The moment Miss Angel named herself, Song Heping was almost certain this chick was a bit off.
She must really like the feeling of someone riding her and thrusting away.
Otherwise, why name herself of all people?
It's not like there aren't any other women in the team; Yuliy is a woman.
She would be more suitable than himself in any case.
After all, he was a bodyguard, wasn't he?
In an emergency, one might need to push someone to the ground in various ways, and in the heat of the moment, who knows if a hand might land on a sensitive spot.
Even if it's part of the job, that's still a sensitive spot, isn't it?
Song Heping's thinking was relatively traditional—with a bit of the belief that men and women should not touch each other casually.
Especially with the vibe coming off Miss Angel, it was... intense...
But in Miss Angel's eyes, it wasn't like that at all.
Choosing Song Heping as her personal bodyguard was, at the very least, an honest and sincere decision from her heart.
First of all, Miss Angel's very purpose for coming here involved the partisan struggle inside Country M between the Donkeys and the Elephants; she was with the Donkeys, and her very own Aunt Nancy was no ordinary person but the newly appointed Donkey Party whip in the House of Representatives.
Miss Angel's rise to fame as a journalist was not due to her extraordinary capabilities, but due to her family's protection.
Every journalist working in Country M's media needs resources, meaning sources of information, and there was no better resource than Miss Angel's Aunt Nancy—especially now with her aunt's rise to power, needing to make some big moves.
A big scoop would, of course, have to be sufficiently sensational and shocking, and nothing could shake the Lighthouse Country more than uncovering the lies behind the "Kelly Report" that questioned the necessity of the Illigo Freedom operation and brought down the top leader of the Lighthouse Country.
For Miss Angel personally,
If she could break a scandalous story akin to "Watergate," her fame would skyrocket to its peak.
Miss Angel had no intention of just being a well-known journalist; her idol was her very own Aunt Nancy, the party whip.
Miss Angel's future was on the path of entering politics.
Fame and funds were the two key resources for running for office.
Therefore, it was only natural for Angel, comfortable with ascending through her family's resources in the Washington DC elite circle, to venture here.
The so-called informants and the information they provided, including Mr. J, were not her own resources.
They were given to her by her aunt.
And here lies the subtlety of the issue.
The military-industrial complex has always been the voting base for the Elephants; naturally, the military bigwigs and those from Langley would not want Miss Angel to succeed.
Otherwise, those hundreds of billions designated for Illigo's redevelopment projects, arms purchase contracts, and Langley's funding would go down the drain, ensnaring a host of bigwigs and leading to the fall of the Elephant Party.
Miss Angel trusted no one from the military, not even from Langley.
Her only option to ensure her safety was to use mercenaries, certainly more reliable than any Delta or Seal Forces.
After all, whose loyalty did those guys really hold? In a critical moment, just as she was about to succeed, they might just shoot her in the back, and then everything would be over.
Miss Angel had done background checks on the "Musician" team.
Four Russians, plus one Chinese.
No combination could better meet her needs than this.
Especially that Chinese guy—during the moment of crisis under the highway overpass, brave and decisive, he smacked her, who was close to wetting herself, with a few hard slaps. When she briefly regained her senses, he dragged her out of the car to confront the attackers and even killed two of them.
All this, Miss Angel saw with her own eyes and engraved in her heart.
After that, she couldn't sleep.
This Song Heping, few years younger than herself, was etched in her mind, impossible to dismiss.
Growing up, she had never been manhandled like that, not even a finger laid upon her. In her private school days, boys lined up to court and please her, and as a working journalist, even her bosses spoke to her with the deference befitting a subordinate.
And he dared to slap her?!
That was exactly right!
It proved Song Heping wasn't one of the military's men.
Otherwise, that day, if he had not saved her and left her in the car, she would surely have been killed by the bullets that pierced the vehicle.
That was also why Miss Angel vetoed the "Mad Dog" Mercenary Corps and specifically chose the "Musician" team for her security, willing to offer a spontaneous raise to 15,000 US dollars a day.
"Gan, our priority is our client's needs. Since Miss Angel has chosen you as her personal bodyguard, you'll just have to do it!"
The cook was perceptive; he understood everything.
