Money is a good thing.
But sometimes it can also be deadly.
Song Heping deeply understands that this is a hot potato, and a slight misstep can bring disaster.
He must be extremely cautious, without showing any flaw.
The off-road vehicle bumped along the mountain road, and Song Heping's thoughts gradually became clearer.
The most urgent task is to quickly monetize the oil.
For this, he needs to find reliable partners and channels.
He thought of his old connections in the arms smuggling field—smuggling is smuggling, whether it's arms or oil!
Should be able to handle it!
Additionally, he also considered whether he could use the name of the International Red Cross or other NGO organizations to sell the oil at a discount to certain countries or companies in urgent need of energy, then transfer the funds back to the camp in the form of humanitarian aid.
However, these ideas are still in the embryonic stage and require further verification of feasibility.
As dusk approached, the vast cityscape of Tehran finally appeared on the horizon.
The sunset cast a hazy yellow glow over the highland city, with dense buildings, towering mosque domes, and modern glass curtain walls intertwined together, forming a strange and fragmented city skyline.
The traffic became congested, and the air was filled with the exhaust of cars and the unique bustle of the city.
Compared to the tense atmosphere of the desolate border and the secret camp, it seemed like another world here.
The vehicle did not stop in the city, but drove directly to the heavily guarded Revolutionary Guard Headquarters located in the city center.
After passing through several checkpoints armed with guns, equipped with heavy machine gun nests, and anti-tank barriers, and repeatedly verifying identity, the off-road vehicle was finally allowed to enter an internal parking lot.
Song Heping felt the omnipresent, cold scrutiny the moment he got out of the car.
The building's exterior was plain and even somewhat outdated, but the internal passageways were complex and the atmosphere oppressive.
The walls had a cold concrete tone, the corridor lighting wasn't bright, and the people in military or dark civilian clothes hurried past with serious expressions, speaking in low voices, almost no one looked up to scrutinize him, the stranger.
The air was filled with a heavy scent mixed with old paper, dust, and invisible power.
Under the guidance of an expressionless officer, Song Heping passed through several heavy blast doors, finally coming to an inconspicuous wooden door.
The officer knocked on the door, and the familiar voice of Avanti came from inside: "Come in."
The office wasn't luxurious, but the space was large.
A huge solid wood desk, behind which stood flagpoles with the Persian national flag and Revolutionary Guard flag.
The walls were adorned with large military maps and portraits of leaders.
Avanti sat behind the desk, looking slightly more tired than the last time they met, but his eyes remained sharp and spirited.
He didn't get up, only pointed to the chair in front of the desk.
"Sit down, Song. It's been a tough journey."
Avanti gestured for the officer leading the way to leave.
The door gently closed, leaving only the two of them in the room.
"It seems your operations are quite extensive over there."
Avanti said flatly, taking out a document from the drawer and pushing it in front of Song Heping. "This is what you wanted. A one hundred million dollar crude oil quota, signed and ratified by the highest authorities. You can use this document to extract the corresponding value of crude oil from the designated oil storage. How to handle it is your business. According to the current international market price, even if you use black market channels and sell at a discount, you can still get back eighty million to a hundred million US dollars in cash without much problem."
Song Heping picked up that heavy document, and the paper emitted a faint ink smell.
The Persian words and numbers on it represented immense power and possibilities.
He carefully perused it to confirm the key information was correct, then cautiously put it into the waterproof document bag he carried with him.
"Thank you." Song Heping's voice was sincere.
He knew that behind this document, Avanti had certainly taken on considerable pressure and risk.
Avanti waved his hand and stood up: "Having the document isn't enough, you need to know where the stuff is and how to get it out. Let's go, I'll show you your 'gold mine.'"
Without further small talk, the two went downstairs directly, taking an unmarked black sedan, with an off-road vehicle escorting in front and back, and drove out of the Tehran city.
The convoy sped towards the southwest.
The sky gradually darkened, and the view outside the window turned into large expanses of barren Gobi and saline land.
But gradually, a spectacle of the industrial era began to come into view and eventually occupied everything—a dense and endless forest of oil pumps, like a steel forest rising and falling, tirelessly bowing to the earth, extracting the black gold.
Huge oil pipelines extended like giant pythons on the ground, converging towards the brightly lit and smoke-shrouded giant refineries and oil storage bases in the distance.
The air also began to be filled with a strong and pungent smell of crude oil sulfide.
This is one of Persia's core oil-producing regions, the lifeline of the nation's economy.
The convoy entered a vast oil depot area.
Towering silver oil storage tanks stretched like mountain ranges, beyond what the eye could see. Crisscross pipelines were set in mid-air, emitting a low hum.
A dedicated railway line for transporting crude oil passed through, with occasional oil tank trains moving slowly. Searchlights made the entire area as bright as daylight, and soldiers on guard and patrol dogs were everywhere, with a level of security no less than that of a military base.
Avanti's car clearly had the highest clearance, moving unimpeded all the way, eventually stopping beneath a huge cluster of oil storage tanks.