The mysterious convoy sped toward the farm.
The Apache helicopter quickly flew above the convoy.
The pilot decreased altitude, allowing the Apache to skim over the convoy's heads.
He sensed something strange about this convoy.
Humvees were guarding the front and back, but in the middle were civilian vehicles, sedans, and SUVs.
This was not a military convoy, at least not purely so.
He switched on the Apache helicopter's friend or foe identifier and quickly received a response.
"Falcon 1 calling Scorpion, confirm they are friendlies."
Having said that, the pilot increased altitude and continued to circle the farm from above on alert.
"Friendlies?!"
Thomas was confused by the message.
He had never notified any friendly unit to assist here; the operation was purely a joint operation between Langley and ISA. How could "friendlies" suddenly appear?
The "friendly" convoy soon arrived at the farm.
The Humvees from the ISF leading the way, and the people exiting the middle vehicles, surprised Thomas greatly.
Watching through the camera mounted on his team's helmets from inside the command center in the Green Zone, Colonel Brown cursed, "SHIT!"
Then he ordered, "Gray Fox, Gray Fox, all pull back! Immediately!"
ISA agents received the orders, turned around, and re-boarded the Black Hawk Helicopters.
Without explaining anything to Thomas—even omitting a goodbye—the Black Hawks took off and soon vanished into the distance.
Only Thomas's GRS agents remained on the ground.
Everything had happened so suddenly.
Those who had gotten out of the vehicles were wearing bulletproof vests marked with the word 'journalist'. Some carried photography equipment, others held microphones emblazoned with their respective TV station logos, swarming over like hyenas on the African savannah catching the scent of rot.
BBC, CNN, IVT, FOX, Reuters, Associated Press...
Major global media were all present...
There were also quite a few who were obviously freelance war correspondents.
These individuals are like accessories to the war, like flies in a restroom, unafraid of death. Often during gunfire, they would advance even further ahead than the soldiers...
And these people had venomous pens; they dared to write anything and expose any scoop, eliciting headaches for those in intelligence and military operations upon seeing them.
Thomas felt as if tens of thousands of "grass mud horses" were stampeding through his mind, trampling his emotions into disarray.
Journalists...
He abruptly turned his head and met Angel's smug gaze.
Then he looked at Song Heping.
The man was smiling at him.
Smiling with endless mockery.
It was despicable!
Only now did he realize why Song Heping had been stalling him with incessant and irrelevant chatter earlier, making him feel like a chatterbox villain from a movie.
Song Heping was just buying time.
These journalists could have only been summoned by Angel with a snap of her fingers.
With her status, summoning these colleagues!
No wonder Song Heping seemed so composed when Thomas arrived with his men earlier.
He had set a trap for them long ago!
The throng of journalists quickly enclosed everyone.
Thomas urgently whispered a command on the channel, "Cease operation, wait for my orders."
No sooner had he spoken than a microphone was thrust at him.
"Director Thomas, could you introduce us to the operation you are conducting here?" asked the journalist.
Thomas responded with a cold face, "Who authorized your interview here? And..."
He looked around.
People had already gathered around Sayif, snapping away at him with various lenses, the flashbulbs flickering constantly, making it impossible to keep one's eyes open.
"Are you executing a covert operation?"
"Isn't this man Sayif from the poker card warrant list?"
"He was one of Sadam's security advisors, said to be a close confidante. Is your covert operation because he knows some inside information about Illigo Freedom's operations?"
"There have been reports that Sayif knows some inside details about the Kelly Report. What are your thoughts on this news?"