Chapter 1950 - 1427: Business Is Business (2)

Minister Rashim's fingers began to lightly tap on the wooden armrest of the sofa, emitting a rhythmic, low thudding sound.

This was his habitual action when he was thinking.

His gaze moved between Song Heping and Yusuf, and Yusuf gave him a slight nod indicating "feasible."

"Oil payment is an option worth considering."

The minister slowly said, as if every word was weighed carefully.

"Given the current rough oil price, if I give you fifteen million barrels of crude oil, delivered over twelve months, about one million two hundred and fifty thousand barrels per month, how do you feel about that?"

Song Heping calculated rapidly in his mind.

Fifteen million barrels, at the current international oil price of about 70 dollars per barrel, has a total value of roughly one billion five hundred million dollars.

This presents a clear discrepancy with the fifteen billion dollar quote.

The minister couldn't have miscalculated this simple math problem.

So, is he trying to fill the remaining four billion five hundred million dollar gap in another way, or is he probing my bottom line?

"Minister's proposal is quite constructive."

Song Heping cautiously responded.

"However, according to this conversion, the value is roughly equivalent to one billion five hundred million dollars. Compared to the fifteen billion dollars trading benchmark we discussed, there seems to be a distance. Is the remaining part leaning towards installment cash payment, or... considering using the infrastructure contract rights I previously mentioned to offset?"

Minister Rashim did not reply immediately.

Suddenly, he stood up from the sofa and walked steadily to the large floor-to-ceiling window.

Outside the window were the neatly planned roads of the Green Zone, heavily guarded checkpoints, and flags of some international institutions or embassies.

Beyond, across the cement high walls and barbed wire of the Green Zone, sprawled the undulating, color-variegated rooftops of the old city of Baghdad, interspersed with the rising spires of some mosques.

The skyline of this city, mixed with modern architectural glass curtain walls and the wreckage of ancient neighborhoods, is like a reflection of this country's destiny.

Turning his back to the two people in the room, he remained silent for nearly a minute before speaking with a complex emotional, slightly deep tone:

"You know, Mr. Song."

His voice came through the broad shoulders, lacking some of the previous official stiffness, tinged with personal sentiment.

"In 2003, when the Americans swept across the border like a sandstorm, I was a regimental commander of the Republican Guard, stationed near Karbala west of Baghdad. My troops... we received orders to resist, for the country, for... many things we believed to be right at the time. We fought for three days, with significant losses, but the structure remained. Then, orders came again from the highest level, commanding us to lay down our weapons, disband the troops, and return home. They said, the Sadam regime had ended, the war was over."

He paused, his shoulders seemingly shrugged slightly.

"We surrendered everything, including tanks, artillery, air defense missiles, even individual soldier weapons. The Americans and their allies promised to help establish a new, professional army to defend the country and its people, equipped with better gear."

He turned around, his face showing little expression, yet in his deeply sunken eyes flickered an indescribable complex radiance, mixed with the pain brought by past events, the disappointment of broken promises, and a certain deep fatigue.

"Twenty years, Mr. Song. Nearly twenty years have passed. Look at the Iraqi Army now, most of its forces still use old, Eastern European Soviet-style equipment, or second and third-tier goods retired by the Americans after multiple repairs. Our own defense industry is almost in ruins. And you—"

His gaze settled on Song Heping.

"You international merchants, taking American equipment supposedly 'transferred' to Iraq in some way, come here to discuss business, at a price that remains expensive for us. The... irony of it all weighs heavily on me."

These words touched beyond mere transaction negotiations, broaching on historical, national emotion and the pain points of current politics.

Yusuf seemed a bit uneasy, glanced at Song Heping, uncertain how to respond.

Song Heping met the minister's gaze, maintaining a calm expression but his eyes now showed a sense of understanding and respect.

He did not shy away from the sharp topics.

"History is often full of irony, Minister. Under the waves of time, individual efforts and collective destinies often seem small and filled with uncertainty. I cannot comment on the past, nor change the outcomes of international political contests that have already occurred."

His voice was steady and clear.

"But sitting here today, I come as a businessman, offering a specific commercial plan that can immediately improve part of your country's army's equipment status.

My offer can save your country at least hundreds of millions of dollars in direct procurement costs.

That saved money can be used to pay soldiers' salaries, improve camp conditions, buy more training ammunition, or train more technical officers."

"Moreover, the equipment I provide is mostly stock new products or items with extremely low wear and tear, far surpassing many refurbished second-hand goods circulating in the market, not to mention those old Soviet-style equipment.

This is a transaction based on enhancing your army's combat readiness.

It cannot mend the regrets of history, but perhaps can provide some tangible help for current national defense construction."

Song Heping's response acknowledged the rationality of the other's emotional sentiment, while firmly steering the topic back to realistic commercial and security interests.

He did not sink into the mire of historical argument, instead highlighted the urgency and practicality of the current transaction.

Minister Rashim quietly listened and returned to the table, but did not immediately sit down. Standing beside the sofa, his gaze once again swept across the Iraqi flag on the wall.

The room's air seemed to freeze, only the old wooden wall clock emitted a regular and clear "tick-tock" sound, each second appearing extraordinarily long.

Eventually, he slowly sat down, resuming the composed official posture.

"You're right, Mr. Song. Reality requires real solutions."

He glanced at Yusuf.

"I need to provide a detailed report of today's discussion and key proposals Vice Chairman has raised, to the Prime Minister. The final decision requires cabinet-level approval, especially if it involves oil payment or large infrastructure contract deductions. However—"

He shifted focus, gaze again fixed on Song Heping:

"In principle, I personally believe the transaction framework you proposed is constructive and feasible, aligning with our Defense Army's current interests. Vice Chairman..."

He turned to Yusuf.

"I entrust this matter to you, as the primary liaison and coordinator, to maintain close communication with Mr. Song. After reporting to the Prime Minister, we will quickly arrange the next, more specific meeting involving technical details and contract terms. Can you?"

"Of course, Minister. It is my honor and duty."

Yusuf immediately nodded in agreement, his face showing a relieved and expectant smile.

He knew that "principally agreed" means something in this office.

"Thank you for your valuable time and principled support, Minister."

Song Heping appropriately expressed gratitude and rose timely.

He knew today's talks had reached the anticipated goal, both sides established direct contact, expressed intentions, probed limits, and secured key personnel's principal approval.

What remains are detailed, complex, and tug-of-war-like negotiations, requiring time and intermediaries like Yusuf to push forward.