Under the stark light, the bulletproof door of the Lincoln was pushed open.
All the gun barrels on both sides of the highway were aimed in that direction.
Inside the command center, Simon held his breath.
He hoped to capture Song Heping alive.
It was the outcome that could offer him the greatest satisfaction and wipe away the humiliation.
The big screen displayed the helmet camera footage from the field operatives.
Song Heping raised his hands and slowly walked out of the car.
The members of the GRS operational team surged forward and pinned Song Heping down.
Simon kept his eyes glued to the screen.
The expected charge, resistance, or counterattack seemed to be absent.
Even as Song Heping was pinned down he remained very calm, without any struggle.
Everything was going too smoothly.
The atmosphere in the command center suddenly relaxed, and everyone watched as Song Heping, with his hands bound, was pulled up from the ground by the operatives and escorted onto their vehicles.
Looking at those truck drivers, all holding their heads as obedient as babies and lying flat on the ground.
The CIA agents high-fived in celebration.
"Beautiful!"
"Finally, a good night's sleep!"
"We've finally caught that damn guy!"
In the midst of the cheers, Simon managed a smile, nodded, and said, "The job's not done yet, get ready for interrogation. As soon as he arrives, we start. We're going to be busy tonight, and I suspect no one will get any sleep. Everyone stay here and stand guard. Tonight we need to cooperate with the interrogation team to finish the task. Intelligence team, go through all the material once more to make sure nothing gets missed. I want this arrogant bastard to have nothing to say."
At that moment, his mind was filled with the scene where Song Heping had called a large number of journalists to the operation site and set a trap that led him to offer a $5 million reward.
Shortly after Song Heping's convoy was intercepted, near the road leading to the port of Umm Qasr, Ferrari sat in the car, checking his watch for the umpteenth time.
It was already eleven o'clock at night.
Song Heping's convoy had still not passed this way.
He flicked the cigarette butt out of the car, took out his phone, and dialed Major General Peter's number.
"Song, it's so late, what's the emergency?"
"General, I'm not Song, I'm Ferrari."
Tonight, Song Heping had given his satellite phone to Ferrari, while he himself had taken a new number on a mobile phone.
Peter sounded very surprised on the other end of the line.
"How did you end up with Song's phone?"
He seemed to have anticipated that something unusual had occurred.
Ferrari said, "General, I'm calling because Boss Song asked me to. Before he left tonight, he told me that if something happened to him, I should use this phone to contact you and inform you of the situation."
"What happened?" Peter's voice carried a note of confusion.
Ferrari said, "Here's the thing, our boss has been looking to purchase SA-9 anti-aircraft missile systems. He found some stock from the former government army warehouses and bought three sets. I heard they were supposed to be sold in Africa. However, he told me the day before yesterday that he suspected he was being tailed and might run into trouble. Tonight was when the SA-9 missile systems were to be delivered. The plan was to transport them to Umm Qasr, to ship them out tomorrow, but things turned out just as he predicted, there was trouble."
Ferrari did not mention any secret agreement between Peter and Song Heping, which Song had specifically instructed him not to discuss.
Nor did he make any requests to Peter, simply stating that he was acting as per Song Heping's orders.
Truth be told, he was quite concerned.
If Peter pretended to know nothing and truly did nothing, what would become of Song Heping?
He could not predict this outcome.
Dirty jobs come with their own sense of readiness, as well as rules.
Peter on the other end of the phone seemed to be silent for a moment before finally asking, "Did he say who he thought might be tailing him?"
"The CIA."
The heavy stone in Ferrari's heart fell.
Because Song Heping had told him, once Peter inquired about who was behind it, things were almost certainly settled.
"All right, I understand."
Without waiting for Ferrari to say another word, Peter hung up the phone.
Ferrari, holding the satellite phone, sat in the car for a while, motionless.
He couldn't inquire further, nor could he press for answers, much less dial Peter again to probe the situation.
These were the rules.
All he could do now was one thing—wait.
"Damn it!"
He cursed, put the car in gear, and turned the vehicle around, heading back toward Baghdad.
In the Green Zone, inside the CIA office building,
Song Heping's hood was pulled off his head.
The glaring lights made him feel dazzled, causing him to squint.
Before he had time to adjust to the light here, a GRS operative aggressively pushed him down into a chair.
