Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1089 A trade is like a mountain

In the early morning on the Persian Plateau, the secret camp hidden in the folds of the mountains gradually awakens, and noise replaces silence.

The influx of thousands of newly arrived tribal militiamen and their families transformed what was originally a temporary outpost into a vast and vibrant camp, while also bringing immense pressure to manage and resettle them.

Jiang Feng and Samir barely slept all night, their eyes were bloodshot but they looked very excited.

They moved between the makeshift training and living areas, shouting in hoarse voices as they organized the young and middle-aged militiamen, still weary from fleeing and lax in their habits, into squads, distributing limited weapons and explaining the most basic tactical discipline and camp regulations.

Nassin, along with a few team members who had some knowledge of mechanics and civil engineering, was busy expanding the barracks and repairing the old generators and water pumps to ensure that the most basic living and defense facilities could function.

The camp was dusty and bustling with noise, a scene of chaotic yet orderly activity.

Song Heping stood on a high earthen slope at the edge of the camp, silently watching all of this.

Now it seems that this militia force has taken initial shape, but every step is fraught with difficulty. Food, medicine, weapons and ammunition, fuel...

Everything was extremely scarce, and maintaining this team of thousands consumed astronomical sums every day.

Just then, the encrypted satellite phone in his pocket vibrated.

The screen displayed a familiar number.

"Mr. Afanti".

Song Heping pressed the answer button, and his voice was steady.

"Song, I heard you had a great haul last night."

On the other end of the phone, Afanti's voice carried a hint of barely perceptible laughter, but quickly turned serious: "The 'seed fund' I promised you is ready. A $100 million oil quota, and the relevant documents have been approved. You need to come to Tehran; we'll meet in person to discuss it."

Song Heping said, "Understood. What do I need to prepare?"

"Take yourself with you, and the necessary caution," Afanti said succinctly. "Set off as soon as possible."

After ending the call, Song Heping took a deep breath of the crisp, cold air of the plateau, suppressing the emotions surging in his chest.

One hundred million dollars!
This is undoubtedly a timely help, and could even change the survival status and development trajectory of the entire "Liberation Force".

An army marches on its stomach.

Nothing is more urgent than having money.

He quickly walked down the slope and found Jiang Feng, who was supervising the training.

"Jiang Feng."

"Old squad leader, what's the matter?"

Jiang Feng immediately came over.

"I need to go to Tehran immediately."

Song Heping put it succinctly, “You will be in full charge of all affairs here at the camp for the time being. Samir and Nassin will assist you. You will be in charge of military training and internal management, while they will be in charge of external liaison and tribal relations. When major decisions are made, the three of you will consult with each other. If you cannot make a decision, prioritize self-preservation.”

Jiang Feng's eyes sharpened, and without the slightest hesitation, he replied, "Understood!"

Song Heping patted him firmly on the shoulder, everything understood without words. He then turned and called Nassin over, briefly explaining the situation.

"This operation must be kept absolutely secret; I'll go alone."

Song Heping's tone left no room for argument.

Nassin paused for a moment, then immediately understood.

Persia is a treacherous place with many traitors.

The fact that someone broke into the hospital to kill Song Heping has already explained everything.

Therefore, Song He often preferred to be alone.

This is actually safer.

He nodded and said, "Understood, I will prepare everything. The 'Sand Fox' team will be on standby, ready to provide support at any time."

Without much farewell, a modified off-road vehicle, fully fueled, drove out of the bustling camp, carrying Song Heping alone, and plunged into the vast mountains of the Persian Plateau.

The entire day's drive was long and tedious. The scenery outside the car window kept changing, gradually transitioning from desolate and barren highland mountains to hills dotted with oases, and finally entering a slightly flatter area with a gradually denser population.

Along the straight but somewhat old highway, huge propaganda posters depicting religious slogans and portraits of leaders can be seen from time to time.

The number of checkpoints gradually increased, but whenever the sentries saw Song Heping's car with its special license plate and presented his documents, they would immediately salute and let him pass.

A $100 million oil quota is undoubtedly a huge sum of money for this fledgling resistance force, enough to keep them alive and even allow them to take off.

With this money, he could buy enough food and medicine, and purchase more weapons and ammunition to arm the militia who were eager to return to Iligo and reclaim their territory.

But at the same time, he was also well aware that there were huge risks and challenges hidden behind this $100 million.

First, converting oil quotas into cash is a major hurdle.

Unlike gold or diamonds, oil is not easy to carry and trade; it requires complex transportation and sales channels.

In the current international environment, Persia's oil exports are subject to severe sanctions, and conventional channels are almost completely blocked.

