Chapter 1365
Eyes in the Dark
Chapter 1365 Eyes in the Dark
The week passed quickly.
For the past week, Song Heping has been sleeping in until he naturally wakes up every day.
This is an unimaginable luxury in Iligo.
Recently in Bakhtar, he had to get up at five in the morning to listen to intelligence briefings, process emails, and hold video conferences.
Here, he can sleep until nine o'clock in the morning. When he wakes up, his younger siblings have already gone to work, and the house is quiet.
He went for a walk in the city by himself.
Mobile payment is becoming increasingly popular when shopping everywhere.
This is rarely used abroad; he is used to cash or cryptocurrency.
When shopping at the supermarket, learn to identify products from new brands.
He went to the cinema to watch a domestic film about everyday family life, and he watched it very attentively.
I go to bookstores to read books on military affairs, history, economics, and also novels.
I would go to the park to watch the elderly play chess and watch for an entire afternoon.
He also went to the provincial capital and met with some of his old comrades from his former unit (not 203).
He used to be in a special operations unit.
More than ten years have passed.
Among my comrades, some are in the government system and have already reached the deputy director level; some are in state-owned enterprises and have risen to the middle management level; and some have started their own companies and are self-employed, making a decent living.
Of course, some comrades are also working, leading ordinary lives, and worrying about mortgages, car loans, and their children's education.
They asked Song Heping what he was doing, and he vaguely replied that he was involved in international trade.
Everyone drank and reminisced about embarrassing incidents from their time in the army, but no one delved into the details.
There was only one person, Old Zhao, who had transferred to the GA department. After drinking, he patted him on the shoulder and said, "Heping, be careful out there. If you need any help, just let me know."
Song Heping smiled and toasted him.
He memorized Old Zhao's number.
Perhaps Lingling and the others can contact Lao Zhao if they need anything.
I can handle most things.
On the seventh night after returning to China, Hexie had a social engagement. Lingling went to her best friend's house for a gathering, while Zhang Wei was on duty.
Song Heping ate dinner alone at home. Several high school classmates called, saying they heard he was back and they definitely wanted to get together.
The gathering was held at a long-established hot pot restaurant in the east of the city.
Most of the students stayed in the local area and became civil servants, teachers, small business owners, or ordinary workers.
Ten years have passed. Some people have gained weight, some have gone bald, and some have children who are now in junior high school.
"Peace, what kind of business have you been doing all these years?"
One of the classmates, having drunk quite a bit, raised his voice: "I heard you're in the Middle East? It's a mess there."
“Do some engineering projects, contract projects,” Song Heping said casually, while slicing up a piece of tripe. “Road construction, house building, oil pipelines.”
"Is it safe over there? There are explosions and terrorist attacks on the news every day."
"You'll get used to it." Song Heping smiled and raised his beer glass. "Come on, let's drink. Let's not talk about work."
Then everyone started reminiscing about the old days.
Who pursued which girl, who got caught cheating on an exam, who smashed the classroom window while playing basketball.
Laughter filled the air, and beer was poured in one bottle after another.
Song Heping laughed and drank along with them, but he remained sober at all times.
It's a habit formed over many years that can't be changed.
It was past 10 p.m. when the show ended.
The students left by taxi or car. Song Heping said he wanted to walk around to sober up and declined his classmates' offer to take him.
The city was still bustling on this early summer night. The night market had just begun, with smoke billowing from the barbecue stalls and the aroma of crayfish filling the entire street.
Young people strolled in small groups, their laughter ringing out. Couples walked hand in hand, while elderly people pushed strollers.
Song Heping walked slowly along the sidewalk, preparing to walk to the subway station to take the train home.
After walking for a while, his professional instincts alerted him to something amiss.
A black SUV, its license plate partially obscured by mud, had appeared in his sight for the third time.
The first time was in front of a hot pot restaurant. The car was parked across the street, the engine was off, but no one got out.
The second time was after he turned, when he saw it following him in his rearview mirror, maintaining a distance of about fifty meters.
Now, he deliberately slowed down, and the car nearby also slowed down, as if looking for a parking space.
track.
