Chapter 1957 - 1429: The Hongmen Banquet (Part 4)

Song Heping slowed down the car and scanned both sides.

About every ten meters, there was a hidden camera, its exterior painted dark green, blending with the palm tree trunks, but the infrared indicator lights faintly glowed in the dusk, like eyes peering from the darkness.

Several positions also had motion sensors installed, small white boxes hidden among the leaves.

This felt less like a hotel and more like a high-security estate.

The driveway stretched about two hundred meters; at its end, it suddenly opened up to reveal a meticulously maintained garden.

Even during the war, this area surprisingly retained its greenery: neatly trimmed lawns, meticulously pruned shrubs, and a small fountain gurgling softly in the twilight.

In the center of the garden stood an independent two-story building in traditional Baghdad style, with dome arches and walls covered in beige stone, glowing warmly under landscape lighting.

This was the true core of the Tulip Hotel.

A clubhouse that was never open to the public, accessible only to a select few like senior US military officers, intelligence agency heads, regional directors of major defense companies, powerful figures within the Illigo government, and pivotal individuals like Robbin.

Song Heping remembered this place.

More than a decade ago, after he and his partner, the chef, secured their first oilfield security contract, Robbin had "introduced" him to this small circle here.

The scene had been similar that night: driving down this lane, seeing this building, then entering a box named "Tigris."

The box was filled with the most powerful contractors in Illigo at the time.

Black Water's Blake, a deputy from Dane International, and several individuals he later learned had close ties with intelligence agencies.

He was still young then, in his early thirties, looking at those renowned tycoons with a mix of wariness and an inevitable thrill.

It felt like finally getting the ticket to enter the real game.

Returning to the old place now, the mood was entirely different.

He parked the car in a spot marked "Reserved."

As soon as he turned off the engine, a waiter dressed in a white robe and traditional headscarf emerged from the building, walking briskly and silently, bowing by the car side.

"Mr. Song, please follow me."

The voice was gentle, with well-trained respect.

Song Heping got out, deliberately closing the car door with some force.

The "bang" was exceptionally clear in the tranquil garden.

This was a small habit, testing the acoustic characteristics of the surroundings.

The echo was quickly absorbed by the lawn and trees.

He followed the waiter toward the main entrance of the building.

The door was heavy solid wood, intricately carved with geometric patterns, bordered with brass. As the waiter pushed the door open, warm light and the mixed scent of agarwood, coffee, and old leather rushed in.

Inside was another world.

A hall over six meters high, with a giant crystal chandelier hanging in the center, hundreds of crystal pendants refracting dazzling light spots under the illumination.

The floor was covered with a thick Persian carpet, featuring traditional Isfahan patterns, with elaborate vine motifs embroidered in gold thread on a deep red backdrop.

Some decorations hung on the walls, including an Ottoman Saber inlaid with gemstones, a tribe flag shrouded in dust, and several oil paintings depicting ancient Mesopotamian scenes.

A complete set of Arabic armor stood in the corner, unclear whether it was a genuine antique or a replica.

The design here deliberately blended traditional Middle Eastern elements with Western luxury styles, striving to create a "cross-cultural sense of prestige"—see, we respect local traditions while offering world-class standards.

But to Song Heping, this blend seemed forced, even somewhat laughable.

Like forcing together a Bedouin tent and a London gentlemen's club, resulting in neither side truly resembling the proper form.

The waiter guided him up the curved staircase.

The second-floor corridor was very quiet.

The doors on both sides were firmly closed, made of solid wood with metal edges, with no light or sound visible from beneath—soundproofing was excellent.

At the end of the corridor was a double walnut door.

Two burly men in black suits, wearing transparent earpieces, stood on each side of the door.

They were more skilled than the security personnel downstairs, their suits tailored but allowing room for movement, standing with their center slightly forward, right hand naturally resting at the waist—a quick draw position.

Upon seeing Song Heping, the bodyguard on the left nodded slightly, murmuring into his collar, then pushed open the door on the right.

The "Tigris" box was revealed before them.

"We've arrived, Mr. Song." The attendant stopped, stepping aside with a welcoming gesture: "Mr. Robin has been waiting inside for a long time, please enter."