Chapter 1961 - 1432: The Anger of the Defeated

Tulip Hotel, "Tigris" Box.

After the heavy walnut door closed, the room fell into a brief silence.

The candle flames flickered on the silver candelabra, casting shadows on the faces gathered around the table.

The pan-fried cod on the table had gone cold, the truffle sauce had solidified into oily specks, and the meticulously carved vegetable decorations had lost their sheen.

It seemed more like offerings for a failed ritual at this moment.

Robbin stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to the room.

He was holding a glass of freshly poured whiskey, with ice cubes clinking softly inside.

Outside, the garden lights outlined the silhouettes of palm trees, further away, the lights of the Green Zone formed a hazy band in the night sky.

He saw Song Heping's Toyota Land Cruiser drive out from the side door of the hotel, turn, and disappear down the driveway.

Gone.

Just gone like that.

"FUCK!"

Blake broke the silence first.

The former Marine slammed his fist on the table, causing the silver cutlery to jump up and fall down with a piercing clang.

"Who does this yellow-skinned bastard think he is?!"

Hansen maintained his Northern European calm, but his knuckles wrapped around the glass had turned white.

"He saw through it."

The voice was flat but as cold as ice.

"And he saw through it right from the beginning."

Old Tom took off his glasses, slowly wiping the lenses with a silk handkerchief, deliberately slow, as if stalling for time and sorting out his thoughts.

"He mentioned Sicilia. How did he know? This information should only be…"

He didn't finish but glanced toward Curtis in the corner.

Curtis was sitting on the single sofa in the reception area, legs crossed, fiddling with a solid gold Dunhill lighter.

Open, close, then open again.

The metallic friction sound was particularly clear in the silence.

"He has no evidence."

Curtis finally spoke.

"It's just speculation. Or, a professional instinct."

He raised his eyes, looking at Robbin's back.

"Robbin, your 'old friend' is sharper than we estimated."

Marco no longer had a smile on his face.

He poured himself half a glass of grappa and drank it down.

"What do we do now? Plan A failed. He refused so outright, leaving no room."

Robbin turned around.

His face was particularly somber in the candlelight shadows.

After the carefully maintained "old friend" mask was completely torn off, what was revealed was a mix of anger, frustration, and some darker emotion.

"Plan A failed, there's still Plan B."

His voice was low, but each word seemed squeezed out from between his teeth.

"He thinks that by rejecting tonight's proposal, it's over? Too naive."

He walked to the bar, put down his glass, and picked up that secure satellite phone.

His fingers paused on the keypad for a few seconds, then pressed the redial button.

The call connected.

"He's gone." Robbin said, without any pleasantries: "Didn't agree. Not a second of hesitation."

From the receiver came Lemont's restrained breathing.

Long, deep.

Then a crude and low curse.

"He spelled it out."

Robbin continued, walking to the corner of the box, deliberately lowering his voice, but the others in the room could still hear fragments.

"Mentioned Sicilia, mentioned the trap. He probably guessed it was a setup."

"How does he know?!"

Lemont's tone was filled with anger.

"This plan only you, me, Curtis, and those few others know."

He paused, his tone becoming more sinister.

"Your 'friends' over there, are their mouths tight enough?"

Robbin's gaze swept over the others in the room.

Blake, Hansen, Old Tom, Marco, and Curtis.

Everyone had access to the core of the plan.

The possibility of a leak…

"There's no problem on my side."

Robbin ultimately decided not to cause trouble for himself.

"I analyze he might just be speculating. He only has a few possible destinations for the batch of sensitive equipment in his hands. The Sicilia Government Army has been frantically purchasing air defense and precision strike weapons in the international black market recently, this is not a secret."

The other end of the phone was silent for over ten seconds.

"What do we do now?" Lemont asked: "The B plan you mentioned before?"

"B plan." Robbin murmured again, walked to the window, looking at the night scene outside: "If he won't voluntarily hand it over, we'll force him to hand it over. Or… force him out."

He paused, organizing his words.

"Tomorrow morning, I will send a formal report to the headquarters, and then 'recommend' headquarters to activate the industry linkage mechanism to conduct a risk assessment of the 'Musician' defense business worldwide."

"Industry linkage mechanism?" Lemont asked.

"An informal alliance." Robbin explained: "AAFES, Black Water, Sparta, KBR, MVM, and several other large defense groups, we have information sharing and risk warning agreements among us. When a company is identified as 'high risk,' other members will take collective action, including but not limited to suspending cooperation, tightening supply chains, jointly excluding in bidding, warning common clients, and even some more extreme measures… In simple terms, we'll make his next ten deals ten times harder."

Lemont was thinking.

Robbin could hear the sound of fingers tapping the table from the receiver.

"This will take time." Lemont finally said: "And can't guarantee it will be effective. Song Heping isn't an ordinary contractor, he has his channels, and… political connections. Rahim from the Ministry of Defense seems to have a good relationship with him."