Not an amateur.
The distance was maintained well, neither too fast nor too slow, neither too close nor too far. The license plate was deliberately dirtied, but not completely covered.
This is a professional approach; it requires concealment without being too obvious and attracting attention.
However, in his own eyes, he was still too inexperienced.
Song Heping remained calm and continued walking forward.
As he passed a large shopping mall, he glanced at the time.
The mall closes at 10:20 and at 10:30.
He turned and walked into the mall.
The mall was nearly empty of customers, and the shop assistants were tidying up the shelves in preparation for closing.
The loudspeaker announced the store's closing time: "Dear customers, our store is about to close. Please finish your shopping as soon as possible."
Song Heping quickly passed through the cosmetics area on the first floor and entered the safety passage.
Instead of going up, he went straight down into the underground parking lot.
The parking lot is large, divided into three sections: A, B, and C, and is dimly lit.
He found a blind spot in the surveillance system—between two load-bearing columns.
The camera was blocked by a pillar.
He quickly took off his coat, turned it inside out, and put it on, turning the black coat gray. He then messed up his hair, put on the mask that he always kept inside his clothes, and took out a baseball cap from his backpack and put it on.
The whole process took less than thirty seconds.
He then moved quickly along the edge of the parking lot toward the entrance, his footsteps light and almost silent.
Sure enough, the black SUV drove into the parking lot and parked in the passageway not far away.
Two men got out of the car, both between thirty and forty years old, wearing dark jackets, dark trousers, and black leather shoes.
His steps were steady, his shoulders swayed naturally as he walked, and his arms were slightly bent.
This is the posture of being ready to draw a gun at any time.
They really seem to be professionals.
Hey!
They don't seem like assassins!
This temperament...
Both of them had short hair and were fit and lean.
One person headed towards the elevator, while the other walked along the parking area, scanning the undersides and gaps of each car.
Professional reconnaissance formation.
When the latter got to within ten meters of Song Heping's hiding place, Song Heping suddenly moved.
He sprang from behind the pillar like a cheetah, leaving no sound of footsteps, only the rustling of his clothes. He pounced on the man in black from the side and rear, covering his mouth with his left hand and delivering a precise elbow strike to his temple with his right.
It wasn't lethal, but it was enough to make someone dizzy.
At the same time, his left hand had already gripped the other man's wrist holding the gun, and with a twist and a release, the gun was in his hand.
A domestically produced Type 92 pistol.
Suddenly, he seemed to realize something.
He works within the system!
"do not move."
Song Heping said in a low voice, pressing the muzzle of his gun against the other man's waist.
The people inside the car rushed out upon hearing the commotion, guns in hand, but they didn't dare fire. Instead, they whispered, "Let him go! We're from National A Department!"
"Work permit".
Song Heping did not let go, but just stared coldly at the other party.
In the dim light of the parking lot, his eyes were like ice.
The second man in black took out his identification; it had a black cover and a gold national emblem, which reflected a faint light under the lamp.
It was indeed a security system certificate, which Song Heping had seen before.
“Mr. Song Heping, please come with us.” The man in black, holding identification, spoke in a serious but polite voice: “We mean no harm, this is just a routine inquiry. Please cooperate.”
"Reason?" Song Heping asked, without loosening his grip.
"It involves national security. We'll tell you the specifics when you get there."
Song Heping paused for two seconds to assess the situation. There were two people on the other side, and he was alone.
There are cameras in the parking lot. Although this corner is a blind spot, the action just now may have been captured by other cameras.
The other party is a national A-level organization, not a criminal gang; there's no benefit in resisting them head-on.
Moreover, he also wanted to know how much information Country A had about him.
“Okay.” He nodded and released his grip, but did not return the gun he had surrendered: “But I need to call my brother first and tell him I’ll be back later.”
"We'll talk when we get there." The man in black put away his identification and gestured for him to get in the car.
Song Heping removed the magazine from the Type 92 rifle, unloaded the bullets from the chamber, and returned the empty gun to the person he had attacked.
The movements were skillful and executed in one smooth motion.
