Chapter 1352
Secret Infiltration
Chapter 1352 Secret Infiltration
6:38 a.m., the back alley of Erbil National Television.
This is a road that can barely accommodate one truck, with five-meter-high concrete walls of a television station on both sides.
A dilapidated white van was parked quietly in the loading and unloading area marked with yellow lines.
Large patches of blue paint had peeled off the vehicle, revealing rusted metal underneath. The original lettering, "Al-Ballard Food Supply Company," had faded, become blurred, and curled at the edges.
One of the headlight covers was broken and roughly glued back on with yellow tape.
The exhaust pipe emitted a dull, intermittent "putt-putt" sound at idle, spewing out wisps of pale blue smoke that blended into the cool air.
Song Heping sat in the passenger seat, wearing a dark blue jumpsuit with frayed cuffs.
A similarly old-fashioned baseball cap was pulled low, obscuring most of his face and sharp eyes.
His hands were in his work clothes pockets, and his right hand was silently gripping the grip of a Glock 19 pistol fitted with a thin silencer; the gun was icy cold.
The back of the car was dimly lit.
Jiang Feng, Ivan, and Miroslav sat amidst a mountain of plastic vegetable baskets.
These baskets were filled with tomatoes that looked fairly fresh, cucumbers, wrinkled lettuce leaves, and hard naan bread packaged in plastic bags.
The carriage was filled with the smell of soil and vegetable roots.
The three of them also changed into similar dirty work clothes and squatted down silently like real porters.
Their weapons were three compact submachine guns hidden deep inside several baskets lined with rags, within easy reach.
Jiang Feng was watching the outside world warily through an inconspicuous little hole in the side wall of the carriage.
Ivan repeatedly stretched his tactical gloved fingers to ensure they were always in the most flexible position.
Masood had his eyes closed, as if he were dozing, but every few seconds his ears would twitch slightly, catching every sound from the outside world.
He was also wearing work clothes, but he wore a slightly oversized brown jacket over them, which looked somewhat mismatched.
He wore a pair of cheap black plastic-framed glasses, the non-prescription lenses of which looked somewhat dirty.
Her originally neatly combed hair was deliberately messed up, and she applied some hair wax that Jamie had somehow gotten her hands on, making it look greasy.
His chin and upper lip were covered with rough fake stubble, and his skin tone was slightly darkened with a dark foundation.
He was holding a worn-out hardboard clipboard with several crumpled delivery slips clipped to it.
He tried to control his breathing, attempting to mimic the tired and impatient expression of a low-level delivery supervisor.
Miroslav sat in the driver's seat, his fingers tapping lightly and rhythmically on the steering wheel.
Time passes minute by minute.
The alley was eerily quiet, with only the faint sound of a truck idling and the distant, indistinct barking of dogs.
"coming."
Song Heping's deep voice instantly made everyone in the car tense up.
At the end of the alley, at the corner connecting to the main street, a figure quickly turned around.
The newcomer was wearing a standard Kold's Armed Forces desert camouflage combat uniform and black combat boots.
He was lean and quick-moving, with the agility characteristic of a soldier.
His sharp gaze swept across the entire alley, finally settling on the only white truck.
His gaze lingered on the license plate for a moment, as if checking something, before he walked straight toward the driver's seat.
As he approached, Song Heping could see the badge above his left breast pocket—a sharp-lined, outstretched silver eagle poised for flight.
On his left wrist, a Longines military watch with a simple dial design occasionally reflected a cold light as he walked.
It was Adil's adjutant.
He walked to the driver's seat, made no unnecessary movements, looked directly at the young Masood inside the car, and asked:
"Abdul's company?"
Masoud's heart skipped a beat, but he remembered Song Heping's instructions.
Stay calm, be brief, and answer using the code.
No mistakes allowed!
He cleared his throat and said:
"No, Al Ballard."
Then, following the agreed-upon code, he added:
"Today... we're delivering fresh breakfast and coffee."
