Song Heping had thought that after returning from Mosul, he would be able to take a break, but he hadn't expected to be hustling for his life so soon again.
Late at night, Song Heping made a phone call to Old Demon.
Old Demon had already returned to China.
The timber business was running smoothly without any trouble under Song Heping's watchful eye, with Yousuf arranging everything perfectly.
Old Demon had wanted to treat Song Heping to a al before leaving, but to his surprise, Song Heping was no longer in Baghdad.
At that mont, Old Demon suddenly realized that although only a few months had passed, Song Heping had changed, embarking on a path completely different from his own.
The two chatted idly on the phone for over ten minutes, when Old Demon suddenly asked Song Heping, "When will you co back to China?"
"I rember you seem to have not returned to China in almost two years, right?"
"I had wanted to go back, but now I've taken on another job and am too busy to leave," Song Heping said.
Song Heping was telling the truth.
Who doesn't want to take a break?
It's said that wealth without a return to one's hotown is like a brocade gown worn at night.
But think about the line of work he was in now; he had no choice but to move like a shadow in the night.
"Is being a rcenary that good a business?" Old Demon joked. "It makes want to join you."
Song Heping said, "Trading life for money is not sothing everyone can handle, and besides, aren't you doing well now, Old Demon? Once all of Yousuf's timber is sold, you'll make a lot. Better take the money and do so honest business. My line of work truly has you living in constant fear."
"I actually think you enjoy it," Old Demon said. "Heping, you might not realize it, but the last ti I saw you in Baghdad, you seed more relaxed than when we were doing business together."
He sighed and continued, "Back when we sold general goods together, you weren't that happy."
Song Heping was slightly taken aback at his words.
Was he really what Old Demon described?
Did he truly take pleasure in it?
It's often said, "The gaster is always at the gaming table."
Usually, the emotions one displays are clearest to an outsider.
He couldn't help but give a bitter smile.
Perhaps Old Demon wasn't wrong. Each ti he entered the battlefield, he would enter a strange state of excitent, and even after leaving combat, he would still savor in his heart those monts of frantic dopamine and hormone secretion.
Like an addict who could never rid himself of his cravings.
He suddenly felt terrified of himself.
Rembering how many people had said he was born for war, he actually felt a chill.
"Maybe I'm happy because I made a lot of money," Song Heping quickly covered up, "Just think about when we used to buy goods in the Green Zone; we worried every day about how to attract business, scrimped and saved but hardly put away a penny. Could that make anyone happy?"
Old Demon was tactful enough not to continue the subject. He laughed it off on the phone, chatted for a few more sentences, and then hung up.
The next morning, Avanti's call ca through.
"The information you gave yesterday, you confird it was correct?"
His tone was grave, and Song Heping slled sothing unusual.
"Is there a problem?"
Song Heping felt doubtful.
That was intelligence from the deputy commander of the US Army stationed in Iraq.
How could there be a problem?
The Arican intelligence agencies are said to be the strongest in the world of espionage.
"Based on the intelligence I've obtained, Adrian seems to have so connections with the CIA," Avanti said, "and if the person you're supposed to kill in this mission includes him, and he's even the first on the list, then that's rather strange."
"CIA?"
Song Heping felt a headache coming on again.
He didn't like getting entangled with that departnt.
It reminded him of Thomas and Simon, those sons of bitches.
"Avanti, is your information accurate?"
"Are you questioning my intelligence network?" Avanti said, "They are old rivals of mine. You might say I'm not as precise about other countries' intelligence, but when it cos to anything related to the CIA, we handle it with utmost caution."
"We need to et."
Song Heping felt it wasn't appropriate to talk for long on the phone.
He must make a personal trip to Persia.
Firstly, to verify the intelligence and secondly, to scout the Salhad Plateau himself and see what the situation was really like.
According to the agreent with Peter, he had five days left. After that, he would fly to Afghanistan, where he would et Han Fei and spend seven days thoroughly simulating Han Fei's identity.
