Song Heping leaned against the rusty iron wall of the warehouse, the wound in his shoulder burning with pain.
Nura's fingers moved deftly over his skin, the suture needle threading through the torn flesh, each stitch feeling like it was on fire.
But he didn't even furrow his brow, just stared at the spider spinning a web in the corner of the warehouse.
"You're lucky," Nura bit through the thread, her voice low, "The bullet just grazed you, didn't hit the bone."
Antonov erged from the shadows, handing over a silver flask.
"For disinfection."
Song Heping didn't need to look to know what was inside.
"Vodka."
"That's right." The Russian hulk grinned, showing a mouthful of white teeth, "Or you could drink it, getting drunk also has an anesthetic effect."
Song Heping took the bottle and poured half of it directly onto the wound.
The searing pain from the alcohol made his temples throb, but he simply took a deep breath and handed the remaining half back to Antonov.
"Keep it, we might need it for courage."
Sporadic gunfire sounded outside the warehouse, distant flas lighting up half the sky.
Aden, the capital of Yen, had been in chaos for two weeks, the so-called "revolution" exacerbating the woes of this already impoverished country.
"What should we do next?"
Nura tightened the bandage on Song Heping's shoulder, her voice tinged with suppressed anger.
"We were nearly killed by a mole from the Persians. I don't like Persians, they are all heretics."
Song Heping paused, then understood.
The history of the Middle East is too complex, especially the religious history.
Don't be fooled by the seemingly sa MSL, there are hundreds of sects and branches.
Their hatred for each other is no less than their hatred for Western colonizers.
Antonov said, "I think we should rely on ourselves. Why not head to the dock area and find a boat, pay them to take us away."
"In this situation, where do we find a boat? Any ship capable of going offshore is probably already rented, and on a small boat, we'd either be caught by pirates or detected by Arican vessels before reaching Persia."
Song Heping shook his head, pulling a satellite phone from his tactical vest.
"It's not wise to leave now. From what happened earlier, the CIA has already deployed action units here, and they will activate all intelligence networks to search for us. The three of us are too conspicuous. If we go out, we risk being intercepted by local ard organizations or discovered by them."
He pressed the power button, the screen's blue light reflecting on his chiseled face.
"Better to let Avanti arrange our move."
"You're still going to contact that Persian guy?" Antonov widened his eyes, "We nearly died because of his people!"
"We have no choice." Song Heping's voice was as cold as a blade, "Yen is now in chaos. Without his network, we wouldn't even find a fishing boat."
The satellite phone connected, a triple-encrypted signal piercing through the chaotic skies of the Middle East, reaching a military camp in the suburbs of Tehran.
"Song?" Avanti's voice sounded weary and surprised, "Are you on the boat now? I just got news that Budi is missing. Have you contacted him?"
Budi was the liaison.
But now, he's already dead.
"We were ambushed." Song Heping said briefly, "Budi is dead. The CIA 'Watcher' team set up an ambush at the fish market."
There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds.
"Impossible..." Avanti's voice suddenly beca alert, "Only five people knew about this operation."
"Then one of those five is either CIA or Mossad." Song Heping glanced at Nura guarding the warehouse entrance, "We almost got wiped out."
Avanti's breathing beca heavy.
Clearly, this not only shocked him but also shad him.
"I'll handle this. Where are you now?"
"Temporary safe point." Song Heping didn't disclose the exact location, "We need a new evacuation plan."
"Give 72 hours." Avanti's voice was filled with suppressed anger, "Sorry things turned out this way, rest assured, I'll send Naxin to personally extract you. The new contact code is 'Cals in the desert don't cry.'"
Song Heping noted down the code, adding: "Tell Naxin to be wary of the CIA operatives here, and to bring capable people."
"Rest assured, I won't let you down this ti."
After hanging up, Song Heping removed the battery from the satellite phone.
Antonov was busy wiping his VSS sniper rifle with a dirty cloth, while Nura checked the remaining ammunition.
"Three days," Song Heping surveyed the dilapidated warehouse, "We can't stay here the whole ti."
The abandoned warehouse was located in the outskirts of Aden City, originally a place to store fishing gear.
Although it had long been deserted, there was no telling when a wanderer or militants might pass by, and if soone did, for safety's sake, they had to be silenced.
Song Heping didn't like killing innocent people.
Three foreigners stood out too much here, not to ntion the risk of buying food and dicine, making everything inconvenient.
Nura pointed out the window: "During my recon earlier, I saw a house 300 ters away, standalone with a courtyard. They seem educated."
Song Heping walked to the window, taking out a small binocular to observe through the gap.
In the twilight, a white house stood quietly among the palm trees, warm light glowing from the windows, a cozy contrast to the surrounding desolation.
In the yard, a little girl was playing, her mother hanging clothes.
"We could ask to stay there."
Song Heping considered for a while and thought of a plan.
"Stay with them for 72 hours, then we can connect with the new contact."
"How can you guarantee this won't be sabotaged by the Persians again?"
Antonov quipped with a shrug.
Song Heping said, "It won't. The guy eting us this ti I've known for a long ti, he's no mole."
Nura asked, "What identity do we use to seek shelter?"
"As journalists." Song Heping quickly decided, "We're an international journalist team stranded by the turmoil, covering stories here but got shot by militants, I'm injured, we need temporary shelter."
Antonov frowned, "Will they believe us?"
"It's better than waiting here to die." Song Heping began disassembling the AKM assault rifle, "Hide the weapons, only carry pistols."
Ten minutes later, the three of them traversed the weed-covered wasteland to the household.
Song Heping peered through the window, noticing a bookshelf inside, lined with books in various languages.
That's a good sign.
Well-read individuals are usually reasonable.
Knock knock knock—
He knocked on the door three tis.
After knocking, a middle-aged man with glasses cautiously opened the door a crack.
Song Heping imdiately raised his hands, speaking in Arican-accented English: "Sorry to disturb you, we're independent investigative journalists unable to leave Yen due to the turmoil. We were just attacked by militants on the street and now have nowhere to go. Could we stay at your place for three days? We can pay."
The man at the door was nad Khalid, his eyes scanning the three of them.
Song Heping could sense his wariness and calculation.
Finally, Khalid's gaze stopped on Nura's bandaged arm, noticing Song Heping's injured shoulder and the caras and videocaras hanging on Antonov and Nura.
"You're hurt?"
"Yes, they seed to have bad intentions toward my female colleague, we had to flee..." Song Heping smiled wryly, "Right now, no hospital in Aden is safe."
Khalid hesitated for a mont, glancing back inside the house.
His wife stood at the end of the corridor, holding their four-year-old daughter.
The couple exchanged a brief, silent conversation, and the woman nodded at Khalid.
Khalid stepped aside: "Co in, but only for three days."
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