"They say no one in the world understands the desert better than you Bedouins, it seems that this saying is true."
After Song Heping followed Nura's caravan out of the Alish Desert, they arrived at a small village near Tina Bay in the diterranean.
The village was very remote, being several dozen kiloters from the Suez Canal Zone. The bustling towns were concentrated near the canal, leaving this place a forgotten corner.
Egypt hadn't invested much in infrastructure here, probably due to the shadow left by that war.
In that war, the Daishe Bird's military invaded the Sinai Peninsula in one fell swoop, the Egyptian Army was defeated and retreated to their holand in North Africa. Although they regained the Sinai Peninsula through an agreent, the region remained a sore point. Apart from building military facilities to strengthen defenses, there was almost no attention to civilian infrastructure here.
"Sister Nura!"
As soon as they reached the village entrance, a little girl of about six or seven saw the caravan and quickly ran over.
Nura jumped off the cal, opened her arms to hug the girl, and kept patting her back while kissing her face several tis.
"Is that her daughter?"
Jiang Feng whispered, "The beautiful woman is married."
Song Heping noticed the aningful smile on his friend's face and realized that Jiang Feng was implying more than he was saying, but held back a reply.
So things, no matter how you answer, will lead you into a trap.
"We will rest here, resupply, and wait for about three days for a boat to take us to North Africa. You can rest here, but don't think about escaping; everyone here is my people."
After speaking, Nura carried the little girl and walked into the village.
The salty sea breeze wrapped in the fragrance of roasted bread, as Song Heping unwrapped the scarf from his face, his fingers touched tiny grains of salt.
The wooden piles at the fishing village dock were entwined with faded nylon ropes. A dozen drodary cals were kneeling on the sand, chewing on bean cakes, their lashes coated in the golden-red glow of the setting sun.
Twenty minutes later, while Song Heping was resting in a tent in the village, Nura ca in.
Nura handed over the satellite phone, her bronze bracelet clinking dully in the twilight.
"Didn't you say you needed to contact your people? Here you go." Her dark brown pupils reflected the flickering firelight. "Rember to use the encrypted channel."
Song Heping's dialing fingers trembled slightly in the sea breeze.
He had lost contact with the outside world for nearly ten days.
"Song! You finally called!"
Ferrari's voice mingled with the sound of subway announcents in Moscow.
"We were all worried about you! Where are you now?"
"In the Sinai Peninsula, currently safe. I plan to establish my base here once I reach Africa."
"A base?"
"Yes, then we can have the brothers co over. Staying in Russia all the ti isn't going to work." Song Heping said, "It's better to start our own venture rather than living under others' roofs."
"That's great! I've been feeling the sa way. The atmosphere here..." Ferrari seed to have a hidden concern, "It's too complicated."
"Once I settle in, I'll have you co over, but before that, you'll need to arrange our funds well, as we might need to use so money then."
Song Heping suddenly thought of sothing.
"How much money do I have available now?"
"Two and a half billion US dollars."
Ferrari reported an astronomical figure.
"Actually, if it wasn't for donating so of it to those military guys, the available funds would exceed four billion."
"Money is never enough." Song Heping said, "The money given to them all cos from xico?"
"Yes, all of it is dirty money from there." Ferrari had a smug satisfaction, "I think the CIA is close to finding out, once they do, it will be a huge shock."
"Be generous. If they still dare to ask, give it to them." Song Heping said, "The more people we rope into it, especially from the military, the more beneficial it is for us."
"Rest assured..."
Ferrari began calculating.
"Just a month before you were listed as a KB elent, I was still remitting money to their relatives. For example, the Vice Director of the Pentagon's Equipnt Procurent Bureau's son registered a sailing club in the Cayman Islands, planning to hold a competition, we sponsored them three hundred thousand US dollars through an overseas company..."
"And according to our remittance records in xico, various companies and charitable funds set up by Peter and the high-ranking officers of the US Army in Iraq received twelve paynts from us over the past six months... oh, wait, it's thirteen, one was an anonymous transfer through a company in Houston..."
"Well done. Transfer the money to Z East, it's easier to utilize it when needed. I'm good at warfare, you're good at money laundering, this task is yours."
Suddenly, a long horn sounded from the east side of the fishing village.
Song Heping turned to see six Bedouin n carrying a whole roasted lamb towards the central tent, the silver chains wrapped around the lamb's horns clinking in the firelight.
Children chased each other, waving date palm branches, and an old woman wearing an amber necklace was peering at him.
Unconsciously, Song Heping's thumb rubbed the non-slip grip of the satellite phone.
The scent of mint tea mixed with the spicy tang of burning resin wafted from the tent. He suddenly noticed that those seemingly casually seated at the campfire were actually forming a perfect defensive formation — won holding babies just happened to block all shooting angles.
Nura stood by the fire, waving at him, "Song, co over for dinner."
On the other end of the phone, Ferrari continued.
"Oh, and one more thing. The best part is..." Ferrari lowered his voice, "The CIA audit departnt pulled the Alumni Foundation accounts of West Point University yesterday, but they'll never find out that the funds we transferred through Cyprus have partly entered their alumni foundation..."
"Hahaha! That's brilliant!"
...
While Song Heping was having his transcontinental conversation with Ferrari, eight thousand kiloters away in Langley, Deputy Director Pence was hurling his mug at the LCD screen.
Brown coffee stains spread across the financial statents of the "Brighter Future Children's Foundation," staining a certain Pentagon major general's na into a hideous blot.
"These maggots!" He tore off his dark blue tie, glaring at the blockchain transaction diagram just restored by the data team.
The flickering nodes in the dark conference room resembled a blood-stained pearl necklace — Song Heping's drug proceeds from the Sinoloa cartel in xico were directly remitted to a shell company in Delaware, and eventually to a private school account in the Virginia mansions area, under the na of the son of the major general who once studied there.
The head of economic cri analysis, Erin, standing in front of the desk, swiped her tablet, "Ironically, three of these donations were used to buy bulletproof school buses."
She pulled up a photo showing blond, blue-eyed schoolchildren waving in front of a yellow bus with the foundation's logo.
"And the arms dealer who manufactures these buses just secured an armored vehicle contract with the Marine Corps last week... all these form a hidden chain of interests. SIR, if we dig deeper, I suspect..."
The supervisor fell silent, hesitating.
Pence grabbed a laser pointer, the red dot trembling over a certain encrypted wallet address.
"The funds marked as 'Musician's Gift' flow to..."
He suddenly froze, the red dot pointing directly at the account of his alma mater, the West Point Military Academy alumni association.
Thousands of kiloters away, Song Heping stepped out of the tent, quietly approaching the wooden fra where fishing nets were drying.
In the salty, wet night breeze, he heard Ferrari's final advice, "Snow is starting to fall in Moscow. Prepare iron hoof nails for your cal. We await your orders. Rember, your brothers will always follow you."
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