planned, but drove along the coastal road toward more remote, dimly lit outskirts.
The view outside the car window gradually shifted from bustling resort areas to dense coconut groves, scattered villages, and expanses of undeveloped, pitch-black land.
After driving for about half an hour, he found a dirt road leading to an abandoned fishing harbor.
This place had clearly been long abandoned, with dilapidated wooden docks half-subrged in seawater, the air rife with the stench of fish and the odor of decaying vegetation, accompanied only by moonlight and the sound of waves.
The perfect place.
Song Heping stopped the car, turned off the engine, and extinguished the lights.
He picked up the folding knife and a bottle of mineral water bought at the airport, got out of the car, and walked around to the back.
The trunk opened, and the man wearing a baseball cap was still unconscious, breathing heavily.
Without a mont's hesitation, Song Heping grabbed the man's collar and violently dragged him out of the trunk, throwing him onto the gravel-covered ground.
Cold mineral water was abruptly poured onto the man's face, and the stalker shivered, coughing violently, and opened his eyes in terror.
His blurred vision gradually focused, seeing first the expressionless face of Song Heping under the moonlight, and the folding knife in his hand glinting coldly in the dim light.
"Ah! You... What do you want?!"
He struggled, trying to sit up, but found his fingers were tightly bound by shoelaces. He couldn't muster any strength, only able to futilely writhe like a fish out of water.
Song Heping crouched down, the tip of the folding knife nearly touching the man's eyeball, his voice as cold as ice: "Now, I ask, you answer. Say one unnecessary word, or if I think you're lying, I'll take sothing from you. Starting with the eyes. Nod if you understand."
A huge fear instantly gripped the stalker, and he could clearly feel the deathly chill emanating from the knife tip.
He nodded frantically, making a rattling sound in his throat, cold sweat soaking through his Polo shirt.
"Who sent you?" Song Heping's first question went straight to the heart.
"C...CIA?"
The stalker blurted out instinctively, seemingly wanting to use this na to frighten his opponent, but his voice trembled without any persuasiveness.
Song Heping's eyes turned sharp; he could see from the man's flickering gaze that this guy was lying!
It's definitely not the CIA!
For a top special soldier trained in interrogation, an untrained guy dared to lie right to his face.
It's like performing a sword dance in front of Guan Gong.
"Seems you haven't told the truth."
Song Heping smiled, pushing the knife tip slightly forward.
"Ah! No! No! I'll tell! I'll tell!"
Feeling the stinging pain on his eyelid, the stalker completely broke down.
"It's not the CIA! It's not! It's...it's Mr. Narendra! Mr. Narendra sent !"
Narendra?
Who is that?
Song Heping's brow furrowed tightly.
This na was completely unfamiliar, not within his intelligence scope.
Not the CIA, nor any international intelligence agency he had expected?
"Who is he? Why is he stalking ?"
"No, he's not stalking you!" the stalker said, trembling. "He's stalking Zayed! Not you!"
"Who is Narendra? Why does he want to monitor Zayed?"
Song Heping didn't move the knife tip away, continuing to press for answers.
"Narendra...he's...he's another 'big businessman' from Goa..." The stalker was incoherent out of fear but tried to organize his words under the threat of the knife tip. "He and Zayed...are mortal enemies! They've been snatching business from each other...ports, shipping, and...and the kind of 'goods' you're discussing...Mr. Narendra wants to know who Zayed has been eting with recently, any new movents...he made follow Zayed, record whom he ets, where he ets...it's been several days..."
So that's it!
Song Heping instantly understood.
A comrcial competition in the underground world, the plot of black against black.
"Gather behavioral patterns? What's the purpose?"
Song Heping pressed further; he needed to confirm the worst-case scenario.
The stalker's eyes flickered, as if he dared not speak.
Without hesitation, Song Heping's knife tip slashed downward, easily cutting open the man's shirt on his chest, leaving a shallow blood mark on his skin.
"Ah!! I'll tell! I'll tell!"
The intense pain and threat of death completely destroyed the stalker's psychological defense. "Mr. Narendra...he...he's been waiting for this opportunity for a long ti! He doesn't want to compete with Zayed anymore...he...he wants Zayed dead! Making follow him is just to figure out his habits, then arrange for a killer...look for a chance to strike!"
Indeed, it's for assassination!
Song Heping's heart sank.
He accidentally got involved in the life-and-death struggle between two Indian smuggling bosses.
If Zayed gets eliminated, the hard-won channel he found will be severed!
This thought lingered in his mind for less than ten seconds, followed by a bold idea flashing through Song Heping's mind like lightning.
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