Song Heping had no experience or connections in the oil trade, which was a completely new field for him, a case of being completely unfamiliar with the industry.

He began to mentally analyze possible solutions...

Perhaps we could contact oil brokers on the international black market?

Or perhaps the crude oil was transported out of Persia through some shady channels?
But these ideas were just vague shadows, and he had no idea how to actually do them.

Secondly, once this huge sum of money is put into operation, it will inevitably attract the attention of various forces.

American intelligence agencies, political enemies in Persia, and even international criminal groups may all be eyeing this hundred million dollars.

Money is a good thing.

But sometimes it can be deadly.

Song Heping knew this was a hot potato, and that he could get burned if he wasn't careful.

He had to be extremely careful not to reveal any flaws.

As the off-road vehicle bumped along the winding mountain road, Song Heping's thoughts gradually became clearer.

The immediate priority is to convert the oil into cash as quickly as possible.

Therefore, he needs to find reliable partners and channels.

He thought of his old connections in the arms smuggling industry—it's all smuggling, whether it's smuggling arms or smuggling oil!

We should be able to handle it!
In addition, he also considered whether he could use the name of the International Red Cross or other NGOs to sell the oil at a discount to certain countries or companies in urgent need of energy, and then transfer the funds back to the camp in the form of humanitarian aid.

However, these ideas are still in the early stages and need further verification of their feasibility.

As dusk approached, the sprawling skyline of Tehran finally emerged on the horizon. The setting sun cast a hazy, golden glow over the highland city, its dense buildings, towering mosque domes, and modern glass facades creating a peculiar and fragmented urban skyline.

Traffic became congested, and the air was filled with car exhaust fumes and the hustle and bustle unique to the city.

Compared to the tense atmosphere of the desolate border and secret camps, this place seems like another world.

The vehicle did not stop in the city center, but drove directly to the heavily guarded headquarters of the Revolutionary Guard in the heart of the city.

After passing through several checkpoints equipped with heavy guns, machine gun nests, and anti-tank obstacles, and undergoing repeated identity checks, the off-road vehicle was finally allowed to enter an internal parking lot.

The moment Song Heping got out of the car, he felt an omnipresent, cold gaze.

The building's exterior is simple and even somewhat old, but the interior has a complex and oppressive atmosphere.

The walls were a cold, concrete color, the corridor was dimly lit, and people in military uniforms or dark civilian clothes hurried by with serious expressions and spoke in hushed tones. Almost no one looked up at him, this stranger.

The air was thick with a heavy scent, a mixture of old paper, dust, and intangible power.

Guided by an expressionless officer, Song Heping passed through several heavy blast doors and finally arrived at an inconspicuous wooden door.

The officer knocked on the door, and Afanti's familiar voice came from inside: "Come in."

The office wasn't luxurious, but it was spacious.

A huge solid wood desk, behind which is a flagpole with the Persian flag and the Revolutionary Guard flag.

Large military maps and portraits of leaders are hung on the walls.

Afanti sat behind his desk, looking slightly more tired than the last time we met, but his eyes were still sharp and bright.

He didn't get up, but simply pointed to the chair in front of the table.

"Please sit down, Song. You must be tired from your journey."

Afan instructed the officer who was supposed to lead the way to leave.

The door closed gently, leaving only the two of them in the room.

"It seems you've expanded your operations quite significantly."

Afanti said calmly, taking a document from his drawer and pushing it in front of Song Heping. "This is what you wanted. A $100 million crude oil quota is a document that has been signed and approved by the highest level. You can use this document to withdraw the corresponding value of crude oil from the designated oil depot. How you handle it is your business. According to the current international market price, even if you go through the black market and sell it at a discount, getting $80 to $100 million in cash shouldn't be a problem."

Song Heping picked up the heavy document; the paper emitted a faint smell of ink.

The Persian text and numbers above represent immense energy and potential.

He carefully reviewed it, confirmed that the key information was correct, and then carefully put it into the waterproof document bag he carried with him.

"Thank you," Song Heping said sincerely.

He knew that behind this document, Afanti must have been under considerable pressure and risk.

Afanti waved his hand and stood up: "Having documents is useless. You need to know where the things are and how to get them out. Come on, I'll take you to see your 'gold mountain'."

Without exchanging many pleasantries, the two went downstairs and got into a black sedan without any markings. Escorted by an SUV in front and behind, they drove away from downtown Tehran.

The convoy sped southwest.

As darkness fell, the view outside the window transformed into vast stretches of barren Gobi Desert and salt flats.

