Two days later, Persian Plateau, inside the cave at the secret camp.
The air was filled with the sll of old carpets, dust, and a faint scent of gun oil.
Hunter, covered in dust, pushed the door open and casually threw his heavy tactical backpack into the corner, making a dull "thud" sound.
"Boss!"
After scanning the room, his gaze landed on Song Heping, who was sitting by the table, deep in thought in front of a laptop screen.
"I'm back."
Hunter's voice was slightly hoarse. He walked over to the mini-fridge, took out a bottle of ice water, opened the cap, and gulped down more than half of it.
Song Heping looked up: "You're back? Was it smooth? How about the Violinist and Drumr?"
"Target eliminated, convoy in chaos, three shots, confird target vehicle turned into a fireball, Narendra is dead."
Hunter reported concisely, as if talking about sothing trivial.
Wiping the water off his mouth, he said, "The 'Violinist' and the 'Drumr' dispersed according to the plan, they should be on different routes back to the Middle East by now."
Song Heping nodded, never doubting Hunter's abilities.
The power of the Anzio beast was enough to terrify anyone who thought they were safe within a steel fortress.
"Could you get soone to bring so food, Boss?" Hunter rubbed his stomach, his face full of hunger: "At the White Elephant, almost a week without anything decent to eat."
"I gave you enough budget, why skimp on food?" Song Heping teased.
Hunter shook his head: "I don't dare eat randomly, eating carelessly there will land you in the hospital, can only eat KFC."
Song Heping couldn't help but laugh heartily.
Hunter was as cautious as himself.
Previously, he had been the sa at the White Elephant.
He got up and walked to the cave entrance, called a guard, and asked him to get so food from the kitchen.
Then he returned to the cave, pointed at the chair opposite him: "Sit down."
Hunter sat down, relaxed his body, stretched lazily, and asked, "How's the company recently? I've been away for a week, nothing special happened in Africa, right?"
"No problem."
Song Heping pointed at the computer: "Ferrari sent a report last night, our company is currently developing well, business is stable. Recently, international mineral prices have risen by fifteen percent, and the company's expected profits are quite substantial. In Congo, a small warlord caused so trouble at the border again and was pushed back by our people in cooperation with the governnt army."
"Well done!" Hunter comnted.
"It's good. The trouble is elsewhere."
Song Heping switched the screen, bringing up a map of North Africa, and pointed at Libya's position.
"Haftar's offensive has slowed down; he's in a standoff with so Western-supported Ard Organizations around Surt. But now he doesn't want to fight; he wants to unite Misrata, Zintan, and so tribal ard forces in the Western Mountains through political ans and plan a coalition governnt."
"Sounds like dividing the cake." Hunter scoffed, "Those tribal ard forces willing to listen quietly? Guns and n at hand, who'd spit out the at already in their mouths?"
"That's why the negotiations are tough."
Song Heping sneered: "So tribes, especially in the southern Fezan Region, rely on oil fields and smuggling routes, plus Western support, and are tough, the war has never stopped. Haftar temporarily can't deal with them, his main force has to keep an eye on Tripoli."
"Our people haven't gotten involved, right?" Hunter asked with concern. The murky waters of Libya were unfathomable.
"No." Song Heping replied confidently, "I had already ordered strictly to guard the few oil field interests we've acquired; those were obtained with our lives. For the rest, let them fight among themselves. In Libya, there's no justice, only interests. Whoever benefits us, we temporarily cooperate with, but we absolutely won't easily get involved in their fights. That's the Libyans' own civil war, it's their blood."
Hunter nodded in deep agreent.
rcenaries were knives, but shouldn't be wielded freely by others, especially for vague justifications or promises destined to be betrayed.
Just then, an encrypted satellite phone on Song Heping's desk vibrated with its unique buzzing sound.
Song Heping glanced at the incoming call display, gestured for Hunter to be silent, and pressed the answer button.
"Mr. Zayed."
Song Heping's voice was as calm as well water.
From the other end of the phone ca Zayed's uncontrollable excitent, so agitated that it distorted: "Song! My friend! My brother! It's done! So perfect! I've got confird news, that damn fat pig Narendra and his luxury convoy turned into a blazing heap of scrap on Goa's overpass! Well done! Unparalleled!"
"Good that the news is confird."
Song Heping's tone remained flat, as if just hearing a weather report predicting rain today.
"Confird! One hundred percent confird!"
Zayed almost roared, "Now it's chaos here, his few useless sons and subordinates are fighting tooth and nail over who takes over! Hahahahaha! Without that old fox in control, these idiots are no match for ! Who else but Zayed can take the top seat of the White Elephant Country's underground oil smuggling network?!"
"Congratulations." Song Heping said blandly, "So, Mr. Zayed, don't forget your promise."
"Of course! Of course!" Zayed imdiately assured, in a flattering tone, "One million barrels of Persian crude oil! I'm arranging the best channels, the most reliable ships! Give a month, no, three weeks! Everything will be arranged within three weeks, safely out of the Persian Gulf! I, Zayed, assure by my honor!"
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