Adil's gaze lingered on Masoud's face for about a second, then swept over Song Heping in the passenger seat, and then seemed to casually glance at the trunk through the tinted window.
His face was expressionless; he simply nodded slightly.
"Drive the vehicle to loading dock number three in front. Be natural in your movements."
He gave concise instructions, then turned and led the way.
Miroslav shifted into gear and released the clutch.
The dilapidated truck groaned and shuddered as it slowly followed.
Loading and unloading point number three is located deeper in the back alley. It is a heavy iron gate with chains and a large padlock, but the lock is open at this moment.
Beside the door was a makeshift sandbag fortification, where two guards dressed in black combat uniforms with the Rashid Security Forces insignia on their armbands stood.
They carried short, compact AK-74U assault rifles, the muzzles hanging naturally, but their fingers resting on the trigger guards, their eyes warily scanning the approaching truck and Adil walking beside it.
The truck stopped three meters away from the iron gate.
A guard stepped forward and knocked on the driver's side window. His eyes were cold, as if he were appraising cargo.
Little Masood lowered the car window, trying hard to keep his hands from shaking, and handed over the forged ID card he had prepared beforehand, along with the pass that Jamie had obtained.
The guard took it and first looked at Adil, who was wearing a military uniform, with suspicion.
Adil simply stood aside expressionlessly, gazing into the distance, as if none of this concerned him.
The guard then looked down and picked up a handheld scanner about the size of his palm.
The device emits a red light and scans the magnetic strips on the four ID cards in sequence.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Four short, sharp beeps.
Then, he scanned the pass.
Then, he looked up and scanned the car interior again.
This time, his gaze lingered a little longer on Song Heping's low-brimmed hat and on Xiao Masood's stubble-covered face.
His brows furrowed slightly.
His finger moved toward the walkie-talkie hanging on his shoulder.
The air inside the car instantly froze.
Song Heping gripped the gun handle tightly with his right hand, which was tucked into his pocket.
In the back of the truck, Jiang Feng's finger gripped the trigger of the submachine gun hidden at the bottom of the basket.
Ivan and Miroslav arched their bodies slightly, like cheetahs preparing to pounce.
Just as the guard's finger was about to press the intercom button—
Adil, the adjutant, suddenly moved.
He took two steps to the guard's side and naturally placed one hand on the guard's arm holding the scanner, with just the right amount of force to interrupt the guard's movements.
"Mahamud".
Adil's voice was not loud, carrying just the right amount of impatience and the blaming tone unique to superiors when dealing with subordinates' delays.
"Hurry up. Commander Rashid will be here soon for the live broadcast this morning, and General Torhan specifically instructed that the breakfast ingredients and coffee are in this car. If we miss the morning news broadcast, who will be responsible?"
The guard named Mahmoud froze, a hint of hesitation and apprehension flashing across his face.
He glanced at Adil's rank insignia, then at the man's calm yet pressured gaze, and finally at the dilapidated truck and the several disheveled and lowly-looking "deliverymen" inside.
The balance between risk and trouble can be struck in an instant.
The wariness on his face eased slightly, replaced by a sense of compromise: "Why make things difficult for myself?" He withdrew his finger from the walkie-talkie, shoved the identification and pass back into Masood's hand, and without even glancing at them a second time, waved them away, his tone curt:
"Go inside. Don't wander around, and come out immediately after unloading the goods."
"Thank you."
Masood said in a low voice.
Miloslav rolled up the car window.
Another guard struggled to push open the iron gate, creating a gap large enough for a truck to pass through.
The white van growled and trembled as it drove into the deeper, more secluded service passageway behind the gate.
The wheels rolled over the concrete, making a hollow echo.
Adil did not follow the delivery truck in. He stood there, watching it enter, then nodded to the two guards, turned and walked in another direction, as if he had just completed a trivial routine.
The truck moved slowly through the passageway.
The passageway was narrow, with a few dim, ever-burning lights on the ceiling, barely dispelling the darkness.
