Chapter 1925 - 1417: Rampaging Walker (Part 3)

Swift was silent for a few seconds.

He walked to the bombproof window of the compartment, outside of which the camp in the Green Zone was pitch black, with only the patrol cars' searchlights occasionally slicing through the night sky.

"How much did Libya pay over there?" Swift suddenly asked.

Walker was taken aback: "What?"

"General Haftar's 'National Army.'" Swift turned around: "They have been making poor progress on the Tripoli front lately and urgently need a batch of 'informal channel' precision strike weapons. The intelligence I received indicates they are willing to pay three times the market price for active US military equipment. What did you negotiate? Five hundred million? Six hundred million?"

Walker's face became extremely grim.

Swift continued, "Let me guess the transaction structure. This batch of equipment is recorded as 'combat losses' or 'missing in transit' on official records; there's a complete document chain in the Pentagon's audit system. In reality, they were loaded onto trucks, transported to the Northern Border, swapped with handwritten 'humanitarian supplies' documents at a checkpoint, entered Turkey, and then transshipped from the Mediterranean to Libya."

"You..."

Walker opened his mouth but couldn't utter a complete sound.

"I am an intelligence officer, Walker," Swift repeated: "Did you really think your little maneuvers could fool everyone? At least three informants from the CIA station in Baghdad are keeping an eye on the movement of this batch of goods. The Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA) sent an inquiry last week, asking why the 'loss rate' of the Mosul warehouse suddenly surged by three hundred percent."

Walker finally collapsed into the chair, the water bottle in his hand falling to the ground, water splashing everywhere.

"Then why..." he asked hoarsely, "Why did no one stop it? If you all knew, if the CIA knew—"

"Because every department can get a share of this business, or at least, so they play blind!"

Swift took a few steps closer and lowered his voice, "Walker, listen to me. What I said just now is only on the premise that nothing happens. Once something happens..."

Walker suddenly looked up, his eyes full of fear.

"At that time..." Swift enunciated word by word, "what will be investigated is not a simple 'goods missing' case, but a 'treasonous weapon smuggling case.' All involved personnel, including those influential people who sheltered you in Washington, will immediately sever ties and throw you out as a scapegoat. You know what they'll do: your computer will 'suddenly find' records of communication with foreign forces, your bank account will 'show' large unexplained deposits, and your mental health assessment will 'indicate' you have severe PTSD from long-term battlefield service, possibly leading to 'irrational behavior.'"

"Enough." Walker held his face in both hands.

But Swift hadn't finished speaking: "Then the military tribunal will charge you with treason, corruption, and endangering national security. The best case scenario is spending the rest of your life in Leavenworth Military Prison, the worst case..."

He made a throat-cutting gesture.

"Some people won't allow someone who knows too much to live long."

The compartment was silent for a whole minute.

Walker lowered his hands, his eyes red, but his expression had changed from anger and panic to a kind of desperate calm.

"What do you suggest?" he asked.

Swift knew, the critical moment had arrived.

"Find Song Heping, negotiate." he said.

Walker let out a short, cold laugh: "Negotiate? Ask him to spit out the meat he swallowed? Swift, you saw the scene just now. That guy mobilized a large force to carry out a textbook annihilation battle. Now you want me to negotiate with him?"

"Not to make him spit it out." Swift's brain was running fast, "To propose a 'buyback.' We can concoct a story: these weapons were hijacked by terrorists, we discovered clues during tracking, launched a timely blitz to reclaim the weapons, but part of the equipment was damaged in combat. Then we'll buy them back from Song Heping at the price of scrap metal, under the name of 'scrap disposal.'"

Walker stared at Swift, as if looking at a madman: "Am I to spend money on buying back my own stuff? And also thank that robber? Swift, are you serious?"

"It's damage control!" Swift raised his voice: "Where do you think those pieces of equipment are now? They're already in transit! With every passing hour, they are further away from us! If we can negotiate to repurchase even just seventy percent of the equipment at scrap value, we can reconstruct a batch for delivery to the Libyans. Especially if we use the 'special fund.' In this way, the loss can be controlled within an acceptable range, and everyone's face can be preserved."

The "special fund" was a black account set up by Walker and the forces behind him, with complex funding sources, used for handling various "inconvenient" expenses.

Walker stood up and paced in the small compartment.

Three steps to the end, turn around, then walk back.

"Why?" He suddenly stopped, staring fixedly at Swift: "Why are you speaking up for Song Heping so much? What kind of deal do you have with him?"

Swift's heart jumped fiercely, but his face remained unchanged.

"Walker, we are all involved in this matter," he said calmly, "If the goods really disappear forever, if the matter really escalates, the investigation will implicate everyone. Do you think my career can survive? I am just looking for a solution that minimizes harm to all of us."

"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"

Walker's eyes were bloodshot, his demeanor gradually becoming frenzied.

"You're just a coward! Swift! I've always seen you for what you are! At the critical moment, you're just a guy who wets his pants and cries for his mom!"

He pointed to the door: "Get out! Get out of here! I will get the stuff back in my own way! I cannot believe that Lord Dong can swallow our US Army munitions! They are ours, our money!"