But gradually, a spectacle of the industrial age began to appear and eventually took over the whole scene—a dense, endless array of oil pumps, rising and falling like a steel forest, ceaselessly bowing to the earth and drawing black gold.

The massive oil pipelines stretch across the ground like giant pythons, converging towards the brightly lit, smoke-shrouded giant oil refineries and storage bases in the distance.

A strong, pungent smell of crude oil sulfides began to fill the air.

This is one of Persia's core oil-producing regions, the lifeline of the nation's economy.

The convoy drove into a large oil depot area.

The towering silver oil storage tanks stretched as far as the eye could see, like a mountain range. A network of crisscrossing pipes hung in the air, emitting a deep rumble.

A dedicated railway line for transporting crude oil runs through the area, with tanker trucks occasionally passing by slowly. Searchlights illuminate the entire area as bright as day, and guards and patrolling military dogs are visible everywhere, with a level of security no less than that of a military base.

Afanti's vehicle clearly had the highest authority, passing through unimpeded, and finally stopped beneath a huge group of oil tanks.

The two got out of the car and stood at the foot of these industrial behemoths, where humanity seemed exceptionally small.

Your share 'exists' here.

Afanti pointed to the several huge oil storage tanks in front of him, "Now, the question is, how do you turn them into the weapons, food, and medicine you need?"

He looked at Song Heping, his gaze meaningful: "Do you have sales channels yet?"

Song Heping shook his head and said frankly, "No. This is my biggest headache. My connections are all in the arms and security fields. Oil... it's a completely different field. I need your guidance."

Afanti seemed to have anticipated this answer. He walked with his hands behind his back, speaking in a slightly erratic voice amidst the deafening industrial noise: "Under the maximum pressure from the Americans, our effort to ship oil out in exchange for urgently needed supplies and foreign exchange is itself a war. Conventional channels are basically blocked, so we can only rely on unconventional means."

He began to introduce them as if they were his own treasures:
"The most primitive, but sometimes most effective, method is border transport. Camel caravans carry oil barrels along the rugged border, infiltrating neighboring countries like Afghanistan and Babayang. It involves small-scale operations and high-risk activities, but it is flexible and difficult to monitor completely."

“A slightly more advanced method is pipeline smuggling. For example, using less-noticed pipelines like the Gorjesk pipeline to transport crude oil directly to terminals on the coastline, thus circumventing the risks of maritime sanctions. But this requires internal coordination and involves a lot of noise.”

"The largest volume is maritime smuggling. They form 'shadow fleets' using old tankers with unclear registration information to conduct ship-to-ship transfers on the high seas, or disguise them as other cargo and transship them through 'grey' ports like Fujairah in the UAE. It's very complicated to operate and requires professional shipping knowledge and inside contacts at the port. They usually operate at night, turning off their Automatic Identification System (AIS) and disguising themselves as ordinary cargo ships, operating at night and hiding during the day."

After he finished speaking, Song Heping asked, "What channels do you use for your funds? Offshore banks?"

“Our approach is somewhat different from yours.”

Afanti laughed and said, "You launder money through offshore banks, but we have our own banking channels. For example, the Pearl Party's Unit 4400 fund transfers profits to places like Sierra Leone and Lebanon, then converts them into cash or gold, and flows them back through special channels. We even use exemptions to airlift cash to places like Beirut using diplomatic pouches or with diplomats personally escorting it."

Afanti suddenly stopped and looked at Song Heping, saying, "But unfortunately, you probably can't use any of these channels. Because all of these channels are currently firmly controlled by a few powerful families in the country. Their connections are intricate and intertwined, even reaching the highest levels. You want to jump in out of thin air and snatch something from their mouths? Not only will they not allow it, but the higher-ups, for the sake of balance and stability, will not allow it either. So, I can't help you on this path; you have to rely on yourself."

Song Heping frowned deeply.

He hadn't expected the situation to be so complicated. It was far more than just a simple exchange of money for goods; it involved a vast and secretive underground smuggling empire, a place fraught with unfathomable depths and dangers.

After visiting the oil depot area, Song Heping did not linger.

He politely declined Afanti's invitation to stay for dinner and drove back overnight.

On the way, Song Heping remained silent, his mind racing.

Although the channels provided by Afanti could not be used directly by him, they gave him great inspiration.

A professional, underground, international smuggling network...

He suddenly thought of someone—Jackson, the powerful international "logistics tycoon" who smuggled arms for him.

This guy had been smuggling weapons for me all along, and he was quite influential in the underground arms market.

Maybe this guy has a way!
　Asking for a monthly ticket! Asking for a monthly ticket!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)