Chapter 45: The Body Double

"I knew he wasn't dead! I just knew it! That old fox isn't going to die that easily!"

Inside the Green Zone's Special Operations Command, Thomas took off his headset, stood up, and shouted to Colonel Brown, who was standing not far away: "Colonel, you need to come over and listen to this recording!"

Colonel Brown walked over to Thomas, picked up the headset, and put it on.

Thomas replayed the recording.

As Brown listened, his expression grew increasingly grave, until finally, his brow furrowed deeply.

He took off the headset and demanded loudly, "Has the action team returned?!"

"They've already returned to the base near the airport," an ISA operative answered immediately.

"Damn it!"

Colonel Brown said, "Have them scramble immediately, head for Haditha, land at Camp Victory, and wait for my orders!"

After Brown finished giving his instructions, Thomas said with a smug grin, "Colonel, cooperating with us is the smartest decision you've ever made."

Brown glanced at Thomas.

He didn't like petty men of this sort.

Yet he had to admit that Langley's black ops department knew what they were doing.

Take this instance, for example: Thomas had installed wiretaps and tracking devices inside the Lincoln, and because they had maintained real-time awareness of the "Musicians" mercenary group's movements, it had proven immensely helpful.

The recording they had just heard was captured by the bug inside the Lincoln—a conversation between Angel and Mr. J while inside the vehicle.

Clearly, Mr. J was not dead.

Not only was he alive, but he had also let bygones be bygones, concluding that the initial rendezvous had fallen through only because the U.S. military's special forces had meddled.

Therefore, he decided to reschedule a new meeting for everyone to complete this vital transaction.

Furthermore, he warned Angel to be on guard, as there was likely a mole within her escort team, which was how the rendezvous location had been leaked. He instructed her to root out the hidden threat in her team before they met again, promising to contact her in one hour.

At that moment, an officer walked hurriedly into the command center holding a report.

"Sir! The preliminary analysis report on the body is out..."

"Don't bother."

Colonel Brown waved a hand.

"Let me guess. The corpse is not Mr. J himself."

The officer froze. "Sir, you already knew?"

...

Just as the ISA and GRS had confirmed that the individual killed at the dam earlier was merely a double for Mr. J, a storm was brewing within the oil refinery as well.

"A mole?!"

Upon hearing Angel recount Mr. J's assessment, Cook was the first to shake his head.

"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!" he declared with absolute certainty. "There cannot be a mole in my team!"

Perhaps his voice was too loud, frightening Angel once again and causing her to instinctively hide behind Song Heping.

Gray Wolf chimed in, "Could it be someone from the ISF?"

"That's impossible either," Cook said. "We took precautions beforehand; they didn't know the exact location."

Indeed, Cook had taken security measures before heading to Klasa.

After all, in a place like Iraq nowadays, it was impossible to tell friend from foe.

Local factions, in particular, were intricately complex.

Though Saddam had fallen, quite a few officials from the old regime had surrendered to the coalition and secured seats on the Governing Council.

These people were resources the coalition had to utilize.

Powerful though the coalition was, having militarily occupied most of Iraq, managing the locals ultimately required relying on these old power structures.

This was a dilemma every occupying force had to face.

The Iraqi Interim Governing Council currently functioned as a provisional government—in essence, a puppet regime propped up, relying on tribal factions, old regime officials, and military elements, with the Lighthouse Country pulling strings from behind the curtain while these lackones acted as front-men puppets, mutually exploiting one another.

Thus, one could hardly speak of loyalty regarding the hastily cobbled-together armed forces under such a Frankenstein government; money was what mattered most.

Given enough money, they would gladly sell their souls.

Because of this, Cook had left the ISF behind in Klasa and taken only the five members of the "Musicians" mercenary group to escort Angel to the dam. On one hand, this accommodated Mr. J's aversion to the ISF; on the other, it prevented any potential leaks from within their ranks.

"Maybe it was a drone..."

Gray Wolf recalled the drone that had previously hovered over the scene.

"Right." Cook's eyes lit up. "That's it! It has to be that thing!"

Noticing that Song Heping had remained silent throughout, Cook asked, "Shang, what's your take?"

Having witnessed everything that transpired earlier, Cook held a completely new level of respect for Song Heping and naturally sought his opinion when facing problems.

In truth, it wasn't that Song Heping didn't want to speak. Ever since Angel mentioned a mole, he had felt something stirring in the dark recesses of his mind, trying to break through yet failing to surface, leaving him with a frustrating, bottlenecked sensation.

"No..."

Song Heping pondered for a long while, still unable to grasp that elusive something lingering in the shadows.

"It's just a drone, what's there to overthink? It's not like U.S. special forces and the CIA are using them for tracking and assassinations for the first time."

Hearing the letters "CIA"—

Song Heping suddenly felt as though an enema had been administered; the cluttered fragments clogging his mind instantly snapped into clarity.

"The car! It's the car!"

He turned and bolted toward the bullet-riddled Lincoln, wrenched the door open, and climbed inside.

Everyone else stood rooted to the spot, completely bewildered by what Song Heping was doing.

Dashboard, circuit boards, seats, door panels...

Fortunately, the Lincoln had already been thoroughly peppered by heavy machine-gun fire, making it relatively easy to dismantle.

White Bear couldn't help asking Cook, "What is Shang doing tearing up the car?"

Cook looked equally clueless and shook his head.

Yet he had no intention of stopping him.

Song Heping was no fool; he knew what he was doing.

Before long, Song Heping emerged from the vehicle, sweating profusely, holding an object in his hand.

*Clack.*

He threw the gadget onto the ground.

"A wiretap. If I'm not mistaken, besides wiretaps, there are GPS trackers hidden in both of these Lincolns."

"How is that possible!" Cook's eyes bulged.

"It was the GRS! Exactly." Song Heping remembered—the two special operators he and Gray Wolf had killed in the woods near the dam belonged to the GRS!

No wonder the guy had looked somewhat familiar.

He had seen him before.

Back when he and Ah Guan were ambushed on a delivery run, among the men who came to extract Thomas after the firefight was this very individual.

At the time, consumed by grief over the deaths of Ah Guan and Fat Tan, he hadn't paid much attention, merely catching a fleeting glimpse.

When Cook had mentioned the CIA, it suddenly clicked: the GRS was a subordinate agency of the CIA. If the GRS was involved in this operation, it meant Thomas was compromised.

If Thomas was compromised, the cars were definitely compromised.

He had previously found it utterly illogical that Thomas would lend two expensive armored Lincolns to an obscure, unknown mercenary group, but looking back now...

It certainly wasn't out of some profound life-or-death friendship. Life-or-death friendships were worthless here; they were forged and broken daily.

Thomas lending the cars was a classic case of pointing at the mulberry while cursing the locust tree—his true target had been Angel all along.

With that realization, Song Heping felt the pressure mount crushingly.

This meant he was now crossing paths with the CIA.

That was the premier intelligence organization on the planet, and he had just killed one of their men.

Goddamn it!

This situation was truly a mess!