This Western girl had her eyes set on Song Heping, and no one else would do.
So, the cook patted Song Heping on the shoulder, his expression saying, "For the sake of us all, just go with it," and then he gave Song Heping's shoulder a firm squeeze.
"Alright."
At this point, Song Heping had no choice.
He might as well do it.
For the sake of money.
On the account of the money.
"Get in the car,"
he said, turning to Miss Angel, then pointed to the Hummer next to them, opening the door.
Seeing it was a Hummer, Miss Angel was momentarily stunned.
"Ride this one?"
As she spoke, her gaze shifted to the Lincoln in front.
Song Heping didn't waver: "Yes, that's the one."
Angel grumbled, "Why not take the Lincoln?"
Song Heping couldn't be bothered to argue: "We're responsible for your safety, so everything is arranged by us. If you don't accept that, then don't hire me as your personal bodyguard."
His tone was non-negotiable, firm and decisive.
Song Heping actually harbored some intentions.
Hey, you specifically wanted me as your bodyguard, right?
Fine then.
I'll see if you'll listen to me or not.
If you don't, even better, I'll have a reason not to be your bodyguard anymore.
You think I really like the smell of your body odor mixed with your perfume?
But Song Heping still underestimated Angel.
"Fine, I'll listen to you."
The foreign woman clenched her teeth and actually took the initiative to get into the Hummer.
The cook gave Song Heping a thumbs up and silently mouthed in Russian, "круто!! (Awesome)"
The convoy departed on time at eight o'clock.
Once out of the Green Zone, the cook was constantly testing the communication channel with the ISF.
"IS-1, respond if you hear this."
"Received. Over."
"IS-2, respond if you hear this."
"IS-2 received, over."
...
The two Lincolns had call signs BW-1 and BW-2, and the four ISF Humvees were IS-1 to IS-4.
Angel and Song Heping were in the back seat of IS-3.
Today everything seemed to go smoothly.
Before leaving Baghdad City, the journey was serene, with only a few American military checkpoints in between, with no irregularities observed.
Every ten minutes, the cook would perform a call check in the channel to ensure there were no signal issues, showing how seriously he took this mission.
ISF soldiers in the lead vehicle were continually broadcasting traffic conditions, and since they used the Illigo language, the cook, who understood Illigo, would repeat it for his own team.
Perhaps due to the psychological shadow from the last attack, Angel sat in the back seat with a tense face, her limbs visibly stiff.
There was an ISF interpreter in IS-3 named Samir, fluent in both English and Illigo. He was quite talkative, rambling about everything from his educational background to his family and why he joined the ISF.
With him around, Song Heping wasn't too bored.
More than 200 kilometers.
On a normal country's highway, that's usually a three-hour drive at most.
But Illigo was different.
There were many coalition checkpoints here, mostly American, where they would inspect documentation and search vehicles with dogs and detectors.
However, convoys like Song Heping's usually did not have any issues; they would just glance at the passes and let them through.
For ordinary civilians, passing through checkpoints was a completely different experience. The American soldiers at the checkpoints would act as if facing a formidable enemy, making people get out of their cars for searches and thoroughly inspecting both the inside and outside of the vehicles, not even sparing the engines.
As they were about to reach Ramadi, there seemed to be a problem up ahead.
The flow of traffic had slowed down.
After waiting for over ten minutes, the traffic still hadn't moved.
The cook called on the radio, asking Grey Wolf and the leading ISF officer to go down and see what was happening upfront.
Song Heping, sitting in the Hummer, became tense at this moment.
He turned his head to look at Angel beside him.
For her safety today, Song Heping had her wear a thick bulletproof vest, put on a helmet, and even tucked her hair into the helmet.
This was done not only for safety but also to avoid making her stand out too much among everyone.
"Call BW-1! Call BW-1!"
Suddenly, Grey Wolf's voice came through the channel.
"This is BW-1, go ahead."
"Chief, the American soldiers at the checkpoint ahead aren't letting any vehicles through!"
"What?! Why aren't they letting them through!"
The cook flared up when he heard this.
Not letting through?
Song Heping, who heard Grey Wolf's report through the channel, couldn't help but get anxious.
He had thought that today would go smoothly, but it seemed trouble had still found its way.