Chapter 1932 - 1420: Evil Emerges at the Edge of Courage

The door closed gently.

Song Heping's footsteps on the carpeted corridor gradually receded, finally disappearing in the direction of the elevator.

In the office, time seemed to freeze.

Walker sat motionless in the chair, his eyes fixed on the photos on the table.

Those clear equipment serial numbers, those glaring asset tags, that close-up of the satellite phone screen...

They were like red-hot branding irons, scorching his retinas, burning into his soul.

Then, suddenly, he moved.

He stood up abruptly, his arm sweeping across the table, knocking everything to the floor.

Papers fluttered like snowflakes, the coffee cup shattered against the wall, ink splattered everywhere.

He stood up and kicked the chair over, grabbed the stainless steel ashtray, and hurled it at the wall with all his might.

"I want him dead!"

Walker's roar echoed in the confined room, making the windows hum: "That yellow-skinned bastard! I want to watch him tortured to death bit by bit! I want to hang his head on the base gate!"

Swift stood quietly in the corner, not attempting to dissuade him.

He knew that Walker wouldn't listen to anything right now.

He could only wait, wait for the fury to burn itself out.

For a full two minutes, Walker destroyed everything in the office that could be destroyed like a madman.

The filing cabinet was overturned, the bookshelf was emptied, and even the map of Illiguo on the wall was torn down and shredded into pieces.

Finally, he stood in the center of the room, hands on his knees, panting, his T-shirt soaked with sweat.

"Calmed down now?"

Only then did Swift speak, his voice so calm it was almost indifferent.

Walker looked up.

The madness in his eyes had receded, replaced by a cold, calculating viciousness.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and walked to the window, turning his back on Swift.

"I'm very calm." Walker's voice was steady again, but that steadiness was more unsettling than the previous roar: "Calmer than ever."

"Then you should know that moving against Song Heping now is the stupidest choice."

Swift walked to the desk and started picking up the scattered documents.

"If something happens to him right after he leaves your office, you'll be the first suspect. Besides, with his caution, he's surely prepared."

"I didn't say act now." Walker turned around, a grim smile on his face: "But he must die, Swift. If he doesn't, I can't sleep. Today he can hijack my goods, tomorrow he can send me to a military tribunal. He has too much dirt on me."

"Then we plan long-term."

Swift organized the picked-up documents and placed them in the intact corner of the desk.

"For now, do as he says, play along on the surface. Reallocate equipment, fill the gaps, let the Libyan side be temporarily satisfied. Wait for this storm to pass, wait for Song Heping to lower his guard..."

"I can't wait that long." Walker interrupted him, walking to the desk and taking out a black encrypted satellite phone from the bottom drawer: "At most one week. Within a week, I want to see Song Heping as a corpse."

Swift's heart skipped a beat, but he forced himself to remain expressionless: "A week is too tight. We need a plan, we need reliable personnel, we need to manufacture the perfect accident—"

"I have the right people in mind." Walker began dialing, his fingers quickly inputting a twenty-digit encryption code on the keypad: "Remember the 'Frost Crow' group?"

Swift felt a chill rise up his spine.

'Frost Crow' was the darkest card in Walker's hand.

A shadow group composed of retired Special Forces personnel, belonging to a black private armed team long employed by the military in Illiguo to do the dirty work, specializing in handling tasks that are 'officially unacknowledgeable.'

Moreover, this team was also used to remove some 'obstacles' within the military, like those who refused to collude with corruption, blocking the financial pathways of the corrupt system.

'Frost Crow' excelled at disguising executions as various accidents or attacks by different armed forces, framing those who have no idea another 'blood debt' has been added to their heads.

"They are currently on standby." Swift said, trying to make his voice sound normal: "And you said last time, they need to lay low for at least six months, keep a low profile."

"Plans can't keep up with changes." Walker's call connected, he turned his back on Swift, lowered his voice, and began to speak: "...Yes, it's me. I need you to come to Illiguo... the target is a contractor, an Asian, I'll send you the name and details later... Yes, make it look like an accident or a terrorist attack... payment doubled... three days to be in place? Alright."

The call lasted four minutes.

Swift stood aside, seemingly organizing documents, but actually straining to catch every keyword.

Three days to be in place...

Like a terrorist attack...

Payment doubled...

After ending the call, the smile on Walker's face became even more pronounced.

It was the anticipation of a hunter who had set the perfect trap.

"Three days." His words sounded somewhat excited: "The 'Frost Raven' will be in place within three days. By then, we'll prepare a 'big gift' for Song Heping."

"What do you need me to do?" Swift calmly looked at his already crazed 'colleague'.

