"Just a joke!"
Aisade snatched Song Heping's phone and hung up before the call connected.
"Boss Song is too serious!"
This freak changed his face again in just one second.
Song Heping retrieved his phone, but inside he breathed a sigh of relief.
Had that call gone through, it would have been quite disadvantageous for him.
The US military was unwilling to get directly involved, so making that call to Peter was a big taboo, akin to dragging him into the mud.
Ultimately, Peter wouldn't even answer the call, and if he did, he would hang up immediately.
The consequence would likely be the end of future cooperation with the military.
Song Heping was actually betting that Aisade was also afraid of blowing things up, betting that he wouldn't dare have a real conversation with Peter.
Just now, Aisade had also been playing a game of cat and mouse.
Betting that Song Heping wouldn't dare to call Peter.
He didn't expect that Song Heping would actually dare to make the call.
In the end, it was Aisade himself who chickened out first.
"Colonel, I think now we can talk about the final payment?"
Song Heping seized the moment, eager to take the money and leave.
He didn't want to stay a minute longer in this damned place, not even a second more.
"I need some time," Aisade seemed to compromise: "Before sunset, it will definitely be transferred to your company's account."
He had to compromise.
The Chinese arms dealer before him didn't seem so easy to deal with.
From the beheading show he put on this morning to holding a knife to Song Heping's neck, Aisade just wanted to see Song Heping wet his pants on the spot.
That was psychological intimidation.
If the other party became soft, got scared, then he could play the bully.
The funds were provided by the American intelligence department, but it was real money, and who wouldn't be tempted?
It would be best to pocket as much as possible.
If he could scare Song Heping, whether it was to drive a hard bargain or to delay the final payment, in the end there was still three million US dollars owed to Song Heping. If they could get away without paying, they would.
But unexpectedly, the other side wouldn't budge an inch.
Sending women didn't entice him, intimidation didn't work on him.
Now that all his tricks had been used, Aisade was out of options.
He really didn't dare to offend Song Heping.
After all, there had been problems with the previous two shipments, and this was the first time in three months that arms had been delivered here.
Offending Song Heping meant not only facing dissatisfaction from the US military but also finding future arms support wouldn't come so easily.
"OK."
Now it was Song Heping's turn to smile: "Thank you for your care, Colonel. I'll wait here until the afternoon. Once the money arrives, I'll leave immediately. If there is anything you need in the future, feel free to contact me."
With that, he turned and left the scene.
Back in his room, Jiang Feng closed the door and approached, asking, "Can we trust this guy?"
"Don't worry, the money isn't his. As long as I insist on the final payment, he won't dare to default, unless he no longer wants to cooperate with the Americans."
After saying this, Song Heping seemed to remember something important.
Therefore, he added, "Right, after we finish here, have Mohammed and Aziz buy tickets back to Illiguo first. You stay, I have something to take care of with you."
"What is it?" Jiang Feng was curious.
"To dig a person out," Song Heping said. "I'm worried that guy might smell trouble brewing and run off."
"Is it that informant who leaked our whereabouts to the French?" Jiang Feng suddenly remembered that Song Heping had mentioned it before.
"That's right," Song Heping said. "So I'm eager to leave this place."
"Where's the guy?" Jiang Feng asked.
"In Algeria," Song Heping said. "After we finish up here, you and I will take a trip to Algeria."
"No problem."
Aisade didn't cause any more trouble this time.
True to his word, he informed Song Heping before sunset that the final payment had been made to the overseas account Song Heping had specified.
Song Heping contacted Ferrari to check, and the money had indeed arrived.
So the group didn't linger any longer. They bid farewell to Aisade, left Mali, retraced their steps to Algeria, and drove back through the desert to Morocco.
They went through the same border checkpoint as before, manned by the same Algerian border soldiers.
Song Heping greeted them warmly, tipping them two hundred US dollars. The patrol leader and two soldiers stood ramrod straight and saluted them neatly.
Sitting in the car, Jiang Feng couldn't help saying, "We're leaving, why give them money?"
Looking out the window at the border checkpoint growing distant, Song Heping said with deep meaning, "Raising dogs isn't an overnight affair."
Jiang Feng was taken aback, seeming to understand something.