The two men in black exchanged a glance, their eyes growing even more wary.
The three got into the car, and the black SUV drove out of the parking lot and disappeared into the nighttime traffic.
The one who showed his ID was driving, while the other sat next to Song Heping, watching him warily.
The vehicle did not head towards the public offices of the GA Bureau or the National A Bureau, but instead drove towards the outskirts of the city.
Song Heping looked out the window.
The roads became increasingly remote, the streetlights became more and more spaced out, and eventually disappeared completely.
The car turned onto a small road, with farmland on both sides and scattered farmhouse lights in the distance.
After driving for about twenty minutes, a courtyard appeared ahead.
The courtyard wall is very high, estimated to be over three meters, and there is barbed wire on top of it.
The gate is a heavy iron gate that opens automatically when a vehicle approaches and closes automatically after the vehicle enters.
There is a three-story building in the courtyard. It looks ordinary, like an old office building from the 1970s or 1980s.
However, Song Heping noticed that the windows were all one-way glass, there were hidden cameras on the outside of the walls, and there was an antenna array on the roof.
That's not an ordinary antenna; it's a satellite communication and signal interception device.
The fact that these temporary venues are set up so professionally suggests that these are not local national A-level teams, but rather foreign teams of a very high caliber.
Depend on!
Such a large-scale operation, all for one person.
That's really impressive...
It's worth it for them to make such a big fuss.
Soon, Song Heping was led into the small building and into a room on the second floor.
The room was simple, even somewhat rudimentary: a metal table and two metal chairs fixed to the ground.
There is a security camera in the corner, with a red indicator light on.
The walls are light gray and made of a special material that makes a dull sound when tapped, so they are probably soundproofing material.
The ceiling is an integrated suspended ceiling, but there are small ventilation openings in the four corners, too small for a person to squeeze through.
There are no windows.
A standard interrogation room, or "interrogation room".
"Sit down," said the man in black who brought him in. "Wait a moment."
The door closed and was locked from the outside. It was an electronic lock, emitting a soft "beep" sound.
Song Heping sat in the chair, the metal surface of which was cold.
He looked around, assessing the environment. The room was about fifteen square meters, and apart from a table, chairs, and a camera, there was nothing else.
The air conditioner vents are overhead, blowing out cold air.
The light is LED cool white light, which is uniform but dazzling and can cause eye fatigue if stared at for a long time.
I waited for about twenty minutes.
He silently counted his heartbeats, approximately 2,400, with an error margin of no more than 30 seconds.
The door opened.
Three people came in.
Walking in front was a man in his forties, with a square face, a buzz cut, wearing a dark blue jacket, a white shirt, and no tie. He had a calm demeanor and sharp but not overly intimidating eyes.
This is the kind of seasoned veteran who has worked in the system for twenty years. They've seen it all and act with great tact.
The second was a young woman in her early thirties, with short hair, no makeup, wearing a gray suit skirt, a serious expression, and holding a tablet computer.
Her gaze lingered on Song Heping for two seconds, like a scanner.
The third was an elderly man in his fifties, with gray hair, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and holding a folder in his hand.
He walked last, carefully closing the door behind him as he entered. His movements were slow and deliberate, yet every detail was perfect.
The three of them sat down opposite Song Heping.
The middle-aged man is in the center, the young woman is on the right, and the elderly man is on the left.
“Mr. Song Heping,” the middle-aged man said, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable authority. “My surname is Li, and I am the deputy director of the XXX department. These two are my colleagues. I’ve invited you here to learn about some things.”
Song Heping looked at them without saying a word.
"Does this 'find the situation'?" He pointed to the door. "I thought I was being arrested."
“It’s just assisting with the investigation.” Director Li smiled slightly. “We’ll talk about your assault on the police and the robbery of your gun later. Let’s talk about your situation overseas first.”
"I do engineering business overseas, and it's all legal."
Song Heping said, his voice equally calm.
"What project?"
“Construction, infrastructure, oil equipment installation, oh, and security services as well.”
"In which countries specifically?"
“Iligo, Syria, Lebia, and some other Middle Eastern and African countries.”