"Continue to keep in touch with Song Heping and act cooperatively." Walker sat back in the chair, starting to operate the computer, obviously retrieving Song Heping's information: "Get his itinerary, figure out his security routine, find out the places he frequents. And..."

He lifted his head, his gaze sharp as a knife: "Find out where he hid that batch of goods. Fifty truckloads of equipment can't just disappear. If we can take out him and retrieve the goods at the same time, that'll be perfect."

"I'll handle it." Swift nodded, turning to walk towards the door: "But Walker, I must remind you, Song Heping is not an ordinary contractor. He has deep connections, and I've heard he's recently involved with the White House too. If this operation is exposed—"

"It won't be exposed." Walker waved to interrupt, his gaze returned to the computer screen: "'Frost Raven' has never failed. And even if it is exposed..."

He raised his head, staring at Swift, a hint of threat flashing in his eyes.

"We're both on this boat, not just you and me, but also those big shots at the Pentagon! Swift, if I get involved, you can't escape either. Do not forget, the clearing documents for last year's 'medical supplies' sent to the Kurdish regions of Syria were signed by you. And there's also the transfer records of that 'intelligence fund' from the year before..."

Swift felt his throat dry.

Walker was reminding him, they were in this together.

No, it was more than a reminder—it was a threat.

"I understand." Swift no longer had any hope for Walker in front of him: "I'll arrange the logistics for equipment allocation. Do I need to contact Libya to explain the delay?"

"Not for now. Wait for my orders." Walker was already immersed in his plan and impatiently waved his hand: "Go ahead. I need some time alone to think about how to make this flawless."

Swift left the office.

As the door closed behind him, he heard Walker making a phone call again, the voice was low but the tone was excited.

The hallway was empty.

Swift quickly walked towards the stairwell, choosing not to take the elevator.

After ensuring no one was on the upper or lower floors, he slipped into the men's room on the east side of the third floor, locking the innermost stall.

He took out the prepaid phone from his inner pocket.

It wasn't the one he used yesterday, but a brand new one with only one number saved.

He rapidly typed the message, each word carefully considered:

"Walker has activated the 'Frost Raven' assassination squad, in place within three days. Target: You. Plan to disguise as terror attack or accident. I need to provide your itinerary and security info. He is also investigating the whereabouts of the goods. Suggest: Immediately strengthen protection or preemptive strike. I will delay providing information, but can't hold off too long."

Send.

The thirty-second wait felt like thirty minutes.

Finally, the phone vibrated, a reply came:

"Received. Continue playing your role. Goods have been split into three routes out of Illiguo, he won't find them. Fifty thousand has been transferred to your Switzerland account this morning, another fifty thousand after success. Stay calm."

Swift exhaled deeply.

He deleted the message, removed the SIM card, and used a lighter to burn the chip completely until the plastic deformed and the metal wires melted.

He tossed the remains into the toilet, flushed it three times, and carefully washed his hands with hand sanitizer.

Then he stood at the sink, checked his expression in the mirror. No sign of abnormality allowed.

From now on, he must play a loyal accomplice before Walker, and a reliable insider before Song Heping.

This was dangerous.

One misstep, and he'd be beyond redemption.

But Swift thought of the fifty thousand US dollars just credited to his Switzerland account, and Song Heping's promise of another fifty thousand upon completion.

He was forty, had served twenty years in the army, had three gunshot wounds, and a divorce behind him.

He didn't want to spend the rest of his life in Leavenworth Military Prison, nor die in some "roadside bomb" or "terror attack" unknowingly.

He chose a side.

And once chosen, there's no turning back.

Swift took a deep breath, tidied his uniform, pushed open the stall door, and walked towards the logistic department. He did have equipment allocation paperwork to handle, and this time, he'd make sure Song Heping got more than the contract entailed.

This was his token of allegiance, and his insurance.

The window at the end of the hallway let in bright sunlight, casting geometric patches of light on the cement floor.

In the distance, the training ground echoed with gunfire again; this time, automatic weapons fired in rapid succession, the rhythm resembling the never-ceasing heartbeat of this country.

And on some unseen battlefield, new slaughter was quietly brewing in the darkness.

Walker sat in the office, looking at the 'Frost Raven' team leader's profile photograph on the computer screen.

The man was bald with a scarred face, code-named "Scarface", his gaze as cold as the ice in Antarctica.

"Three days." Walker muttered to himself, fingers lightly tapping the desk, a smile of smugness appearing at the corner of his mouth: "Song Heping, just live for three more days."

Outside the window, the sky over Illiguo was azure and cloudless, the sunlight scorching.

But the storm has gathered in the darkness, carrying the scent of death, silently approaching.