Two hours later, seeing the dates scattered all over the dock, Major Dobin felt his blood surge, his body burning up, like a balloon pushed to the brink, ready to explode at any mont.
He pushed through the soldiers sweating profusely from rummaging through the dates and charged to the front of the container, furiously kicking at piles of dates as if he was trying to kick out the hidden SA-9 missile system beneath them.
"Impossible! How can they all be dates?!"
He checked one container after another until he finally had to face reality—there were no SA-9 missiles, just dates.
"Major, I told you I am a legitimate businessman. You've dumped out all my goods, greatly affecting my sales. I reserve the right to complain about you to your superiors!"
"Damn it!"
Enraged, Major Dobin stord up to Song Heping and pulled out his pistol, pressing it against Song Heping's forehead.
"You think you have any rights here?! I am the law!"
Song Heping smiled and said, "If you shoot, it will cause you big trouble, Major. Don't believe ? Try it."
Dobin cocked his pistol, his finger resting on the trigger.
Anxious at the sight, a Captain rushed over to intervene, "Major, he's from China..."
Dobin turned to look at his subordinate.
The Captain whispered a warning, "It'll really cause trouble..."
Dobin gritted his molars, his facial muscles twitching violently, then he waved his hand dismissively, holstering his gun, and barked, "Assemble the team, we're pulling out!"
The soldiers released Song Heping.
Song Heping stood up and insisted, "Major, there's ten thousand US dollars in your pocket for you."
Dobin paused, taken aback.
He really didn't want to return it.
If this got out of hand, he probably couldn't clean it up himself.
The intelligence was clearly wrong.
He would have to report back to his superiors. If it ca out that he'd pocketed soone else's money, he would indeed be in an awkward position.
Eventually, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the ten thousand US dollars, and threw it in front of Song Heping, then snorted and turned to board the vehicle and leave.
Edmond approached Song Heping, looking at the departing military vehicle, and exhaled a long breath of relief, "Boss Song, it's been a real pleasure working with you. If there are any future orders, be sure to contact ."
Song Heping nodded, "Of course, there will be plenty of deals with your boss in the future, don't worry."
"These goods..."
Eyeing the strewn about dates, Edmond asked tentatively, "Are you sure you still want to ship them to Mali?"
Song Heping bent down to pick up a bag of dates, tore open the seal, popped one into his mouth to chew, and said, "Of course, it's part of playing the role to its fullest."
The news that the three containers were filled with dates spread quickly among the intelligence agents from various countries who had been staking out near Asab Port.
The French found themselves in the most embarrassing position.
Bar got a dressing down from his superiors, enduring a half-hour lecture via phone.
"SIR, there's more to this than ets the eye. I still maintain that the info about Song Heping and his SA-9 isn't false. Up to this point, I'm sticking to my judgent."
"Sticking to your judgent? Then let's hear your reasons!"
"A PMC company owner suddenly going into the date business—who would believe that?! Besides, when I was watching near the dock, I saw very clearly that he managed to smile with a gun to his head. Clearly, he foresaw this outco. It's quite possible soone leaked our operation."
"Bar, we need evidence for everything, not guesses! Understand? This is how we work in intelligence. You can't convince your superiors with re intuition. Even if I believe you, how do you expect to use military force against this Mr. Song?! Just arrest him, kill him, and destroy the body?"
"SIR, that actually sounds like a good idea..."
After all, Bar was a veteran agent, cold and decisive.
People like him look only at results, not the process or procedural justice.
In the world of agents, there are no rules to confine them.
"Bar, you've been with the agency for a long ti, and in a couple of years, you could retire to a second-line position at headquarters. I hope you think carefully about every word you say, don't equate speaking with blowing hot air!"
With that, the phone was sharply hung up, leaving a dial tone.
Bar held the receiver, pondered for a while, then gently placed it back on the phone.
A mont later, he picked up the receiver again and dialed an internal shortcut.
"Remondo, co to my office."
