Chapter 2005 - 1450: Arrival in the United States

Two days later, Baghdad International Airport.

At nine in the morning, Song Heping's bulletproof Mercedes drove into the airport's exclusive lane.

Unlike the regular terminal, this area is specially prepared for diplomatic envoys, senior contractors, and military and political dignitaries. The security process is simplified, and privacy is extremely high.

The sky outside the car window was an eye-catching blue.

Chewing mint-flavored gum, Song Heping's gaze swept past those armed Illigo federal police outside the window.

They were wearing dark green uniforms, gun barrels pointing downwards, yet their eyes continuously scanned each incoming vehicle.

"Old leader." Jiang Feng, in the passenger seat, glanced at him through the rearview mirror: "Grey Wolf and the team arrived last night. A total of eight people, all of them are elite students from the Hunter School, entered in four batches, all successfully."

Song Heping nodded and did not speak.

Two days ago, he sent Grey Wolf and his team ahead to the United States, seemingly as part of a business investigation, but in fact as an emergency response team. These individuals are veterans — Serbians, Croatians, and two retired special forces soldiers from East University — who have been through the chaos in Africa, South America, and the Middle East.

In a place like the United States, eight people are far from enough, but having them is better than nothing.

Besides, he had a trump card up his sleeve.

If absolutely necessary, Simon wouldn't dare not to save him.

Now his relationship with Simon was extremely subtle.

As long as Simon remains the CIA director, he must obediently listen to him.

The car stopped at the VIP channel entrance.

Abdulla got out, communicated a few sentences with the Illigo police officer at the security station; the officer glanced into the car, nodded, and waved them through.

The vehicle continued forward and stopped in front of the dedicated tarmac.

A Gulfstream G650 private jet sat on the runway, its silver-white fuselage reflecting the dazzling sunlight.

This was the plane rented by Song Heping, flying directly from Baghdad to Washington Dulles Airport, with a refueling stop in Frankfurt, the total journey taking about fourteen hours.

"Boss." The driver Abdulla got out, opened the trunk, and took out two suitcases: "Should I deliver them to the boarding ramp?"

"I'll do it myself."

Song Heping doesn't like being waited on too attentively. Since childhood and throughout his military days, he's developed the habit of taking care of himself.

Getting out of the car and taking the suitcases, he surveyed the tarmac.

The surroundings were empty, with only maintenance personnel present.

In the distance lay the military parking area. Several Black Hawk helicopters were parked there, and two C-130 transport planes were loading and unloading goods.

Everything appeared normal.

Song Heping wrapped the gum in his mouth with candy paper and tossed it into a trash can, then dragged his suitcases towards the plane.

A middle-aged man in a deep blue uniform stood at the bottom of the boarding ramp, a white man, slightly chubby, with a standard professional smile on his face.

"Mr. Song, I'm Captain Michael Johnson, welcome aboard. We're scheduled to take off in forty minutes. You can let the flight attendants know if you need anything."

"Thanks."

Song Heping stepped onto the ramp and turned back once at the cabin door.

Jiang Feng and Abdulla were still standing by the car. Seeing him turn back, they nodded slightly.

Song Heping entered the cabin.

The cabin layout was standard for a private jet, eight leather seats, a small conference table, and a separate rest cabin.

The flight attendant was a blonde woman of about thirty, also with a standard professional smile. She helped him settle his luggage and asked what drink he needed.

"Mineral water, please."

Song Heping sat by the window seat and fastened his seatbelt.

Through the cabin window, he saw Abdulla already driving away.

The airport's ground staff were removing the wheel chocks, and the refueling vehicle had finished its operations and was leaving.

At this moment, his phone vibrated.

Upon checking, it was a message from Grey Wolf: "In position. DC weather clear, 13 degrees."

Song Heping glanced at it, deleted the message, and turned off the phone.

The plane began taxiing.

Twenty minutes later, the Gulfstream G650 soared into the sky, Baghdad rapidly shrinking into a gray-yellow patch through the cabin window, eventually entirely covered by clouds.

Song Heping leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes to relax.

But he didn't sleep.

In his mind, he was reviewing all the information he had received over the past two days.

The background of "Crescent International" was still untraceable.

Henry had utilized all relationships, including those from the Commerce Department, security departments, and even a few old friends with special channels. The results were all the same.

The company was registered three years ago, with James Han as the legal representative. Its registered address was a virtual office in a Wilmington office building, with no actual business records, no tax records, no employee information.

Clean as a blank sheet.

And on Rashim's end, the Illigos hadn't contacted him again.

That very much aligns with the intelligence community's rules.

Once the message is sent, the rest is up to you. Saying more may only spoil things.

What piqued his interest the most was Lemont's response.

According to the informant's reports, Lemont had been frequently calling headquarters these past two days, always via encrypted lines, content unknown.

But once, after a call, he smashed a coffee cup.

Such an emotional outburst is very unusual on a senior intelligence officer.

What was Lemont anxious about?

Was it the company with the untraceable details, or something else?

Song Heping opened his eyes, took out that jar of gum from his pocket, and poured out two pieces.

The flight attendant walked over, handed him a glass of mineral water, and glanced at the gum jar in his hand, smiling as she asked: "Would you like lunch, sir? We can offer steak, salmon, or Middle Eastern-style roasted meat."