“What’s the name of your company?”
"Peace International Engineering Co., Ltd. is registered in the Cayman Islands and is legal and compliant."
The young woman was writing something on a tablet, her fingers swiping rapidly.
Then she looked up, her gaze sharp as needles: "According to our information, this company is registered in the Cayman Islands, and the actual controller is not you, but a Greek man named Odmans, but his business scope extends far beyond engineering. Over the past five years, 60 percent of the company's funds have flowed to weapons manufacturers, private security companies, and some...sensitive areas."
“These days, how many real bosses do you see who are also the legal representatives themselves?” Song Heping looked at her and sneered, “However, your investigation is very thorough. Not bad, not bad, you were able to find this out.”
“This is our job,” Director Li said. “Mr. Song, since we’ve invited you here, it means you must have some information. Let’s get straight to the point and save each other’s time.”
The old man opened the folder and pushed several photos over.
First photo: Song Heping meets with Abuyu in Erbil.
The photo was taken indoors, at a discreet angle, and the image quality is clear.
Abuyu patted Song Heping on the shoulder with a smile, and Song Heping nodded slightly.
The background features the Kold's flag and the Iligo flag.
Second photo: Song Heping's security team in Bakhta.
The photo was taken from a high vantage point, possibly by a drone.
Bulletproof vehicles were parked by the roadside, and Song Heping was surrounded by bodyguards in camouflage uniforms and fully armed, with the weapon models clearly visible.
The third photo: A blurry picture of Song Heping shaking hands with Nassin, commander of the Quds Force of the Persian Revolutionary Guard.
The background is a desert, and both men are dressed in civilian clothes, but the Iranian officer's facial features are very distinctive—thick eyebrows, a large beard, and a scar on his left cheek.
Fourth image: A shipment of weapons was seized at the border of a Central Asian country. The wooden crates were opened, revealing brand-new AK-47s, with a note indicating that the goods belonged to a company in the Cayman Islands.
“How do you explain these?” the old man asked, tapping the photos with his fingers. “Especially the last one. Weapons, Mr. Song. This isn’t engineering equipment.”
Song Heping remained unfazed, even offering a slight smile:
"It's normal to deal with various forces when doing business in the Middle East. You should know that without the protection of the military or local armed groups, no project can be completed there. As for arms..."
He shrugged: "I don't know. It's possible someone is impersonating my company, or it could be the work of some of my employees. My main business is engineering, you can check the contracts for that."
"Mr. Song."
Director Li leaned forward and placed his hands crossed on the table.
This posture is very intimidating.
“We’re not stupid. We have your entry and exit records for the past ten years—multiple entries into Iligo, Syria, Lebia, as well as Persia, Afghanistan, and Yamen. All those places were war zones. Would a normal person do that?”
“You frequently travel to war-torn countries, staying for extended periods, ranging from two weeks to six months. Although your company is nominally an engineering firm, it has a huge and complex flow of funds. It’s an open secret that you have a private armed force in Iligo. Half a month ago, during the Erbil coup, the so-called ‘engineering team’ you mentioned appeared on the front lines, and that wasn’t for road construction.”
Song Heping was silent.
The other side had more information than he expected, but it hadn't reached the core level yet.
They knew he had influence in Iligo, but they might not know the exact extent.
"We know who you are."
The young woman replied, her voice cold and stern: "An arms dealer, or more accurately—a private military contractor. You have your own sphere of influence in northwestern Iligo, controlling the route from Mosul to the Syrian border, and you have connections with the Kurds, Iranians, and even Americans. What is your purpose in returning home this time?"
"I'm going home to visit relatives," Song Heping said. "I'm from here, and I haven't been back for ten years."
"Just visiting relatives?" The old man sneered, adjusting his glasses. "As far as we know, you have several enemies overseas, including international criminal groups and intelligence agencies of certain countries. At least three departments of the CIA are investigating you, and the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service is also interested in you. Aren't you afraid of bringing them back to the country?"
Song Heping's eyes narrowed: "Are you threatening me?"
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(End of this chapter)