Once all that was done, he would join a mber of the US Special Forces to et in the Golden Crescent with the Revolutionary Brigade and Adrian to complete the trade.
"Okay, tonight, at the usual place. You co alone. I'll send a plane to pick you up."
"No problem."
The two confird the ti for the eting.
After a hurried breakfast, Song Heping called Peter to let him know he needed to inspect the business at the oil fields and that he might be gone for a few days. He assured Peter he would be back on ti in five days.
Peter didn't object; instead, he reminded Song Heping that once the trade started, it wouldn't stop, and warned him not to delay it.
After ending the call, Song Heping went to find his cook.
"I need to go out."
"Where to?"
"To the oil fields."
"Let's go together." The cook obviously guessed that there was more to Song Heping's trip than just inspecting business at the oil fields. He suspected Song Heping had new findings from his exchange of information with Avanti the night before.
Now, the oil fields had beco Song Heping's "Magic Door." Whenever he needed to travel to Persia, he would say he was heading to the oil fields. After reaching the oil fields, he would disappear in the night, and the next day the cook would cover for him, claiming Song Heping had left to deal with other matters.
In this way, the local rcenaries at the oil fields thought Song Heping was in Baghdad or so other city, while people in the Baghdad Green Zone thought he was inspecting business at the oil fields.
It wasn't that Song Heping was being overly cautious. The relationship with the Persians was extrely sensitive. Should the Aricans learn about it, people like Thomas and Simon, who saw him as a thorn in their side, would certainly make a big issue of it.
Especially the previous batch of gold had been a significant affair. If word got out, it could spell disaster for the entire "Musician" Defense Company.
At present, the oil field defense was the most stable inco for the "Musician" team, with no other business coming close.
Deals like the gold one relied not only on strength but also on luck—such an opportunity might only co once in a lifeti.
Right now, the company's most pressing need was to expand its workforce and add a fleet of vehicles.
According to the piece of transportation business Peter allocated, the "Musician" Defense Company must establish a professional transportation company with at least 100 trucks. Each truck would need dedicated escort staff, with an estimated shortfall of 300-500 personnel.
By these calculations, if the "Musician" Defense Company were to successfully secure a transportation contract with the US Army, it would an that the company had firmly established itself and secured a stable footing in Illiguo.
From then on, even if they couldn't compare with century-old strategic resource corporations like AAFES, at the very least, they could enter the top ten defense company rankings within the Baghdad Green Zone.
For a small company to grow into a large one often requires opportunity.
A small company will hit a plateau at a certain stage. Without a chance for the company to take off, no matter how hard the boss works, the company can't make a qualitative leap.
This made Song Heping think of the words once said to him by the fortune teller from his village.
As an atheist who was born and raised under the banner of New China, he shouldn't believe in these feudal superstitions. Yet, it was undeniable that ever since he beca involved in the PMC industry after that delivery ambush, Song Heping's luck had flooded out uncontrollably.
Maybe...
He was truly ant for this line of work.
While others were missing gold, wood, water, fire, or earth in their elents, Song Heping's fate seed to lack only killing.
The greater the danger, the bigger the opportunity.
Like this mission—no matter how dangerous it was, no matter how many conspiracies lay behind it, he had to take it.
Without it, the "Musician" Defense Company might forever remain modestly wealthy without achieving anything remarkable.
The water supply station had been a test, but this mission was a declaration.
Eating porridge, eating rice—all depended on this one ti.
That night at ten, an off-road vehicle arrived at the familiar spot in the Northern Desert of Illiguo. It drove behind a dune and hid.
Song Heping got out of the car, pulled off the camouflage cloth, and walked to an open place, looking up at the northern sky.
Less than ten minutes later, the sound of a Bell helicopter's rotors was heard from afar.
The Persian Bell helicopters were older than Song Heping himself, and it's a wonder they dared to keep using them, years on end, through whatever ans they managed to obtain spare parts.
Every ti he boarded a Bell helicopter, Song Heping was genuinely worried that the thing might suddenly fall apart and plumt from the sky.
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