Chapter 1981 - 1439: Poisonous Strategy

West District of Mosul, on the top floor of the Tulip Hotel.

The thick bullet-proof glass isolated the nighttime clamor of the city, leaving only a near tomb-like silence in the top-floor office.

The blinds were tightly shut, with only an old-fashioned brass desk lamp at the corner of the desk emitting a dim glow, casting a lone, elongated shadow of Robbin on the mahogany tabletop.

It was 2:17 in the morning.

The ice in the whiskey glass had long melted, and the amber liquid shimmered with a cold luster under the lamp.

Robbin leaned back in the leather high-back chair, tapping his index finger on the desk in a rhythm almost neurotic—

Tap, tap, tap.

The satellite phone on the desk suddenly vibrated, its sound piercing the quiet.

Robbin picked up the receiver slowly.

"Speak."

"At exactly six o'clock tomorrow morning, six warehouses will commence operations simultaneously."

The voice on the other end was low and urgent.

"Northern Mosul's third logistics warehouse, East District US Seventh Storage Point, West Suburb Abandoned Refinery Underground Warehouse, the old armory in Tikrit, Kirkuk transfer station, and the secret distribution point in Baghdad South Suburb."

Robbin's lips curled into a slight smile, one devoid of any warmth.

He took a Cuban cigar from a cedar box, carefully trimming the cap with a sterling silver cutter.

"Continue."

"All American active equipment, valued at a total of fifteen billion dollars."

The cigar slowly rotated in Robbin's fingers.

"Routes," Robbin uttered one word.

"Six independent routes, ultimately converging at the Ministry of Defense's Seventh Armory in Northwest Baghdad. Detailed route maps, convoy formations, and estimated times through checkpoints have been sent to your old email."

The insider took a breath, lowering his voice further.

"Mr. Robbin, the risk for this intelligence is too high. If something goes wrong, I can't stay in Mosul; Samir will definitely find me..."

"Swiss United Bank, account ending 7742, five hundred thousand US dollars, to be received within three hours." Robbin lit the cigar, taking a deep drag: "Do one last thing for me, which route is Song Heping personally following?"

The other end of the phone was silent for about five seconds, with only the sound of heavy breathing.

"Uncertain. But my contact in the Tenth Division says he will monitor the entire operation via helicopter, potentially switching between the six routes at any time. Those two Mi-17 armed helicopters are equipped with satellite communication equipment and infrared countermeasure dispensers."

"Good." Robbin placed the cigar on the edge of a crystal ashtray, "The money will arrive on time. I suggest you leave Mosul tonight; I've already arranged a safe house in Cairo."

After hanging up, he sat silently in the dark for a full three minutes.

Then he got up and walked to the wall, pressing a hidden switch.

The entire wall slowly turned, revealing a massive military map of Iraq.

The map was marked with thumbtacks of different colors representing the control areas of various forces: red for Shiite Militias, green for Sunni Tribes, black for 1515 Remnant, yellow for Kurd Armed, and blue for government army actual control area.

From Mosul to Baghdad, the six transport routes resembled slender arteries, traversing this fragmented canvas of color.

He returned to the desk and dialed another satellite phone.

"Lemont."

"The fish are in the net, six of them."

Robbin clasped the receiver between his shoulder and ear, his hands typing swiftly on a keyboard to bring up the recently received encrypted email.

"The route maps have been confirmed."

The calm voice of Lemont came from the other end, with the faint sound of typing in the background: "How accurate is the insider's intelligence?"

Robbin enlarged details of the route map: "The insider is reliable, absolutely. I paid him half a million for this intelligence, he knows what would happen if he lied."

Lemont chuckled softly, a coldness typical of intelligence officers: "You always like to test human nature with money. So, what do you need me to do?"

"Two things." Robbin used a laser pointer to draw circles on the map: "First, through your 'unofficial channels,' leak the precise timing and formation of several secondary routes to certain parties. Especially those with grudges against Song Heping, let them probe first to drain the escort forces' energy."

"Using a borrowed knife to kill, classic tactic." Lemont said, "What's the second thing?"

"I need to organize three tactical teams, twelve people in total, identities untraceable, all with over two hundred days of combat experience in Iraq." Robbin added with a cold smile: "They won't directly partake in the attack; instead, they'll serve as 'Military Advisors' attached to a few of the most powerful tribal armed forces. Help them devise ambush plans, provide real-time intelligence support, and if necessary... take command on the battlefield."

The phone was silent for a moment, only the sound of pages turning could be heard.

"Personnel can enter via Jordan within 24 hours, identities as employees of 'Dubai Peninsula Security Consulting Company,' completely clean backgrounds." Lemont paused, then continued: "All communications will be through encrypted relay stations in Turkey, and funds will be moved through four-layer shell companies in the Cayman Islands. Even in the worst-case scenario, it would be just an 'over-competitive behavior' between business competitors, at most fines and civil suits."

"Song Heping is no ordinary arms dealer." There was a rare hint of caution in Robbin's tone: "This Chinese man... doesn't play by the rules."

"I understand, which is why you use a borrowed knife to kill." Lemont laughed: "You don't want to get involved directly."

"That's why we need to apply pressure simultaneously on six routes." Robbin's fingers tapped on the map: "Eight thousand troops may sound like a lot, but spread over six routes, that's only about thirteen hundred per route. From Mosul to Baghdad, even the shortest route has to pass through 300 kilometers of Anbar Province's desert, where there are at least seven major tribal territories, each capable of mobilizing over five hundred armed men."

He stood, walked to the window, and gently parted a slat of the blinds.

The eastern sky was already turning pale, the call to prayer beginning to echo from the mosque's minaret.

"And these tribal forces are not a monolith." Robbin continued his analysis, his voice tinged with cold calculation: "The Dulaim tribe and Jabur tribe have fought for generations over a single well. Shiite Militias and Sunni Tribes open fire upon sight, and the 1515 Remnant is everyone's enemy. Even if they all focus on this shipment, they won't coordinate, might even hinder each other."

"You want to create chaos, then fish in troubled waters."

"Chaos is a ladder." Robbin quoted a famous saying: "Song Heping can't possibly achieve victory on all six fronts simultaneously. As long as one route is overwhelmed, and more than a quarter of the cargo is lost, his credibility with the Iraq Military will collapse. The Ministry of Defense won't trust a supplier who can't protect his own goods. Next, they will turn back to us and seek cooperation."

Lemont sighed on the other end of the line: "Sometimes I think you contractors are better at creating chaos than we intelligence guys. Fine, personnel will be in place before noon tomorrow, they'll contact you directly. Maintain secure communication frequency, check it twice daily, morning and evening."

After the call ended, Robbin returned to the computer to start drafting the "intelligence packages" to be distributed.

Ten minutes later, he hit the send button, watching the progress bar move slowly.

These encrypted messages would be relayed through six different servers, eventually appearing in the private inboxes of several tribal leaders, militia commanders, and smuggling ring leaders.

Outside, the first rays of dawn pierced through the clouds.

The hunt had begun.