```
"Samir."
Song Heping pulled him aside.
"How do you communicate with your friends?"
"Mobile phone," Samir did not hide.
"Registered under real name?" asked Song Heping.
"No, I'm not that stupid!" Samir defended his intelligence, "I foresaw this situation long ago, so we use unregistered SIM cards between friends."
With this answer, Song Heping felt much more at ease.
But at the same time, he also vaguely understood.
Samir was no simple man.
But now was not the time to inquire about his background.
"Good, you need to contact him right now, destroy all traces of your communication, and dispose of the mobile phone completely. Don't leave it behind; don't hesitate, no matter the cost, I'll reimburse you," Song Heping instructed, "The CIA will definitely get involved this time. If you're not careful, you'll end up in Guantanamo."
Samir was very clear about what kind of place Guantanamo was.
"Boss, rest assured, I'll take care of everything."
After giving his instructions to Samir, Song Heping turned back to everyone and said, "Destroy all materials related to the area from that night, including maps and the like. Leave nothing behind."
"Okay."
The cook suddenly remembered that he had manually marked the coordinates of the meeting between Lars and the Kurd Armed on a map.
"I have a map that might be problematic; I've marked it."
The others began to check their own materials.
None of them were fools.
Once the CIA got involved, their investigative capabilities were not to be underestimated.
Simply leaving the slightest trace could lead to exposure, and even the smallest flaw could mean the affair was far from over, the kind you couldn't just walk away from unscathed!
Within the oil field, core members were busy at work.
Even Song Heping had to deal with his laptop.
He had used his laptop for mapping operations.
He had deleted the data, yes.
But the training he had received made him realize one fact — deleting files from the hard drive was useless, as the tech department could recover them with software if they wanted to.
Song Heping had learned such techniques during training sessions he had participated in before. To destroy a hard drive, the best method was not to delete files or even perform a low-level format.
The safest approach was to demagnetize the hard drive and then boil it at high temperatures, irreparably damaging the magnetic tracks.
There were no such facilities here, but the oil field was considered to be in a remote area, far from the eyes of the emperor.
After some thought, Song Heping simply took the hard drive out of the laptop, carried it to a secluded area of the oil field, and blew it to pieces with a hand grenade.
For the sake of safety, Song Heping even threw the pieces into a swamp.
Song Heping had no experience with the methods of the CIA.
From the perspective of anticipating the worst from the enemy, everything must be done to the extreme.
After everything was done, Song Heping still felt uneasy.
He anticipated that if Lars went to the rendezvous point to find the warhead, it meant that he wanted to determine which gun fired the bullet through the bullet's rifling marks.
This method was commonly used in criminal investigations.
But it was also quite common in intelligence agencies.
The CIA was one of the world's largest intelligence agencies, and Song Heping truly did not dare to underestimate them, even feeling he had no confidence in coping with them.
But what was done was done.
The problem was right in front of him.
Even if it was a journey through hell, he had to push through.
"Song, we've handled everything."
The cook reported back after the hard drive explosion upon returning to the living area.
"We've dealt with everything that we could."
Song Heping's expression was solemn as he looked around, still not quite reassured, feeling a sense of vulnerability at heart.
What he was about to face was the intelligence agency reputed to be the world's finest.
Whether he could deceive them or not, he had no idea.
"Are you sure everything's been handled?"
"It's all taken care of."