The small bungalow had hidden depths; inside, there was no furniture, just a chaotic mess resembling a junk pile. The contact, Mira, moved a table from the corner, lifted the carpet, and removed a wooden board to reveal the entrance to an underground passage.
"Go down."
He gestured for Song Heping and Mist to enter.
Song Heping said to Mist, "You go first."
Mist didn't move.
Mira noticed the hesitation of the two men.
Actually, what Song Heping meant was for Mist to go down first, and he would follow after Mira.
The benefit of doing this, of course, was to avoid any accidents.
As for what kind of accident…
It was that no place and no one could be completely trusted.
If Mira couldn't be relied on and the two naively went straight into the basement, and someone behind them shut the door and threw in a Hand Grenade, then they'd ascend to heaven to meet their ancestors.
Mira probably guessed their line of thinking.
He took the initiative to go down first, which made Song Heping and Mist feel slightly embarrassed.
"Get in."
Mist shrugged, picked up his gun, and went in.
Song Heping looked at the donkey and said, "Good luck."
Then he followed down as well.
The basement wasn't large, about ten square meters. A filthy carpet was laid on the ground, and a homemade wooden table sat on one side with a radio on it, covered with bowls and plates in disarray, apparently for eating.
In a corner lay a pillow and a rolled-up blanket so dirty that its color was indiscernible.
"Just find a place to sit down, I'll take you to the drop zone tonight," Mira said, not a man of many words. He closed the entrance to the passage, leaned his gun against the wall, and then turned on a dim electric light.
"How come there's still power?"
Song Heping was surprised, his eyes falling on a battery in the corner.
Indeed, it was running on a battery.
He couldn't help but become a bit interested in Mira.
So he asked, "Mira, are you local?"
"Yes."
While answering, Mira went to the two bags of naan, picked up a piece, and asked Song Heping, "Can I eat?"
"Of course, you can," Song Heping replied.
Mira took the naan, walked to the table, and pulled out a kettle from underneath it, pouring some water into a bowl.
He was very careful when pouring the water, as if spilling a single drop would be a crime.
After pouring less than half a bowl for himself, he looked at Song Heping and Mist, grabbed two more bowls, and filled them.
"Have some water," Mira offered, placing the water in front of them.
Song Heping carried a water flask and wasn't short of water.
But hard to decline a kindness, it was a matter of politeness, so he couldn't refuse.
Therefore, he took the bowl and took a sip.
The water tasted strange, with a hint of earthy fishiness.
Mist took a sip and immediately scrunched up his brow, setting the bowl aside.
Suddenly remembering something, Song Heping asked, "Where do you usually get water?"
"The water plant was bombed, the tap water stopped. There's a well three hundred meters away where you can get water... but it's not safe there anymore. Now that the city is in chaos, there's fighting during the day, and at night going out means risking getting shot. So I only go to fetch water every two or three days. People used to take turns..."
At this point, Mira suddenly stopped talking, a shade of sadness in his eyes.
Song Heping had a rough idea.
He'd heard that the CIA had more than one informer here, but those sent to scout the city center had all died, none returned alive.
Song Heping asked, "How many months have you been here?"
"I've been here since before the siege," Mira answered. "After the siege began, I've never left."
That had been several months.
Song Heping's curiosity intensified.
Of course, he knew many locals in Illiguo joined the coalition as informants since the coalition paid well.
But in his view, Mira wasn't simply motivated by money.
This man was interesting.
Perhaps he truly despised the Sadam regime.