Chapter 27: Risk and Reward Are Proportional

As the old saying goes, there is no such thing as a free lunch. Song Heping soon realized that the money from Angel’s "seemingly great" contract would not be easy to earn.

Because she needed to go to a place called Karasa.

"Karasa?" The Chef frowned after hearing the name. He had never heard of it, so he quickly pulled out a map and handed it to Angel. "Ms. Angel, may I ask where this town of Karasa is located?"

"Let me see the map..." Angel took the map, then pulled a PAD from her bag and appeared to open another map on it. Song Heping noted this detail. It was clear that the Karasa destination had been assigned to her by someone else, and she herself was not entirely sure where it was. Angel seemed very cautious; she opened the device only to confirm the location and immediately closed it, as if hiding a secret. Song Heping also noticed the design of the PAD. Judging by its appearance, it was not for civilian use; it was almost certainly military-grade. The most direct difference between military and civilian equipment lies in durability, stability, and security. Military gear is usually minimalist and easily identifiable. For a journalist to be using such high-security equipment made Song Heping suspicious of Angel’s true identity.

"Here it is!" Angel’s finger finally landed on the map. Everyone leaned in and gasped. Karasa was located about 30 kilometers northeast of Haditha, a key strategic town in Iraq. Haditha was not far from Baghdad—only 220 kilometers. However, the problem was that it was not only near Haditha but also close to Al-Baghdadi. Both areas were among the most active strongholds for anti-American insurgents, and recent news was filled with reports of skirmishes in these places. Although the U.S. military claimed to have taken control of Haditha, Song Heping did not believe those idiots. They had previously claimed they controlled all of Baghdad! Damn it, hadn't A-Guan and Fatty Tan died in a roadside ambush? Control, my foot! Not a single word those Americans said at their press conferences could be trusted.

The Chef clearly realized the severity of the situation. Risks were indeed proportional to rewards. There was no such thing as an easy job with good pay. To travel from Baghdad to Karasa meant driving west along the highway through several military strongholds like Fallujah, Habbaniyah, and Ramadi. Two hundred kilometers might not seem far, but the probability of being ambushed along the way was infinitely close to 100%.

Although they would be escorted by a detachment of the Iraqi Security Forces (ISF), everyone knew the combat effectiveness of local Iraqi troops—they were useless when things went south. The Chef, Song Heping, and the others exchanged looks. This place... it was going to be tough. It was already unsafe around Baghdad, let alone driving 200 kilometers west along the highway.

"What? Can’t you do it?" Angel sensed their hesitation.

The Chef quickly denied it: "It’s not that we can’t, I just have a question..." After all, a man cannot admit he is incapable. He caught her gaze, trying to find an answer in her expression. "Why didn't you ask Blackwater to arrange a better security team for this kind of mission? For instance, Mad Dog Rice, who was just here—he has ex-SAS members in his ranks. At your budget, you could easily find retired Navy SEALs or similar special forces personnel in Baghdad..." The Chef’s voice slowed, and the confusion in his eyes deepened. There was no shortage of talent in the Baghdad mercenary circle. As long as you had the money, you could hire retired SEALs, Delta Force operators, or SAS officers. Why would Angel hire "The Musicians," an obscure little team, for $15,000 a day? It was truly baffling.

"I don't trust them!" Angel’s response was crisp and immediate. She countered, "You’re all Russians, right?" Her eyes shifted to Song Heping. "And you’re Chinese, right?"

"That's right..."
"Yes..."
The group nodded like fools, completely bewildered. What did being Russian have to do with it? What about being Chinese? Did this woman have some strange fixation?

"Exactly. I don't trust Americans, and I don't trust the British. The fact that you are Russians and Chinese is exactly why I trust you."

The room went silent. She didn't trust Americans? But she was American! She didn't trust the British? Weren't they the U.S.'s most loyal allies? The first thought that crossed Song Heping's mind was: This girl is definitely crazy!

The Chef maintained his professionalism; if the client didn't want to talk, he wouldn't press. Take the money, do the job. If you're a mercenary, you have to accept the reality of the profession. Whether her words were true or not didn't matter, as long as the dollars were real. He changed the subject: "Ms. Angel, when do you plan to head to Karasa?"

Angel replied, "I have an appointment with my contact at eight o'clock on Friday night in Karasa. Once I get there, he will tell me the exact meeting location."

"You don't even know the exact meeting place?" the Chef asked.

Angel shook her head. "No."

"Do you have a specific itinerary?" the Chef asked. "I need to make some necessary preparations in advance."

Angel continued to drop bombshells: "I don't have an itinerary."

"Then how long do you plan on staying there?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe a few days, maybe a few months."

No precise meeting place or time. No itinerary. No definite duration of stay. Everything was suspicious. Song Heping even began to wonder if Angel wasn't in Iraq to report news, but to uncover some kind of secret. As for who the informant was, he couldn't guess.

In the end, the Chef sighed helplessly. "Fine. If we're going to Karasa, we'll leave on Friday morning. If there are no mishaps on the road, we should arrive by the afternoon. Once we meet, we'll find a safe place to stay the night and head back to the Green Zone at daybreak."

With the time set, the Chef stood up to leave. Once outside the hotel lobby, Gray Wolf immediately voiced his doubts: "Why does this feel so wrong to me?"

The Chef replied, "You think you're the only one who feels that way? Who thinks this feels right? Everyone thinks it's wrong!"

Gray Wolf said, "Then why did you take the job?"

The Chef glared at him. "Do we have a choice? Fifteen thousand dollars a day! A day! We’ve been here for nearly a month; have we ever seen such a lucrative contract? Stop thinking about it. Go back, buy ammunition, get prepared, and we leave Friday morning."

White Bear added, "Boss, our Opel is broken. We only have one Patrol SUV left. We don't even have enough vehicles."

The Opel’s radiator and fuel lines had been shot during yesterday's skirmish. After limping back to the Green Zone, it leaked all its fuel, and this morning it finally gave out completely. The repair shop said it would take a week to fix, and since they were leaving for Karasa on Friday, there was no time. Now, the entire mercenary group was down to just one SUV.

"The Musicians," a five-man mercenary team, were so poor that even Song Heping, who was struggling himself, couldn't help but shake his head. He felt like he hadn't joined a mercenary team, but rather a startup company. This wasn't just a job; it was like buying into a venture capital firm.

"It's fine!" The Chef waved his hand, without a hint of hesitation. "I'll handle the vehicle."