Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1091 The Stalker

Song Heping's adrenaline began to be secreted silently.

Go with him?
Once you're inside that kind of dark room, what happens becomes completely unpredictable.

His brain raced, assessing the possibility of forcing his way through, and his gaze even began to subconsciously search for the nearest exit and potential obstacles.

But the strong composure he had developed over years of navigating dangerous situations allowed him to maintain a slightly confused and harmless businessperson's expression on the surface.

He frowned slightly and asked in fluent English, with just the right amount of surprise and a hint of barely perceptible humility, "The problem? Sir, what is the problem? My passport and visa should be valid."

The customs officer leaned back in his chair, tapping the passport absently with his fingers, giving off a knowing look.

He didn't answer Song Heping's question directly, but instead drawled out his words in English with a heavy curry accent, where almost every syllable sounded like it had been boiled in oil:

“Uh… Mr. Li… Xin’an, right? From Dubai? Well… the situation is a bit complicated. You see, recently there have been new regulations that require travelers from certain regions to undergo… uh… additional 'health checks' and 'background verifications.' These are special procedures, very time-consuming. It might take several hours, or even… who knows?”

He emphasized the "special procedures" and "very time-consuming" with his own words, his dark brown eyes staring meaningfully at Song Heping, his right thumb and forefinger rubbing together discreetly in a universally understood gesture.

The movement was as fast as a fly flapping its wings, but how could a seasoned veteran like Song Heping not understand it?

Fuck your mother!

That's it!

Song Heping cursed inwardly. His tense nerves relaxed considerably in an instant, but a sense of disgust rose up afterward.

That stinky Indian!
It turned out to be a bribery!
Damn, it looked so real, I almost thought I was going to die here.

Song Heping reacted quickly, his face immediately plastered with a smile that seemed to say "I suddenly understand" and "I know the rules," and he nodded hurriedly: "Oh! I understand, I understand, sir. Indeed, it's a special period, special procedures. I understand, I fully understand the hard work you've put in."

As he spoke, he seemingly naturally reached for the passport holder on the counter.

Seeing this, the official stopped tapping his fingers on the table, a hint of expectation flashing in his eyes, but he still tried his best to maintain a serious, businesslike demeanor.

Song Heping opened his passport holder and swiftly pulled out three ten-dollar bills from the hidden US dollar cash inside.

He leaned forward slightly, using his passport holder and body as cover, and very naturally folded the thirty dollars in half and then in half again, before cleverly tucking it back into the inside of his passport, right into the page with his photo and personal information.

He then handed the passport back with both hands, smiling, and said, "Sir, as you can see, all the necessary documents and 'information' are in here. It should be 'complete' enough. Could you please take another look? I hope to complete the process as soon as possible so as not to inconvenience the passengers behind me."

The customs officer took the passport, felt its thickness with his fingers, and immediately knew what was going on.

He pretended to flip it open again, and immediately spotted the bright green US dollar bill.

His expression instantly melted like spring snow, his feigned stern bureaucratic demeanor vanished without a trace, replaced by an extremely pleased, almost fawning smile, and even his tone became light and enthusiastic.

"Oh! Yes! Yes! Mr. Li Xin'an!"

He exclaimed loudly, as if he had discovered a new continent, “Look, I was mistaken! The light was a bit dim just now. Your passport and visa are perfectly fine! Absolutely perfect! Welcome to the Land of the White Elephant! Welcome to Goa!”

As he spoke, he slapped the passport shut with a quick and decisive motion, as if afraid that Song Heping might change his mind and take the money back.

After stamping the passport, he handed it back to Song Heping and added warmly, "Have a great time in Goa! It's paradise!"

Song Heping took the passport, a cold smile playing on his lips, but he maintained a polite smile on his face: "Thank you, sir. Have a nice day."

"You too! You too!"

The official waved with a grin, already eagerly calling out to the next passenger in the queue, "Next!"

Song Heping put away his passport, expressionless, and quickly left the customs inspection counter area, pulling his suitcase.

After walking a few steps, the humid and sultry tropical air enveloped him again, and he let out a soft sigh.

What a false alarm.

That damned White Elephant Kingdom, even their extortion is so dramatic and clumsy, but it's effective nonetheless.

Thirty dollars bought me a smooth customs clearance and a discreet entry into the country; it wasn't a bad deal.

However, this feeling of disgust, like swallowing a fly, will probably stay with him for quite some time.

Right now, I simply don't have time to dwell on such trivial matters.

Zayed is still waiting for him somewhere. The real danger is only just beginning.

He pulled his hat brim down low and quickly blended into the chaotic crowd in the airport arrival hall.

A dozen minutes later, as arranged beforehand, Nassin found the counter of an international car rental company in the airport parking lot, presented the driver's license and international credit card corresponding to his fake identity, and quickly received the keys to a white Toyota Fortuner SUV.

This type of vehicle is common in the White Elephant Kingdom; it is reliable and inconspicuous.

He drove his SUV out of the airport and merged into the evening traffic in Goa.

The setting sun painted the sky orange-red, and the road was lined with lush coconut groves and colonial-era buildings.

Women in brightly colored saris, young people whizzing by on motorcycles, cows walking slowly...

It was filled with the unique energy and chaos of South Asia.

The air was filled with the aroma of curry and barbecue, and occasionally a "fresh" smell of cow dung, while Bollywood music drifted in from near and far.

Despite the seemingly relaxed atmosphere, Song Heping remained on edge, changing routes multiple times and checking his rearview mirror to ensure he wasn't being followed.

