Chapter 1732 - 1353: Secret Infiltration

6:38 a.m., the back alley of Erbil National Television.

This is a narrow alley that barely allows a truck to pass, with five-meter-high concrete walls on either side belonging to the television station.

An old white panel van is quietly parked in the loading and unloading zone marked with yellow lines.

Large patches of blue paint are peeling off the van's body, revealing rusty iron underneath. The original lettering "Al-Balad Food Supply Company" is faded and blurred, with curled edges.

A front headlight casing is broken, crudely mended with yellow tape.

The exhaust pipe emits a muffled and intermittent "put-put" sound while idling, releasing wisps of pale blue smoke that merges into the chilly air.

Song Heping sits in the passenger seat, wearing a deep blue coverall with frayed cuffs.

A similarly old-fashioned baseball cap is pressed low, concealing most of his face and sharp eyes.

His hands are tucked into the coverall pockets, with his right hand silently gripping the handle of a Glock 19 pistol equipped with a long, slender silencer, the gun's body cold to the touch.

In the darkened van's rear compartment.

Jiang Feng, Ivan, and Miroslav are seated amidst stacks of plastic vegetable crates.

The crates are filled with what seem to be fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, wilted lettuce leaves, and hard naan bread packed in plastic bags.

The compartment is permeated with the scent of soil and vegetable stems.

The three are also wearing similarly dirty coveralls, squatting silently like real loaders.

Their weapons are three compact submachine guns hidden deep within some crates lined with torn cloths, within easy reach.

Jiang Feng is vigilantly watching outside through a small inconspicuous hole in the side wall of the van.

Ivan repeatedly flexes his fingers covered with tactical gloves to ensure they are always in the most agile state.

Little Masoud closes his eyes as if pretending to sleep, but every few seconds, his ears twitch slightly, capturing every sound from the outside world.

He is also wearing a coverall, but has a somewhat oversized brown jacket over it, looking somewhat mismatched.

A pair of cheap black plastic frame glasses sits on his face, the plain lenses appear somewhat dirty.

The neatly combed hair is deliberately messed up, with some hair wax Jamie managed to find applied, giving it a greasy look.

Rough fake stubble is glued to his chin and upper lip, and his complexion is slightly darkened with some dark foundation.

He holds a worn clipboard with several wrinkled delivery slips clamped to it.

He tries to control his breathing, attempting to mimic the tired and impatient demeanor of a lower-level delivery supervisor.

Miroslav sits in the driver's seat, rhythmically and lightly tapping the steering wheel with his fingers.

Time ticks away.

The alley is eerily silent, save for the faint sound of the van idling and distant dog barking.

"Here they come."

Song Heping's deep voice makes everyone in the van instantly tense up.

At the alley's end, at the corner connecting to the main street, a figure swiftly turns around.

The person is wearing the standard desert camouflage combat uniform of the Kurd Armed forces, with black combat boots.

He is lean and moves quickly, with the distinct briskness of a soldier.

His sharp gaze sweeps across the whole alley, finally locking onto this solitary white van.

His eyes pause briefly on the license plate, seemingly verifying something, then he proceeds directly toward the driver's seat.

As he approaches, Song Heping sees the badge above his left breast pocket — a silver eagle with fierce lines, poised to fly.

On his left wrist, a simple designed Longines military watch occasionally reflects cold light as he walks.

It's Adil, the adjutant.

He walks to the driver's side without any unnecessary movements, directly looking at Little Masoud inside and asks:

"Abdul Company?"

Little Masoud's heart leaps, but he remembers Song Heping's instruction.

Stay calm, keep it short, respond with the code.

No mistakes!

He clears his throat and says:

"No, Al-Balad Company."

Then, he adds the agreed-upon code:

"Today... delivering fresh breakfast and coffee."

Adil's gaze lingers on Little Masoud's face for about a second, then scans across Song Heping in the passenger seat, and casually glances at the rear compartment's tinted windows.

His face shows no expression, only slightly nodding.

"Drive the van to loading bay number three. Act naturally."

He directs concisely before turning to lead the way.

Miroslav shifts gears and releases the clutch.

The old van shudders with a moaning-like tremor and slowly follows along.

Loading bay number three is located deeper in the back alley, a thick iron gate with chains and a large padlock, though the lock is open at the moment.

Next to the gate is a makeshift sandbag barricade, where two guards wearing black combat uniforms with Rashid Security Forces insignia on their arms stand.

They hold compact AK-74U assault rifles, barrels naturally pointed downward, but fingers resting on the trigger guards, eyes keenly examining the approaching van and Adil walking beside it.

The van stops three meters from the iron gate.

A guard steps forward and knocks on the driver's side window. His gaze is cold, as if appraising the goods.

Little Masoud lowers the window, trying to keep his hands steady, handing over the prepared fake ID and the pass Jamie procured together.