The walls on both sides were rough cement, painted with dark green paint, and topped with barbed spiral wire mesh that gleamed coldly under the light.
Every twenty meters or so, you can see a hemispherical surveillance camera, silently rotating, its red indicator lights like sleepless eyes.
No one spoke inside the carriage.
There was only the noise of the engine and the sound of the wheels rolling.
After driving about 100 meters, a fork in the road appeared on the right.
In the shadows ahead at the fork in the road, Adil's figure reappeared. He made a clear gesture—stop the car.
The truck stopped.
Adil strode quickly to the driver's seat, speaking rapidly:
"Get off the bus and start walking from here. Each porter will carry a box; follow me. You—"
He pointed to Masood, "Take your splint and follow me. Go to the kitchen pantry on the basement level to sign the delivery slip."
No nonsense.
The five people quickly got off the bus.
Song Heping, Jiang Feng, Ivan, and Miroslav each lifted a heavy plastic vegetable basket from the carriage. They were quite heavy, and it was unclear whether they were actually filled with vegetables.
They lowered their heads, letting the brims of their hats cover their faces, and followed Adil silently like real coolies.
Little Masood, holding the hardboard clip, lagged slightly behind.
The group turned onto a side road.
It was a narrower passage, dimly lit.
At the end was a fire door painted dark red.
Adil took out an access card and swiped it on the card reader next to the door.
The green light came on, accompanied by a soft "click" as the lock cylinder turned.
He pushed open the door, revealing a concrete staircase leading downwards. The light was even dimmer, with only a faint green glow from the emergency light in the corner.
"Move quickly."
Adil was the first to walk down the stairs.
"I temporarily blocked the three surveillance cameras from the intersection to the entrance of this stairwell, using the old method of looping ten-second still images, but it can only keep the central monitoring room from detecting anything unusual for ten minutes at most. After ten minutes, if they look closely, they will find that the images are slightly repeated."
“Ten minutes,” Song Heping said calmly, “is enough.”
The underground level was even colder and darker than the upper level, with poor air circulation and a complex mix of smells: a strong smell of disinfectant, a faint musty smell from food that had been stored for too long, a faint fishy smell from the drains, and the smell of dust.
The ceiling was low and covered with various pipes and cables, painted in different colors to distinguish them.
The floor is rough terrazzo, and somewhat slippery.
They walked through a storage area lined with metal shelves on both sides, which were piled with boxes of canned goods, flour, cooking oil and some cleaning supplies.
Occasionally, one or two figures dressed in white chef's uniforms could be seen flashing past at the far end of the passageway, but no one noticed this silent "delivery team".
At the end of the storage area, Adil swiped his card again to open the door to a room marked "No Entry Without Permission".
This room was colder than the hallway; it was like the anteroom of a large cold storage warehouse.
There were no windows inside, only a lone fluorescent light tube emitting a buzzing electrical sound and a pale white light.
In one corner of the room were some unused shelves and broken plastic baskets, and there was a strange smell in the air, a mixture of stale frozen meat and dried spices.
Adil slammed the door shut behind him, quickly walked to the back of the room, and pulled out a large, slightly worn military transport bag from behind a pile of discarded cardboard boxes.
"Quick! Change your clothes here."
He threw his travel bag in front of everyone and spoke very quickly:
"There are four sets of work clothes from the TV station's technical maintenance department in the bag. They are light gray jumpsuits with the TV station's logo and the words 'Technical Department' on the chest. The matching work ID and general access card are also inside. The photos have been changed to look like the ones on your IDs, but the names and information are those of real junior technicians inside the TV station. They should be off today, so you won't run into them."
He glanced at his watch:
"You have seven minutes to change your clothes, then exit from here, turn left and walk to the end, take the service elevator to the second floor. On the second floor, exit the elevator and turn right, follow the signs for 'Studio Area'. The control room for Studio 2 is in the middle of the corridor. The General will appear at the door of the control room at 6:55 sharp. You must get to the nearby equipment room and hide before then."
