Chapter 1913 - 1413: Morality and Money_2

"I'll go with you."

"No, he insisted on meeting alone." Song Heping slung on his backpack. "You stay here. If I'm not back within an hour, activate the contingency plan: immediately stop all inventory work, pull everyone out, and request support from Samir."

"Old squad leader—"

"That's an order." Song Heping put on his jacket and checked the magazine of the pistol at his waist. "Remember, in this game, sometimes the biggest risk isn't paying money, it's not knowing the truth."

He walked out of the office and disappeared into Baghdad's night.

In the distance, the base lights looked like a giant vessel stranded in the desert, slowly sinking into the quicksand of corruption and greed.

Midnight, at the abandoned helicopter pad.

The moonlight was ghastly pale, the wind whipped up sand and dust that stung the face.

Song Heping arrived ten minutes early and picked a spot where he could observe the whole area, hiding himself.

At eleven fifty-eight, a figure appeared at the edge of the pad.

It was Lieutenant Thompson, in civilian clothes, carrying a shoulder bag, glancing nervously around from time to time.

Song Heping waited five minutes, and only after confirming there was no ambush did he step out from cover.

"You're late." Thompson's voice was trembling a little.

"Caution is a virtue." Song Heping set the backpack on the ground. "The money's here. Where's the stuff?"

Thompson took out a thick envelope from his bag. "All the material. Printouts of the warehouse transfer records, screenshots of emails, and a USB drive with the original files."

Song Heping took the envelope and flipped through it quickly under a flashlight.

The more he read, the heavier his heart grew.

Thompson hadn't lied.

The documents showed that at least forty percent of the equipment at this base had already been marked as 'awaiting destruction' or 'reassigned for other use.'

That included those Stryker Armored Vehicles, the Javelin missile systems, and the latest batch of individual soldier gear.

The transfer orders were signed by Walker, and approved by the US Military Joint Material Processing Center in Iraq, a theoretically neutral body.

Even more shocking were the emails.

Walker was in frequent contact with an address, "[email protected]", discussing "disposal plans for surplus material."

The most recent email was sent three days ago:

"Buyer has arrived, preliminary inventory expected to be completed within five days. Actual usable stock has been moved to Zone C-7, ready at any time for secondary transfer. Payment per original plan: fifty percent advance to Cayman account, remaining balance paid at Turkey border on delivery. Note: buyer has military background, can if necessary manufacture a 'security incident' to interrupt the handover."

Song Heping looked up. "Where is Zone C-7?"

"A sealed area at the northernmost edge of the base, formerly a chemical and biological weapons inspection facility."

Thompson said, "It's not within the scope of this handover. It has independent security, run by Walker's trusted men. I slipped in once—there are at least thirty Strykers in there, all the Javelins and Stingers, plus a batch of brand-new sniper rifles and optics."

"What are they planning to do with that shipment?"

"Route it through the Kold Autonomous Region to Turkey, then ship it onward by sea to Libya." Thompson said, "The buyer is a representative of the Libyan National Army, willing to pay thirty percent more than your price. Walker and Swift get a fifteen percent cut off the top."

"Does the Ministry of Defense know?"

Thompson gave a cold, derisive laugh. "Johnson and Miller? They're in charge of doctoring the paperwork so the entire transfer looks legal on paper. The contractors handle the actual moving and the cover-up. It's a complete chain, and everyone gets their share."

Song Heping put the documents back in the envelope and pushed the backpack across. "The money's here. What are you going to do?"

"First thing tomorrow morning, I'm filing for emergency leave and going back to the United States." Thompson picked up the backpack. "I've had enough. Five years—I've watched this system devour everything. Decent people get pushed out, the corrupt climb higher step by step. I wanted to do something, but every attempt only brought me closer to the edge of destruction. Now I just want out."

"They might come after you."

"I know." Thompson shouldered the backpack. "Which is why I'm not going home. I'll disappear for a while, wait until this is over."

He turned to leave, then stopped. "Mr. Song, a word of advice. Walker isn't just greedy, he's cruel. If he realizes you've uncovered the truth, he may resort to extreme measures. That batch of transferred equipment… just pretend it doesn't exist. Some battles can't be won."

Thompson vanished into the night.

Song Heping stood where he was, his hand clenched tight around the envelope.

In the moonlight, the outline of the base looked like a colossal tomb, burying countless US Dollars, countless weapons, and the last shred of dignity of a superpower.

When he walked back into the temporary office, Jiang Feng was waiting anxiously.

"Well?"

Song Heping tossed the envelope onto the table. "Take a look."

Jiang Feng went through the documents, his face growing paler and paler. "Forty percent of the equipment… they never planned to give it to us from the start?"

"Worse." Song Heping sat down, rubbing his temples. "They're planning to make us pay in full, then stage a 'security incident'—maybe an attack, maybe an accident—to interrupt the handover. After that they declare the contract terminated due to force majeure, we don't get the remaining goods, and there's no way to recover the money we already paid."

"Those bastards!" Jiang Feng slammed a fist onto the table. "What do we do now? Notify the American Embassy?"

"Embassy?" A bitter, mocking smile crossed Song Heping's face. "For all we know the clowns at the embassy are getting a cut too. Jiang Feng, the fact that Walker dares to do this means he has plenty of protection. Maybe his superiors are in on it, maybe the entire US troops in Iraq logistics system is rotten to the core. If we go to the embassy, we're walking into the trap ourselves."