Twenty minutes later, the SUV gets closer and closer to the abandoned refinery.
Simon taps his fingertips rhythmically on the steering wheel.
In the rearview mirror, Mark and Andy are checking their magazines, the handguns in the quick-draw holsters on their bulletproof vests gleam coldly in the moonlight.
"Sir, should we bring anti-armor weapons?" Andy leaned forward and asked.
"Bring more shock bombs."
Simon exhales a smoke ring, his gray-blue pupils slightly contracting behind the smoke.
"Song Heping likes to play dirty."
The SUV rolls over the gravel road, and the twisted outline of the refinery gradually becomes clear.
Distant gunshots echo sporadically.
Simon glances at the GPS next to the dashboard, only one kilometer from the refinery gate.
"We should get out of the car."
He silently smirks, flicking the cigarette butt out the window.
After finishing speaking, he parks the car inside the woods by the road, checks his bulletproof vest and the chamber of his handgun, pushes the car door open and gets out.
Mark and Andy follow him out, holding guns as they walk to the front of the car, looking towards the refinery while adjusting their binocular night vision devices.
Thump—
Thump—
The muffled sound unique to the silencer explodes continuously.
Andy's back head bursts into blood, Mark clutches his throat and kneels to the ground, dark red foam pours out from between his fingers.
"Sorry, brothers."
Simon enters Mark's sight like a drifting cloud overhead.
"Why...?"
Blood has flooded into Mark's trachea, his voice is muffled and strange, his eyes filled with surprise and shock.
He can't believe that his boss shot him from behind.
"Blame your bad luck—"
Simon looks at the dying Mark expressionlessly, his finger gently presses the trigger again.
Thump—
A tongue of flame spurts from the silencer of the P226 pistol, after the brief muffled sound, a bullet hole appears in the center of Mark's forehead, slowly oozing blood.
"Ah..."
Simon sighs, takes out a miniature communicator, puts it on, and starts calling: "Wild Wolf, this is Hunter, report the situation and location here."
"'Watcher' is in a bad shape, 'Satan' A Team is attacking."
A middle-aged man's husky voice comes from that end.
"It's lively here, the target is fierce, trap mines are set in the passage and buildings in the factory."
"He's tough to deal with..." Simon presses down the earpiece, "You can start now, clear the obstacles quickly."
"Understood."
After the brief conversation, Simon slowly walks toward the factory area.
A few hundred meters ahead, several gun flashes suddenly appear in the darkness.
He immediately ducks behind a tree, staying still to listen to the intense gunfire and the cries from "Watcher" and "Satan" A Team.
His plan is progressing steadily.
This is his biggest gamble.
Success, high hopes fulfilled.
Failure, no burial place.
He has great confidence in the "Wild Wolf" squad he's secretly nurtured.
In recent years, no one has been able to hide secret funds better than the station at Illigo.
From the Second Gulf War to now, CIA agents have been using large amounts of cash to bribe everyone from the political arena to the military to local tribal armed leaders in Illigo.
This money is transported from the United States in containers, spending freely.
As for how the accounts are done, it's simple—just do it any way.
No one will ask those bribed generals or local armed leaders exactly how much money CIA gave, and how much funding and ammunition they received.
Not to mention that many of those who took the money back then are now dead.
Dead without proof.
Simon's "Wild Wolf" squad is armed and trained with secret funds, including local militants in Illigo, former government army Special Forces members, and even Chechen terrorists.