Song Heping had already squatted down and unzipped the travel bag.
Inside, four sets of light gray jumpsuits were neatly folded. The fabric was thick and looked like they had been washed frequently but were a bit old.
Sure enough, above the left breast pocket of the work uniform was the logo of Erbil TV station and the Kolder letter "Technical Department".
Next to it were four plastic card holders, each containing a work ID with a photo and barcode, and a blue universal access card.
Everything you need is available.
Although Torhan lacked decisiveness, his efficiency was impeccable.
Where is Rashid now?
Song Heping picked up a set of work clothes and began to quickly take off his greasy blue jacket, while asking a question.
Adil leaned against the door, listening intently to the sounds outside, and quickly replied:
"According to the internal schedule and the general's information, Rashid's motorcade should arrive at the television station's underground private garage at around 6:50 a.m. He will take the private elevator directly to the third floor and enter dressing room number one, where a stylist and makeup artist will serve him. At 7:00 p.m. sharp, he will leave the dressing room on time and walk to studio number one on the same floor. From the dressing room to the studio is a main corridor about forty meters long."
"What is the status of the guards?"
"Inside the dressing room, there were two of his personal bodyguards, who were probably his trusted confidants handpicked from the security forces. They were quite skilled. On both sides of the main corridor, there were six guards stationed, three on each side, spaced apart. These were the backbone of Rashid's security forces, well-equipped and highly vigilant."
"Inside the studio?"
"Inside Studio One, in addition to the on-site staff, at least twenty plainclothes agents were stationed in the audience seats, mixed in with the 'invited audience members.' On each side of the stage, there was an armed guard. In the control room, there was a director and two technicians, all of whom were Rashid's men, to ensure that the live broadcast was conducted entirely according to his wishes."
Adil paused, then added crucial information:
"However, the general has already made arrangements. At 7:00 sharp, the same time Rashid leaves the dressing room and walks towards the studio, the general will, under the pretext of 'final security check before the broadcast,' take two of his most trusted guards and request entry into the control room of Studio Two. The people in the control room have no reason to refuse this 'reasonable request.' Once inside, the general will take control of the people inside."
Song Heping had changed into a light gray technical staff uniform and was pinning his work ID to his left breast pocket.
The work clothes are a bit large, but they make it easier to conceal weapons and move around.
He inserted the silenced Glock pistol into a specially made holster inside his work clothes, and strapped a dagger to each of his calves.
His movements were skillful and meticulous.
“We need to control Rashid on his way from the dressing room to the studio.”
Song Heping straightened up and straightened his collar.
"Are there any blind spots in that 20-meter main corridor, or any usable cover?"
"Have."
Adil seemed to have been prepared, taking a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and unfolding it.
This is a hand-drawn, slightly rough, but key markings are clearly visible.
He pointed to a section of the third-floor corridor:
"Here, about fifteen meters to the right after exiting the dressing room, there's a recessed wall space containing a large fire equipment cabinet with fire extinguishers and fire hoses. That recess, along with the cabinet itself, creates a blind spot of about two by three meters, perfectly avoiding the direct view of the two nearest cameras. But—"
He looked up, his gaze stern as he looked at Song Heping and the others:
“You must complete the raid and subdue everyone within a very short time after Rashid and his eight guards pass through that blind spot. Do not fire any shots; the sound of gunfire will echo loudly in the enclosed corridor and alert the people in the studio. You also must not give them any opportunity to raise the alarm. Ideally, the entire process should not exceed fifteen seconds. Beyond that time, both patrol personnel at the far end of the corridor and those at the studio entrance may notice something amiss.”
"Fifteen seconds."
Jiang Feng had already changed his clothes and was inserting a sharp tactical dagger into a hidden scabbard in the cuff of his work clothes.
He checked the scabbard's locking mechanism, then looked up, his face still expressionless, but his eyes were sharper and more focused, like two cold stars.
"That's enough time."
First update, 5100 words.
(End of this chapter)