At 9:50 the next morning, Song Heping drove the white Toyota Fortuner and appeared at the agreed location on ti.
This was an abandoned industrial area, with rusty factories standing amidst the overgrown weeds, desolate and uninhabited.
He followed the instructions, parking the car in front of a huge, half-collapsed workshop door.
A few minutes later, a battered pickup truck slowly drove over and stopped opposite him.
A middle-aged man with a short, stout build, dark skin, wearing a floral shirt, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, got out, staring sharply at Song Heping and his car.
The passenger seat held a muscular man, clearly a bodyguard.
"Li?"
The man in the floral shirt asked, his voice the sa as on the phone.
"Mr. Vijay?"
Song Heping got out of the car, similarly alert, observing the other party and the surrounding environnt.
Vijay nodded, without any unnecessary words, heading directly toward the back of the pickup truck.
The bodyguard also got out, standing to the side, hand casually placed at his waist, maintaining vigilance.
The back of the truck opened, revealing a few inconspicuous burlap sacks and toolboxes inside.
Vijay lifted the cover, revealing the goods inside.
"The things you wanted." Vijay patted a long canvas bag, "HK MP7A1, ninety percent new, factory original, not those Pakistani knock-offs. Cos with four 30-round magazines, original grip, and a 'Knight' brand military-grade wet silencer, very effective."
He then opened a box, revealing a black Glock 17 pistol inside.
"Glock 17, also ninety percent new, three standard magazines. And the 'cans' you wanted—"
He pointed to two green cylindrical objects, "US made M18 smoke bombs, two. And two pieces of III-grade bulletproof vests, Kevlar material, plates sold separately."
Song Heping stepped forward, silently beginning to inspect the goods.
He expertly checked the MP7's bolt, rifling, silencer's threaded interface, perford a dry-fire test on the trigger feel, quickly checked the Glock 17's condition, weighed the smoke bombs, and finally pinched the bulletproof vests' material.
Everything was professional-grade and well-maintained, this Vijay indeed had connections.
"What's the price?" Song Heping put down the MP7 and directly asked.
Vijay exhaled a smoke ring, quoting a number: "MP7 set, twenty-eight thousand US Dollars. Glock, three thousand five. Smoke bombs, a thousand each. Bulletproof vest, each two thousand five. Plates, a thousand a pair. Total thirty-eight thousand US Dollars. Cash only, old bills, non-sequential."
The price far exceeded the market rate, almost robbery.
In the black market, a second-hand MP7 usually ranges from fifteen to twenty thousand US Dollars, Glock around two thousand.
Vijay was clearly testing Song Heping's background and urgency.
Song Heping showed no expression, sneered inwardly, indeed no deal cos without trickery.
He didn't imdiately retort, but calmly said: "Mr. Vijay, I've already paid Henry's referral fee. Your quote seems to include too much 'information tax' and 'risk fee'. It's not my first ti buying these things, I know the international rates. MP7 set, eighteen thousand. Glock, two thousand. Smoke bombs, five hundred each. Vest fifteen hundred each, throw in the plates. Total twenty-four thousand five hundred US Dollars. This is a more reasonable price."
Vijay was taken aback, not expecting the other party to be so knowledgeable, bargaining so aggressively and directly.
He frowned: "My friend, this is White Elephant Country! Not Europe or Arica! Do you know how risky it is to bring these things in? This price is non-negotiable!"
"High risk, high profit." Song Heping was unyielding, "Twenty-five thousand, final offer. If it works, I'll pay now and leave. If not, I'll find soone else. I suppose Goa doesn't have just one supplier like you."
With that, he made a motion to leave.
"Wait!"
Vijay called after him, his expression fluctuating.
Although twenty-five thousand was much lower than his quote, the profit was still exceptionally high.
He carefully scrutinized Song Heping, this person didn't seem like an ordinary buyer, his calmness and aura were sowhat unfathomable.
"Cash? Need it now?"
"Need it now." Song Heping paused.
Vijay gritted his teeth, seemingly weighing his options.