Once back in Morocco, Song Heping had Mohammed and Aziz buy tickets to Kuwait to transfer home, while he and Jiang Feng purchased tickets to Algeria.
Two days later, they appeared on the streets of Algiers.
Anthony Henry cursed in the dark as he fumbled for a penlight in the drawer, intending to go outside the room to see if the problem was with the fuse of the electric meter, for the house he rented had unexpectedly lost power.
In the summer of Algiers, power outages were nothing new.
The district where he lived was an Old Town, with many buildings decades old, and it was common for the aged wiring to trip the circuit.
Henry's income was actually quite good; he could easily afford to stay in a luxury hotel or buy a small building within Algiers to live in.
However, buying a house wasn't a good idea for someone in his line of work, as he often had to move.
Since stepping onto the path of intelligence brokering, Henry had been constantly moving, almost every three months to a new place.
Staying too long in one place was unsafe.
As an intelligence broker, he earned money by collecting and selling information and would occasionally assist intelligence agencies in releasing true or false information.
This kind of work easily attracted enemies, and being hunted down was not uncommon.
There were many types of intelligence brokers; most were independent while some were affiliated with organizations. In addition to selling information, they often acted as intermediaries for others, handling matters such as transnational kidnappings.
Henry was actually from Britain and once served in the British military. Short on money after retiring, he entered this field. North Africa was one of the most active regions for intelligence trading, and Henry, leveraging the contacts he'd made here during his service, started his career as an intelligence broker.
His clients included all sorts of people. For instance, just ten days ago, he had helped the CIA release intelligence to the French intelligence agency.
This transaction earned him a nice reward—$50,000.
Of course, Henry didn't only take money from the CIA.
He sold the intelligence to the French for a hefty sum of $100,000.
In total, he netted $150,000 from this deal.
"I've had enough!"
Henry, holding a flashlight, pushed open his room's door and stepped into the hallway.
He shone the light around first.
A circular back corridor was empty.
He moved the beam to the location of the fuse box, walked over with a stool, set it up, and stepped onto it...
Suddenly, he froze for a second, then leaped off the stool and bolted back into his room at the speed of an arrow.
Hiss hiss hiss—
A flash of gunfire emerged from a dark corner.
Bullets rained down on the spot where Henry stood just moments before, several warheads striking the fuse box and sparking.
Henry quickly shut the door and toppled a wooden cabinet standing to the right of the entrance, laying it across the back of the door—each time he moved to a new place, he'd buy a cabinet to place by the door, filling it with ceramics and stainless-steel items, as it could save his life in emergencies!
He swiftly returned to his room, pulled a backpack out from under the bed, stuffed a laptop from the table into it, slung it on his back, and dashed towards the bathroom.
As he hastily evacuated his nest, the doorway was becoming livelier. The assassins outside, having swept the front door once, seemed to have lost their patience and began ramming it.
Bang—
Bang—
Bang—
Henry's forehead was covered in cold sweat.
But there was no time to consider who was trying to kill him.
Being an intelligence broker was akin to a profession treading on the edge of a knife.
He opened the bathroom window and threw down a rope that was always kept under the washbasin.
His room was on the second floor, and directly below the bathroom was a courtyard belonging to the neighbor's house.
The Old Town had its advantages, with buildings haphazardly constructed and houses intertwined. The alleys were like a spider's web, and anyone unfamiliar with them would get lost.
He was thankful for his caution and prudence.
Each time he moved into a new address, Henry would prepare at least two escape plans.
He slid down the rope into the neighbor's courtyard, then pulled out an HK P9 pistol from his pocket.
It was an old model of a compact handgun, perfect for spies.
With the gun in hand, he finally felt a sense of security.
Just as he was about to slip away undetected, an unexpected event occurred. Less than two meters in front of him, a door creaked open and a middle-aged woman emerged, holding a flashlight.
When the light hit Henry, the woman saw the gun in his hand.
"Ah! Ah!"
The woman began to scream.
"Shh—FUCK!"
Henry was so startled by her screams that his soul almost flew out of his body.
The woman dropped her flashlight and ran back into her house.
Henry was so enraged he almost couldn't resist shooting her with a peanut-sized bullet.
"It's over…"
He started to run wildly.
Because he knew, the woman's screams had likely summoned the very people who were out to assassinate him.
What could have been a silent getaway was now completely ruined.