Miss Lolita?
Song Heping had the feeling he might be in the wrong place.
A young woman, about twenty-something years old, with ear-length black hair and glasses, slightly short and a bit chubby, walked out from the back room holding a stack of files. She was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt, tactical pants, and desert combat boots—a common attire in the war zone, regardless of gender.
The most striking thing about this girl was the MP5 submachine gun slung over her shoulder and a Glock 17 tucked in a holster on her thigh.
She sat down at the desk in front of her, placed the documents on the table, and then pushed up her glasses as she said, "Everyone line up and come forward to receive your briefing based on the appointed schedule. Make sure to register the details of the personnel involved."
After finishing her words, she opened the computer in front of her, unlocked it with her fingerprint, and launched the task registration system.
The mercenaries in the hall were as well behaved as animals in a zoo, forming a long line in front of her, each receiving their assignments orderly, occasionally cracking some tepid jokes with Miss Lolita.
Today, those here to receive the mission briefing were previously contracted with Blackwater International, the aim being to pick up the briefing and then head to communications to collect the job-required satellite phones.
There was a rule about the satellite phones: they must be registered when collected and turned in after completing the mission. It was forbidden to use the satellite phones to contact family, as violations would face severe penalties, given the high cost of satellite communications.
The other teams quickly obtained their briefings and hurriedly left the mission hall to prepare for their respective tasks. Soon, only the kitchen staff and a few "Musician" mercenary squad members remained with Song Heping.
"Miss Lolita, isn't there a task for us?"
The chef was quite astonished.
Logically, there should have been.
Thomas had promised to help out.
He was indeed worried.
And not without reason.
The fact was, in the mercenary circle, reputation was highly regarded because it wasn't a large community, and everyone almost knew each other.
If you were successful and satisfied the client with every mission, you would have a good reputation and no trouble finding work.
If a mission failed and you messed up, your reputation could be severely damaged. No one would want to take the risk to recommend you. When an employer called to ask about you, everyone would say, who are they? Utterly useless fellows, incompetent at everything!
Yes, that's exactly how direct it was.
A few days ago, the chef's team had suffered a Waterloo—a roadside IED attack, costing him three brothers and wrecking the mission.
This had damaged the entire "Musician" team's reputation, and that evening, he went to the bar to invite Thomas for a drink, hoping to get his assistance in securing some business with Blackwater International.
Without business, the chef and his buddies would have had to pack up and leave.
"Of course, there is," Miss Lolita replied, "and it's a cushy gig, Yevgeny, how will you thank me?"
The chef plopped down beside Miss Lolita's desk, leaned over close to her, his eyes instantly becoming tender and his tone softening, starkly different from how he spoke at the gun store, "Any way you wish, my esteemed Miss Lolita."
Song Heping never expected the chef to have such a skill for flirting.
That little look could melt an iceberg, and this was a public place; Song Heping even wondered if it weren't for the public setting here, these two could have immediately rushed off to the sheets.
"Damn..."
He turned away, unable to bear the sight.
After some flirtation, Miss Lolita was sweet-talked extensively and finally produced the mission briefing.
"This time it's a PSD mission. And the pay is nice, ten thousand US dollars a day."
PSD stands for Personal Security Detail; it's jargon in the private security sector, signifying a close protection assignment.
Even those within the mercenary circle actually dislike being called "mercenaries", preferring to use PSD or CP as alternative terms.
The mission this time was to go to the airport to pick up a journalist named Angel from the Washington Post and deliver her to a hotel in the Green Zone, where she would be handed over to the Eligo Security Forces (ISF).
The situation was exactly as Miss Lolita, the Task Officer, had described.
The airport was merely 20 kilometers from the Green Zone, and although many roads in Baghdad were damaged due to the war necessitating a longer route, it was still no more than 30 kilometers. Most importantly, the shorter journey meant a lesser risk.
The whole task was very easy. A round trip would take only a few hours, and ten thousand US dollars were guaranteed safely in their pockets. Even split five ways, each person would still get two thousand dollars.
Very nice!
According to the earlier agreement with the cook on payment, he would earn one hundred US dollars a day, with additional reward for missions; could he reach three hundred US dollars?
He was thinking about whether he could make that amount on his first day joining in.
After all, he had only a bit more than one hundred US dollars left in his pocket now, which was barely enough to buy salt.
After picking up the satellite phone and finishing the registration, several of them left the mission center.
Once in the car, the cook looked at his watch and said, "It's nine now. The plane lands at half-past twelve, so we head to the airport early to wait and have a nice meal at the restaurant there to celebrate."
The cook was in very high spirits.
"Grey Wolf, you and Rock drive the Opel at the front. I will follow with Andre and Yuliy in the Patroller at the back. When we get to the airport, two ICDC vehicles will join us, and I will make further arrangements then!"
With that, he waved his hand, "Get in the car!"
Sitting in the car, Song Heping folded up the stock of his AKM and placed it next to the car door and the seat.
Grey Wolf reminded him, "Chamber a round, safety off."
Song Heping said, "I've already done so."
Grey Wolf smiled, gave a thumbs up and said, "You served in the military in China, right?"
Song Heping nodded and admitted, "Yes, five years."
Grey Wolf started the vehicle, checked the fuel level, then asked, "Why come to Eligo?"
"To make money," Song Heping replied. "I'm broke."
The window of the Patroller in front of them rolled down, and Song Heping saw the cook gesturing a forward signal with his hand.
Grey Wolf stepped on the gas, and the Opel sped forward, leading the way toward the exit of the Green Zone.
As Song Heping and their vehicles left the mission hall parking lot to head outside the Green Zone, Thomas stood silently in front of a window on the third floor of Building 2. He watched until the vehicles disappeared around a far corner, then he took out a secure phone exclusive to Langley and dialed a number.
"Thomas, is everything arranged properly?"
"All set. I've arranged for a small Russian mercenary squad through Blackwater International to handle Angel's security. These guys have a clean background with no military affiliations. She will definitely conduct background checks on them, but she won't find anything suspicious."
"Are you sure nothing will go wrong? I'm not so worried about Angel causing trouble as I am about the troublesome woman behind her. If Angel really finds Mr. D and digs into things, it could be bad for us."
"SIR, I'm very confident everything will go smoothly. Even if it doesn't, the Russians won't be linked back to us. They're neither Seal nor Delta personnel, which also makes it easier to explain publicly."
"Alright, I hope there are no more mistakes. Mr. D should have been dead by now. He was supposed to go during 'Operation Freedom'; it's your error that has brought us to this situation."
"This will all be rectified, SIR, rest assured."
"Well, then I will wait for your good news in DC."