At the sa ti, underground eting room in the Arican Embassy, Cairo, Egypt.
This is the temporary command center of the "Dragon Hunt" task force.
After all, the target is Song Heping, and Song Heping is in Africa.
There's nothing more practical than setting up the task force's office here.
Although the basent has air conditioning and ventilation systems, the air inside is still sowhat stuffy.
Jasper tossed a stack of photos onto the conference table, the blurry figure in them was Song Heping, who left the gold mine five hours ago.
"Soone spotted traces of Song Heping in the port city of Savakin, northeast of Sudan. I estimate he is going to flee."
Jasper's voice was like sandpaper rubbing.
"Flee?" Where to?
In the conference room, the six mbers of the "Watcher" team exchanged glances.
This team, a mix of CIA special operations group and Delta Force, was specially ford to capture Song Heping.
"Why would he take such a risk?"
The team captain Morris frowned: "In Northern Darfur, he has the tacit protection of the Sudan Governnt and his own ard forces. Leaving there..."
"Because of arms." Jasper interrupted him: "We've cut off his supply chain, he needs new channels, this tactic worked."
In his words, he glanced unintentionally to the left.
Simon was sitting there.
The idea was Simon's.
At that ti, Jasper was still skeptical, wondering what Simon's motive was for providing help.
Now it seed everything was as Simon predicted.
Though Song Heping has operations worldwide, even having foundations in South Arica.
But currently, his arms source is very single, which is Illiguo.
As long as the monitoring of smuggling channels in Illiguo is intensified, Song Heping's arms smuggling routes can be cut off.
In that case, Song Heping would have to leave Africa for Persia.
Because from previous intelligence analysis, he has so connection with the Persians.
If it were , I would also consider starting from the Persians.
If he gets help from the Persians, he can establish new smuggling channels.
Of course, if he does that, even the Aricans themselves can't cut off the Persians' arms smuggling routes, because for so many years, the Persians have been using their secret channels to supply arms to pro-Arab ard forces in the Middle East.
Forcing Song Heping out of Sudan is already a great opportunity in itself.
Now, the chances of killing Song Heping are rising.
For a mont, Jasper wondered if he was being petty-minded, distrusting Simon's intentions.
Perhaps, as colleagues, Simon wasn't as nasty or resentful as he thought.
He turned to point at the Persian Gulf on the map: "Avanti is one of the few people who can provide him help."
Morris whistled: "So he's going to make a deal with the Persians? That's insane."
"Crazy but reasonable." Jasper sneered, "The Persian Revolutionary Guard will pay an exorbitant price for data on the Big Crow drone."
He looked around the room: "The President has signed the authorization for a covert operation. Find him, eliminate him, at all costs."
After the eting ended, Jasper stayed behind alone.
He dialed a secure number.
"Mr. Campbell, it's ."
His voice suddenly beca respectful: "Yes, he has already set off... No, the Watcher is just a smokescreen... Yes, Team A can proceed... The President is completely unaware... Understood, leave no survivors."
After hanging up the phone, Jasper took out a photo from the drawer— it was a surveillance capture of Song Heping in xico.
He lit the corner of the photo with a lighter, watching the fla slowly consu that young and determined face.
"You won't escape this ti, Song."
While he was alone in the conference room burning the photo, just outside the door, Simon quietly retreated, a sinister smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
Sowhere in the Red Sea.
The sunrise dyed the sea a bloody red.
Song Heping stood on the aft deck of the freighter, pretending to smoke, but actually observing the surrounding sea.
They had been sailing for four hours, still within Sudan's territorial waters, relatively safe.
"The Captain said there are 10 nautical miles left until we reach international waters."
Antonov approached, handing him a cup of coffee as thick as tar.
"That's where it gets dangerous."
Song Heping took the coffee, sipped it, nearly spat it out: "What is this?"
The coffee had a strange taste, like dicinal oil spilt on the tongue, very stimulating.
"The Captain's private stash."
Antonov grinned, "He calls it 'Tears of the Sea Monster,' able to keep you awake for 48 hours."
"I'm more worried it might send to et the sea monster directly after 48 hours."
Song Heping put the cup down.
"What about the radar? Have you asked him? Are we being watched by the coast guard or the mariti patrol?"
"No, Captain Hassan is experienced, knows which routes to take to avoid detection, and the radar screen is currently clear. But Hassan says the US Navy has recently increased patrols in the Mandela Strait, he worries that will be the most fatal spot."
"Then we take route B."
Song Heping nodded.
Plan B was to bypass the Mandela Strait, taking a longer but more covert route — sailing east to the Oman Bay, then heading north into the Persian Gulf.
This route would take four more days but could avoid the Arican patrol's main areas.
"Where's Nura?"
"In the kitchen. She's preparing a stew that's supposed to make sailors not miss ho."
Antonov made a face: "I tried a bit, now I really don't miss ho, just want to find a good doctor."
Just as Song Heping was about to respond, suddenly an alarm sounded on the ship.
Captain Hassan's gruff voice ca over the loudspeaker: "Attention everyone! 10 nautical miles off the starboard, an Arican warship! All hands on deck!"
Song Heping and Antonov quickly rushed toward the bridge.
Through the grimy window, they saw in the distance a small black dot rapidly approaching on the horizon.
"It's an Arleigh Burke-class destroyer."
Hassan said through clenched teeth around a cigar, "They just sent a signal demanding we stop for inspection."
Song Heping felt a pounding in his temples.