Soon, a fit special agent with a slight beard, a lean look, and sharp eyes entered Bar's office.
Bar pointed to the chair in front of him and motioned for him to sit down.
"Remondo, you've heard about this morning's events, haven't you?"
"I've heard," Remondo nodded lightly, "The Eritrean military didn't find anything."
"That's right."
Bar opened the filing cabinet, pulled out two folders, and retrieved a bottle of brandy hidden behind them; he also took out two glasses, placing one in front of himself and the other in front of Remondo.
Remondo had been following Bar for seven years, no short ti.
Bar had a habit—before making any significant decision, he would drink a glass of brandy and offer a glass to anyone present.
In Bar's words, alcohol was sothing that could stimulate the circulation of blood and was beneficial for thinking.
"Our current situation is very serious. Although the higher-ups are very dissatisfied with our operation and have warned against jumping at shadows, I still insist on my view that this man surnad Song cannot live."
Remondo seed to understand Bar's implication and downed the glass of brandy after taking it.
This was a hint.
It ant that he was willing to stand with Bar.
So he asked, "I understand. Are you saying you want to kill him?"
Bar picked up his glass and drained it in one gulp, then sighed, "Song Heping has a 1% chance of being innocent, but I believe there's a 99% chance he's not. Sotis, in our line of work, we don't need to be 100% certain. Even a 1% threat warrants action."
"According to the original intelligence, the SA-9 missiles were being transported to the Sahel Region to be handed over to the local ard forces there, and the ard forces there are mostly anti-governnt ard forces. I don't think I need to tell you who their target is—it's our troops not deployed in that area. Over the past two years, the military pressure in the Sahel Region has been increasing. We are under imnse pressure. The Aricans are communicating with us all day and night, saying they want to support us in counterterrorism and quelling rebellions here, but I know what's under their butt. They're simply using it as an excuse to deploy a large number of special forces here to infiltrate and control governntal institutions, gradually squeezing out our voice..."
Remondo couldn't help but nod along.
France's intelligence station in North Africa is Africa's largest.
Remondo had been the operations chief here for seven years.
He knew the Aricans' intent like the back of his hand, if not quite intimately.
When there were issues in Mali, France wanted to deploy a large force there. However, due to years of neglect in military readiness, their transportation capacity had significantly decreased, and they couldn't manage to transport 1,000 soldiers there within three days.
In the end, it was the Aricans who helped, deploying over a dozen large transport planes from their base in Germany, and that's how they resolved the ergency.
What was unexpected, though, was that alongside those transport planes also landed a unit of Green Berets and Delta, along with a service support company.
They used the presence of ard organizations in the Sahel Region and their connections to the Afghan base organizations as an excuse, and they never left...
It's easy to invite gods; it's hard to send them away.
Being friends with the Aricans is fatal.
The Gauls understood their "ally's" intentions.
With more minerals and oil being discovered in Africa over the years, it's not hard to understand why the Aricans want to dip their fingers into the geopolitical pie here.
If the situation in Mali worsens again, or the ard organizations in the Sahel Region get their hands on more advanced weapons, French forces will struggle to cope and will need to reinforce. And the Aricans will definitely take this opportunity to send more troops this way, eventually leading to the Gauls having thieves in their own backyard.
This was what Bar intended to prevent.
"SIR, just say the word, and I'll make the arrangents," Remondo gave the most definitive reply.
Bar didn't hide anything further, "I want you to send soone to kill Song Heping; he can't be allowed to make it to Mali."
Without any nonsense, Remondo agreed imdiately, "Good, I'll arrange it right away."
"Wait!"
Bar called Remondo back.
"Try not to use our own operatives. This way...we have quite a few black gloves over here. Get a hitman organization, provide them with the necessary weapons and supplies, and let them eliminate Song Heping directly. You'll be in charge of monitoring the operation, and after it's done..."
He made a throat-slitting gesture.
"Clean it thoroughly, leaving no trace."
"I know what to do," Remondo said. "I'll make sure you're satisfied."
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