It was then that he subconsciously resisted.
The agent couldn't hold down Song Heping and simply punched him in the stomach.
The force was extremely fierce.
These GRS operatives were all veterans from the Special Forces; they never lacked strength in their hands.
Song Heping felt as if his internal organs had shifted, and he couldn't help but grunt in pain, bending over.
"Huh?"
This surprised the nearby GRS operative.
He usually practiced boxing when he had nothing to do, and in the whole team, no one dared to match him in terms of punching power.
He had used seventy percent of his strength in that punch. Normally, a regular soldier would have been sent sprawling to the ground after such a blow.
He didn't expect that this Chinese man would only bend over slightly, which was a huge insult to him.
"Tough guy, huh?"
After speaking, he punched Song Heping's stomach again.
This time it made Song Heping cry out in pain, stepping back twice, bending over and leaning against the wall, gasping heavily for air.
The power was tremendous.
Song Heping felt darkness looming before his eyes.
Rapid breathing was to increase oxygen intake, to quickly recover from the intense pain.
"FUCK!"
The tall and burly GRS operative couldn't help but curse out loud.
The other operatives around him laughed, as if mocking his weakness.
"Max, didn't you eat dinner today!?"
"Yo yo yo! Max, you usually claim you're Hercules!"
The mockery made him feel even more embarrassed. He took a quick step forward to Song Heping, raising his fist, large as a clay pot, ready to continue the assault.
He wouldn't stop until he had this man from China laying on the ground, begging for mercy, otherwise his reputation would be unsalvageable.
"What are you doing!?"
Just as Max's fist was about to land, a questioning voice came from the doorway – it was Simon.
"Max, are you trying to kill him?"
Max stopped his fist, looked back at Simon for a moment, then turned to Song Heping and said through gritted teeth, "Kid, consider yourself lucky!"
Song Heping glanced sideways at Max and sneered, "Max..."
"What?" Max reflexively responded, "What is it?"
Song Heping's mouth curled into a disdainful smile, "You're a woman."
For a GRS operative to be called a woman was the ultimate humiliation.
Furious, Max roared and lifted his fist again, only to be held back and dragged away by his fellow operatives.
After all, GRS was under orders from the CIA and employed by them, so in this place, Simon was the boss.
Suddenly, Max was taken away, and only two GRS operatives remained in the room to watch over him as the rest left.
Simon sat down across from Song Heping and pointed to the chair in front of him, "Take a seat, Song."
Song Heping sat down boldly in the chair and took several deep breaths to ease his discomfort.
Simon stared at him for a while before finally saying, "Cooperate if you don't want to suffer."
Song Heping asked, "How can you be sure it's me who will suffer and not you?"
Simon was taken aback, then suddenly burst into laughter, "Hahaha, Song, you really know how to pretend. Do you still think someone will come to save you like last time?"
He leaned forward, getting close to Song Heping, and demanded, "Tell me, who is it this time? Is it Nancy again? Angel? Or perhaps a journalist?"
Song Heping did not immediately answer, his gaze wandering over Simon's face for a moment before resting on his watch, "Simon, do you mind if I take a look at your watch?"
"Watch?"
Simon did not expect Song Heping to respond that way and involuntarily glanced at his own watch.
Song Heping said, "Your men took everything from me, even my watch. I just want to know the time."
Although Simon was reluctant, he was also curious.
Why Song Heping wanted to know the time.
Still, driven by his curiosity, he stretched out his hand.
Song Heping glanced at the time and muttered, "Twelve forty... about time..."
"Idiot!"
Simon suddenly flew into a rage, grabbing Song Heping's collar and yanking him hard toward himself, pulling half of Song Heping's body onto the table.
"Do you think I brought you here tonight to catch up?! And you're still looking at the time?! Who do you think you are?! Do you realize what's happening to you, do you understand your situation?!"
After saying that, he pushed Song Heping back into the chair hard, causing him to slide out over half a meter, then he turned and fiercely threw a stack of photos onto the table from a file bag.
"Look at these pictures! I also have videos, including all the audio of your conversations with Yusuf from the materials department, how you negotiated with him, how you conspired to deal in highly dangerous military equipment! Keep pretending! Continue! I want to see what explanation you have for me! If you can't explain yourself, then clean your ass and get ready to be sent to Guantanamo Prison to enjoy some pastries!"