This was too fast, they hadn't even left Sudan's territorial waters yet.
The Aricans really don't seem to care about these African countries. They just intrude on others' territorial waters whenever they want.
He had witnessed the domineering nature of Blue Star's top navy.
"Can we outrun them?"
Hassan shook his head. "That thing can go 30 knots, we can only do 12 at best. And..." he pointed to the sky.
"They must have dispatched helicopters by now."
Sure enough, the distant sound of rotor blades whirred closer.
An SH-60 Seahawk helicopter was flying towards them.
"Suka!"
Antonov's face turned pale.
"Could it be that we've been discovered?!"
"Have we concealed everything we brought?" Song Heping asked.
"The engine room, there's a hidden compartnt under the floor, it should be safe there. But..."
Hassan hesitated, "But if they have scanners, it can penetrate 30 centiters of steel... If so, it'll be dangerous..."
Song Heping quickly thought it over.
If the weapons were found, everyone on the ship would be arrested, and if his identity was exposed...
"I'll go to the engine room." He quickly decided. "Nura, keep playing the chef, Antonov, you're a sailor."
"You're not going to hide?" Antonov asked worriedly.
"Sotis you can't hide."
Song Heping had already taken off his jacket, pulling a greasy set of coveralls from his bag and putting them on. "Anton, sotis you really have to believe in fate. If sothing does happen, maybe we're destined to die in these waters, so don't worry about it, leave it to God."
The engine room was like the antechamber to hell, intensely hot.
Song Heping squeezed between two roaring diesel engines, saring himself head to toe in oil and gri as fast as he could.
He tore his coverall's sleeve, revealing an old scar on his arm—no marine engineer who'd worked in Africa for ten years would have unblemished hands.
The helicopter sound drew nearer, followed by the clang of tal—an indication the boarding team had probably landed successfully on deck.
Song Heping took a deep breath, picked up a tool, and squeezed his body into a maintenance tunnel.
The space was so cramped he could hardly breathe, the sll of oil burning in his lungs. He forced himself to calm down, keeping his heart rate below 60 beats per minute—being overly tense could lead to sweating, and sweat would wash away his disguising oil and gri.
Heavy bootsteps and Arabic shouting ca from above.
Hassan was negotiating with the boarding US soldiers, furious yet compliant, perfectly portraying an unfairly intercepted rchant.
"All crew, assemble! Imdiately!"
An English command with an Arican accent shouted.
Footsteps approached the engine room.
Song Heping closed his eyes, imagining himself as part of the ship—just a piece of tal, a component, lifeless, no threat.
The door was flung open.
"It's hot as hell in here."
A young soldier complained after a while.
"Shut it, rookie."
A calr voice responded.
"Search every corner, especially where people could hide."
A flashlight beam swept over the crevice where Song Heping was hiding.
Song Heping held his breath, keeping his eyelids completely relaxed—when tense, people unconsciously tighten the muscles around their eyes, one of the most easily exposed details for even well-trained agents.
"Hey, there's a chanic here."
The young soldier noticed Song Heping.
The sound of steady footsteps approached.
Song Heping slowly opened his eyes, showing a bewildered expression as if suddenly awakened.
"Who are you?"
The owner of the steady voice—a Navy sergeant—shone his flashlight directly at Song Heping's face.
Song Heping replied in heavily accented Arabic English: "Muhammad Jallari... engine... working..."
He intentionally spoke haltingly, gesturing towards the engines simultaneously.
"Identification."
Song Heping shakily pulled out a crumpled Sudanese ID card from his pocket—it was one of the fake docunts Nura had prepared.
The photo looked about seventy percent like him, and when covered in oil, it was almost indistinguishable.
The sergeant scrutinized the docunt and suddenly asked, "What's the working pressure of the turbocharger?"
This was a trap question.
These scrap civilian freighters don't have turbochargers at all.
Song Heping appeared puzzled, then pointed to the roaring diesel engine: "Only this... old style... no turbo..."
The sergeant stared intently at Song Heping.
But it was really hot in here.
The two US soldiers were obviously feeling the heat. They were wearing thick bulletproof vests and combat uniforms, in full VBSS gear, standing here for just a minute was like being in a sauna.
Finally, the sergeant nodded at Song Heping: "Continue your work."
Then tossed the ID back to Song Heping and hurriedly left.
After they left, Song Heping remained motionless.
Sure enough, five minutes later, the door was pushed open again, and the young soldier peeked in to confirm he was still "working" there before truly leaving.
Another half an hour later, Hassan's voice ca through the pipes: "They're gone."
Song Heping climbed out of his hiding place, drenched in both oil and sweat.
The crisis was temporarily averted, but this encounter confird his fears: information had leaked. The Aricans wouldn't intercept an apparently harmless old freighter for no reason.
When he climbed to the deck, the sun had already set.
Nura handed him a wet towel, her eyes shining with vigilance.
"My crew said, the past few days, the US Navy has noticeably increased their patrols here. They used to just escort, generally not boarding for inspections, but today they even boarded civilian ships under the guise of safety protection."
She spoke in a low voice: "I suspect the information has leaked."
"That's what I thought too, but I guess it wasn't soone on the ship who leaked the information, we were discovered before leaving Sudan."
Song Heping paused while wiping his face.
He gazed at the gradually darkening sea horizon, where threats far more dangerous than Arican warships lurked.
Nura worriedly asked, "So what do we do now? We've just left Sudan's territorial waters... after this..."
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