Ultimately, greed and the desire to complete this fast deal prevailed: "Fine! For Henry's sake, twenty-five thousand it is! But it must be cash! Imdiate paynt!"
Song Heping took out his phone: "Give your bank account number."
"Bank account?" Vijay was montarily stunned, then shook his head, "No, I said cash only!"
"I didn't bring that much cash, too conspicuous. Bank transfer, imdiate transaction. Anonymous account, absolutely safe. You can check now. I refuse to believe you don't have an offshore account doing this business!"
Song Heping's tone was indisputable.
He had anticipated the cash demand, but preferred leaving fewer physical traces.
Vijay, skeptical but resigned, gestured for the bodyguard beside him to provide an offshore bank account number.
Song Heping dialed Henry's number imdiately, said a few words, and relayed the account number.
In less than five minutes, Vijay's phone received a ssage alert.
He looked at it, and his face instantly showed an incredulous expression, the account indeed received a sum, exactly twenty-five thousand US dollars!
When Vijay looked up at Song Heping again, his eyes were filled with shock and apprehension.
This kind of efficient, cross-border, and obviously through special channels, paynt capability, was beyond an ordinary buyer's reach.
This Asian surnad Li had a background deep beyond asure.
His attitude swiftly beca much more respectful, the greed and arrogance on his face receding: "The money…is received. Mr. Li, pleasure doing business! The goods are yours."
He personally carefully packed the weapons and ammunition, placed it in a black sports bag, and handed it to Song Heping.
Song Heping accepted the heavy sports bag, nodded, didn't say another word, turned around, got in the car, started the engine, and swiftly left the abandoned factory area.
Watching the white SUV disappear into the distance, Vijay wiped the sweat from his forehead, saying to the bodyguard beside him: "Damn it, what's this guy's background? A transfer so quick...from now on, we should be more careful with his business."
Equipped with his supplies, Song Heping returned to a safe house, ticulously inspected and maintained the newly bought weapons, then disassembled the MP7 and hid it in a customized guitar case, while carrying the Glock and spare magazines with him.
The smoke bombs and bulletproof vests were placed in the car, ready for any situation.
In the afternoon, he drove out again, arriving once more in the area where Zayed frequently operated.
He changed into a different hat, wore non-prescription glasses, slightly altering his appearance, using the busy traffic and tourist crowds of Goa as cover, and began following Zayed.
He knew for sure that Narendra's assassins would make a move.
The lookout he had let go of, in order to protect himself, would very likely conceal last night's encounter, continuing to provide Zayed's itinerary to Narendra.
Since Narendra had murderous intentions, he would not miss this chance to eliminate his old rival.
He needed patience, needed to wait like a hunter.
Waiting for Narendra's killers to appear, waiting for that critical mont most suitable for him to "step into the scene."
He tracked Zayed's vehicle—a black Toyota Land Cruiser, observing his coming and going from several offices, clubs, and restaurants, handling affairs, eting different people.
Zayed was evidently oblivious to the danger he was in, maintaining his ostentatious style.
Song Heping was in no rush; he blended into Goa's backdrop like a ghost, calmly recording Zayed's routines and possible weak points—which intersection was more congested, which stretch more secluded, which location had laxer security.
Ti passed minute by minute.
The setting sun once again dyed the sky in magnificent colors, international tourists began flocking to the beaches and restaurants as the city's nightlife was about to start.
Song Heping remained highly focused, but simultaneously, a trace of relief surfaced in his mind.
At least, from the current situation, the CIA's reach seed not to have extended here yet.
His most dreaded, state machinery's dinsional suppression had not appeared for the ti being.
This had bought him precious ti and space.
The true danger, for the mont, was confined to the local gang level, which for him, ant more room to maneuver and more control possibilities.
He glanced at the guitar case on the passenger seat, inside was the cold MP7, waiting to unleash its deep and deadly roar.
The hunt, or the rescue, was about to begin.
And he, would be the one deciding the direction of the conclusion, the hand behind the scenes.
User Comments
0 comments from readers