The guard took it, first glancing suspiciously at Adil in his military uniform.
Adil stood beside him expressionless, his gaze fixed in the distance as if none of this concerned him.
Only then did the guard lower his head and pick up a palm-sized handheld scanner.
The device emitted a red light, scanning the magnetic strips on the four IDs in sequence.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Four short prompt tones.
Then, he scanned the pass.
Afterward, he raised his head, his gaze sweeping through the car again.
This time, his eyes paused a moment longer under Song Heping's lowered hat brim, at the stubbled face of Little Masoud.
His brows slightly furrowed.
His finger moved towards the walkie-talkie hanging on his shoulder.
The air inside the car froze instantly.
Song Heping's right hand, tucked in his pocket, gripped the gun handle tightly.
In the trunk, Jiang Feng's fingers pulled the trigger of the assault rifle hidden at the bottom of the basket.
Ivan and Miroslav's bodies slightly hunched, like cheetahs ready to strike.
Just as the guard's finger was about to press the walkie-talkie's talk button—
Adil's aide suddenly moved.
He took two steps to the guard, naturally placing a hand on the other's arm holding the scanner, with enough force to interrupt the action.
"Mahmoud."
Adil's voice wasn't loud, filled with a touch of perfectly timed impatience and the tone of a superior critiquing a subordinate's delay.
"Hurry up. Rashid will soon be here for a live broadcast this morning, and the breakfast ingredients and coffee General Tor Khan specifically instructed are in this truck. If we delay the morning news broadcast, is it your responsibility or mine?"
The guard named Mahmoud stiffened, a hint of hesitation and caution flashing across his face.
He looked at the military rank on Adil's shoulder, the calm yet pressure-laden gaze, then glanced at the rundown truck and the seemingly shabby, humble "deliverymen" inside.
The weighing of risks versus unnecessary trouble was instantaneous.
The vigilance on his face relaxed slightly, replaced by a compromise of "why complicate things for myself."
So, he withdrew the finger reaching for the walkie-talkie, handed the ID and pass back to Little Masoud without a second look, and waved his hand, harshly saying:
"Go in. Don't wander, unload quickly and get out."
"Thank you."
Little Masoud whispered.
Miroslav raised the car window.
Another guard strained to open the iron gate wide enough for the truck to pass.
The white truck growled, trembling as it drove into the deeper service corridor behind the gate.
The wheels rolled over the concrete, echoing emptily.
Adil did not enter with the truck; he stood there, watching it go in, then nodded to the two guards before turning and walking the other direction, as if he had just completed a trivial routine task.
The truck moved slowly down the corridor.
The corridor was narrow, with several dimly lit long lights overhead barely repelling the darkness.
The walls on both sides were coarse concrete painted dark green, topped with barbed wire spirals gleaming coldly in the light.
Every twenty meters or so, a hemispherical surveillance camera rotated silently, its red indicator light like an unblinking eye.
Inside the truck, no one spoke.
Only the noise of the engine and the sound of rolling wheels.
After traveling about one hundred meters, the corridor reached a right-hand junction.
In the shadows before the junction, Adil's silhouette reappeared, signaling clearly—stop.
The truck halted.
Adil strode to the driver's side, speaking quickly:
"Get off and start walking from here. Each mover carries a box and follows me. You—"
He pointed to Little Masoud, "Keep your clipboard close to me. We're headed to the kitchen storage room on the basement level for a receipt."
No wasted words.
The five swiftly disembarked.
Song Heping, Jiang Feng, Ivan, and Miroslav each lifted a heavy plastic basket of vegetables from the truck. Whether they were entirely vegetables remained uncertain.
They lowered their heads, allowing their hat brims to obscure their faces, silently following Adil like true laborers.
Little Masoud carried a clipboard, lagging slightly behind.
The group turned towards the junction.
It was a narrower passage, dimly lit.
At the end was a fire door painted dark red.
Adil pulled out an access card, swiping it on the reader beside the door.
The green light turned on, accompanied by the subtle "click" of the lock's turning.
He pushed open the door, revealing a descending concrete staircase, the lighting darker, with only the weak green glow from an emergency light in the corner.
"Move quickly."
Adil was the first down the stairs.
"I've temporarily blocked three surveillance points from the junction to this stairwell entrance, using the old trick of looping a ten-second still image, but it'll last only ten minutes without the central monitoring room noticing anomalies. After ten minutes, if they watch closely, they'll see slight repetitions."
"Ten minutes," Song Heping stated calmly: "More than enough."
The basement was colder than above, air circulation poor, suffused with a complex odor: strong disinfectant, faint mustiness from long-stored food, the faint fishy smell from the drain, and dust.
The low ceiling was covered in various pipes and cables, painted various colors for differentiation.