At 7:40 p.m., he arrived at the meeting place he had arranged with Zayed twenty minutes early—an open-air seaside café on the edge of a bustling street.

The area has a large flow of people, and the background noise is enough to mask conversations. At the same time, the complex surrounding environment makes it easy to observe and evacuate.

He parked his car in a secluded corner a little further away and then walked over.

He chose a seat against the wall, from which he could clearly see the café entrance and most of the area, while his back was relatively safe.

He ordered a black coffee and casually surveyed his surroundings. Tourists in beach shorts and flip-flops, couples chatting quietly, street vendors soliciting business…

Everything seems normal.

At exactly eight o'clock, a figure appeared at the entrance of the coffee shop.

He was a man of medium build, with dark skin, around forty years old, with a meticulously trimmed short beard, wearing a slightly flashy silk shirt and casual trousers, and a heavy gold watch on his wrist—the typical attire of a wealthy merchant from the White Elephant Kingdom.

He stood at the door and glanced around, his gaze quickly settling on Song Heping, who was sitting alone.

He strode over, a shrewd, businessman-like smile on his face.

“Mr. Song?” he asked in English with a heavy Belarusian accent, while naturally pulling out a chair and sitting down.

"Mr. Zayed?"

Song Heping nodded, confirming the other party's identity.

"I'm glad you kept your appointment on time."

Zayed beckoned to a waiter and ordered a whiskey on the rocks.

"Jackson said you're a man of action, and it seems he was right. Was the journey from Tehran smooth?"

His seemingly casual greetings were actually a test.

"Fortunately, it's peak tourist season, so there are quite a lot of people."

Song Heping gave a vague response, steer the conversation back on track, "Mr. Zayed, what do you think of my proposal?"

Zayed leaned forward and lowered his voice, saying, "One hundred million US dollars of Persian crude oil... Mr. Song, that's quite a sum, but the risk is even greater. The Americans have been keeping a close eye on Persian oil for years, and the US Fifth Fleet in the Indian Ocean is no joke. If word gets out... no one can afford it."

He swirled the ice cubes in his glass.

“You need to show me more sincerity, and... that you really have the ability to produce this batch of goods.”

“I can provide partial verification of the document,” Song Heping said calmly, “but only if I know you are truly capable of processing it.”

Just as the two were making initial attempts to probe and bargain, Song Heping keenly caught a hint of discord out of the corner of his eye.

Across from the café, in front of a souvenir shop, a man in a polo shirt and baseball cap seemed overly focused on the merchandise in the window. He had been standing there for quite some time, and his gaze seemed to drift in their direction every now and then.

Song Heping's heart sank slightly, but he remained expressionless and continued to listen to Zayed recount the complex process of maritime transshipment and money laundering.

He used the act of picking up his coffee cup to observe the man more closely.

The other person seemed to realize that they might have attracted attention, and suddenly appeared somewhat uneasy. They quickly turned around, no longer looking at the coffee shop, and instead walked briskly towards the alleyway connecting to the back of the coffee shop.

"Excuse me, Mr. Zayed, I need to use the restroom."

Song Heping suddenly interrupted Zayed and stood up calmly.

"What are you..."

Zayed paused for a moment, clearly annoyed by the sudden interruption of the conversation, but still nodded.

Instead of heading to the restroom inside the cafe, Song Heping quickly went around through the side door and strode towards the back alley.

His movements were light and swift, like a cheetah in motion.

As soon as he turned into the dimly lit back alley, he saw the man in the baseball cap walking briskly a short distance away, seemingly wanting to leave the area as quickly as possible.

"Hey! Friend!" Song Heping called out in English.

The man froze, turned around abruptly, and a look of panic flashed across his face. He didn't answer; instead, he sped up to run.

At that moment, Song Heping was certain that this person was no good.

He burst into action instantly, catching up in a few steps. Just as the man tried to pull something out of his waist, Song Heping leaped forward and kicked him, sending him flying like a ball before crashing heavily to the ground.

Without giving his opponent any chance to catch his breath, Song Heping swiftly moved to his side, grabbed his wrist with one hand and twisted it forcefully, while simultaneously slashing his neck with his other hand in a swift and decisive motion.

The man groaned, his body went limp, and before the shock in his eyes could fade, he lost consciousness and collapsed.

Song Heping quickly caught him to prevent him from falling and making a loud noise.

He quickly searched the man's pockets and found nothing to identify him except a little cash, a cheap cell phone, and a folding knife.

Song Heping's eyes were icy.

No matter who sent this spy, we must not let him spread the news.

He deftly tied a few fingers of the man's hand with his shoelaces, then lifted the unconscious "drunkard" and half-dragged, half-supported him toward his Toyota SUV parked not far away.

The whole process was clean and efficient, attracting almost no attention on the noisy streets of Goa at night.

He opened the SUV's trunk, stuffed the unconscious stalker inside, and slammed the door shut.

After doing all this, he straightened his slightly wrinkled shirt, took a deep breath, tried to calm his expression, and then turned and walked quickly back to the coffee shop.

His heart was beating a little faster than before, but his mind remained unusually calm.

Zayed must be kept in check; the deal cannot be interrupted because of this. But this unexpected event also means that the situation is far more complicated and dangerous than he had anticipated.

We'll find a chance to interrogate that stalker later and see who he is.

He returned to his seat and whispered an apology to Zayed, whose face now showed impatience and doubt: "I'm sorry, Mr. Zayed. Let's get back to business. Regarding the 15% commission you mentioned earlier, I think we can discuss the details of payment protection in more detail..."

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(End of this chapter)