At nine o'clock at night, at a makeshift airport on the outskirts of Fallujah.
To prepare for tonight's hoisting, Yousuf had made full preparations by arranging a generator and some outdoor lighting equipment to be brought here during the day.
The team responsible for the hoisting and transportation consisted of three container trucks and a crane truck dispatched from the "Musician" defense transportation fleet.
The SA-9 anti-aircraft missile launching system had a total weight of just about 8 tons, which was not hard to load.
Song Heping stood in silence not far away, watching as the driver loaded the last launcher vehicle into the container, then lifted his hand to check his watch and took a glance around.
He could almost be certain that in the surrounding darkness, someone was watching him with video equipment and high-powered surveillance gear, probably clear enough to see the sweat on his face.
"Song, everything is loaded."
As the last container closed, Yousuf came over and asked, "Your ship won't enter the port until tomorrow night, so you will transport the containers to Umm Qasr tonight. The Brotherhood will help you with the related procedures, and before dawn the day after tomorrow, you can have it loaded onto the ship."
"Okay," Song Heping patted Yousuf's shoulder and said, "Thanks for your hard work, I'll pay the remaining balance once the goods are on the ship."
Since he had only paid the 900,000 US Dollar deposit earlier, there was still a balance of 600,000, which Song Heping casually mentioned.
While saying this, he glanced intentionally or unintentionally in a certain direction.
He believed that with the CIA's surveillance capabilities, even his conversations were probably being recorded at this moment.
"No rush, no rush, don't I trust you?"
Yousuf's chubby face squeezed into a cluster, grinning like a chrysanthemum.
"Personal feelings aside." Song Heping said, "Business is business, that's my principle in dealing with things."
After speaking, he waved to the drivers, "Depart!"
At the usual spot in the distance, the CIA's two-person surveillance team sent a message to the action command center at the station.
"Nightingale calling Big Crow, the target has obtained the goods and is leaving the airport."
"Big Crow received, wait for the target to withdraw before you follow carefully. The drone is on its way; don't follow too close to avoid detection."
"Received."
The two-person team was already well-practiced.
They had been keeping surveillance on Song Heping for a full week and were getting a little impatient.
After all, as far as they were concerned, the evidence of Song Heping colluding with the provisional government officials to smuggle and traffic arms was ironclad. The audio recordings and photos and videos from the past days were more than enough to convict Song Heping more than ten times over.
They didn't understand why station chief Simon had become so cautious; they could have closed the net three days earlier, so why wait until now?
As usual, once Song Heping's convoy left the makeshift airport, the surveillance team immediately followed in their Nissan car.
In the co-driver's seat, one of the agents opened a military PAD and obtained the drone footage from the data link.
Under the drone's bird's-eye view, the target convoy was clearly visible, driving south along the highway.
Normally, after leaving the makeshift airport, Song Heping would go straight back to Baghdad, entering the Green Zone to return to his company, but tonight, for a change, he was heading south.
To the south was a major port, and the two agents exchanged a look, revealing smug smiles.
The agent in the co-driver's seat immediately reported the route of the convoy to station chief Simon via radio.
Inside the CIA Illigo Station office building in the Green Zone, Simon received the latest developments. He turned and walked up to a large screen, looking at the convoy's route and pondering for a moment before walking to the radio and putting on a headset.
"Big Crow calling Team B."
Soon, a response came through the radio.
"Team B, listening. Go ahead, Big Crow."
"What's the situation at the makeshift airport?"
"They are packing up, looks like they're planning to leave."
Simon pondered for less than two seconds before giving orders to Team B.
"Close the net, don't let anyone escape."
"Understood, the action will start immediately."
After ending the conversation, in the grass near the makeshift airport, several GRS operatives dressed in camouflage and wearing night vision goggles crouched on the ground.
Under the moonlight, the leader pressed the talk button and said on the tactical frequency, "The helicopter has taken off and will arrive in 3 minutes. Once it arrives, the operation begins. All teams move to optimal attack positions now and remember to capture the targets alive as much as possible."
"Team 1, understood."
"Team 2, understood."
"Team 3, understood."
The lead quickly received responses, ended the conversation, turned to several team members behind him, made a few tactical hand signals, then slowly stood up, crouching and using the wild grass as cover to stealthily approach the makeshift airport.
As they got to about a hundred meters from the makeshift airport, a dull chopping sound tore through the sky above.
The helicopter's searchlight snapped on below its nose, illuminating the ground as bright as day.
Yousuf had already reached his car, ready to leave.
His job was done.
The SA-9 missiles had been delivered, and his task now was to return home and watch his account to see when that 600,000 US Dollar payment would enter his offshore account.