The Middle East: From War Correspondent to Middle Eastern Influencer

The fat man's body trembled violently. He blinked frantically, his face covered in tears and snot, trying to express submission and beg for mercy.

In this underground black market, murder is commonplace, and he doesn't want to become one of the corpses tonight.

Wu Hen did not intend to kill him here.

Openly executing a local tyrant in the heart of the black market would inevitably invite retaliation, which he currently lacks the strength to resist.

He deftly ejected the magazine from the pistol, pulled the slide to eject a bullet from the chamber, and then casually smashed the empty gun into the fat man's face, stomping the bullet under his foot.

"Get out of here. If I ever see you again, this bullet will be stuck in your head."

The fat man scrambled to grab the empty gun from the ground, clutching his broken finger, and rushed out of the dead end without looking back, abandoning even the box of tattered weapons.

Wu Hen turned around, his deep gaze falling once again on the three shocked tribal members.

"Now, can we talk business?"

The tribal leader swallowed hard, his attitude becoming respectful; in this world, the strong are always revered.

"Of course, my powerful friend, you just said you have a 70% new AK-47? Eight hundred dollars?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes." Wu Hen nodded.

The tribal leader, named Tariq, rubbed his hands excitedly. Five high-performance rifles would greatly enhance their fighting strength.

"Alright! We're willing to cooperate!" Tariq said solemnly. "But there are too many people around here, and we can't leave with weapons. Three days later, at the same time, we'll meet again outside the entrance to this underground black market. You bring the goods, and we'll bring the cash."

"I've changed my mind now," Wu Hen said with a smile.

Taric looked at Wu Hen and thought to himself that things were going to get ugly; this kid was probably going to raise the price too.

Wu Hen pointed to the guns left behind by the fat man and said, "Take these, give me $2000. If you want more, you can contact me again."

Tariq and his men were secretly delighted. There were six rifles here, and although they weren't in good condition, they could get them for only $2000, which was definitely a good deal.

Wu Hen was secretly delighted. He wouldn't mind selling as many as he wanted since it was a business that required no investment.

After handing over the goods to Taric and the others, Wu Hen quickly turned around and walked out of the dead end.

He had offended a local arms dealer. Although the dealer was a coward who bullied the weak and feared the strong, the local tyrants were deeply entrenched and would definitely cause him a lot of trouble. He had to figure out the power dynamics in this area as soon as possible.

Wu Hen followed the crowded flow of people toward the exit of the air-raid shelter, but a burly figure blocked his way.

It was that scarred Eastern European mercenary named Victor.

Viktor was leaning against the mottled cement wall, a half-burnt cigarette between his fingers. When he saw Wu Hen come out, he casually flicked the cigarette butt to the ground and stomped it out with his boot.

"Kid, that's interesting." Viktor crossed his arms. "That performance in the dead end was spectacular. Disarming that fat pig in a second, even among the veterans in our unit, few could do it as cleanly as you."

Wu Hen was slightly taken aback, but he remained calm on the surface: "In this place, it's just about self-preservation."

"Whether you're trying to protect yourself or steal business," Viktor pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of his tactical vest, held it between two fingers, and handed it to Wu Hen. "Our boss watched the whole thing on the surveillance camera, and he's very interested in you."

Wu Hen didn't immediately take the note, but instead looked at Viktor warily: "Your boss?"

"Here you go. In Benghazi, there aren't many people our boss would invite on his own initiative," Viktor shrugged. "Tomorrow at three in the afternoon, at the address on the note. Whether you come or not is up to you, but let me give you a piece of advice: having a powerful friend is always better than having an unknown enemy."

After saying that, Viktor ignored Wu Hen and turned to walk away.

Wu Hen glanced down at the slip of paper in his hand, on which an address was scribbled in black marker.

He memorized the address on the note, then took out a lighter and crushed the burnt paper scraps into powder.

He hadn't yet decided whether to accept Victor's invitation, as contacting a mercenary group so rashly felt somewhat risky.

He returned to the pickup truck, leaned against the door, took out half a piece of compressed dry food from his backpack, and nibbled on it to replenish his strength.

The wound on my shoulder started hurting again after the impact.

Not long after, two figures emerged from behind the sand dunes. The one in front was Muhammad, followed by a thin young man.

The young man looked to be in his early twenties, thin and frail, wearing old work clothes with his trousers rolled up, revealing a faint bullet mark on his calf.

"Wu, I'm back." Muhammad walked quickly to Wu Hen, pointed to the young man behind him, "This is Ali, my cousin. He used to serve in the opposition and is quite familiar with this area. I happened to meet him at the water station in the refugee camp, so I brought him along."

Then he walked to Wu Hen's ear and whispered, "Reliable."

Ali stepped forward and, without any further formalities, said, "Sir, I am Ali. Uncle Muhammad said you need information about Benghazi. I will tell you everything I know."

Wu Hen nodded, and without further ado, took out another US dollar bill from his pocket and lowered his voice: "To make a long story short, it's not safe here."

Ali took the banknotes, beaming, and said directly, "You must have heard of the Raven Tribe Armed Forces. Their leader is called Hassan, a ruthless character. He has more than three hundred men and controls three blocks in the east of the city. Half of the loose goods on the black market pass through his hands. They do everything."

"And those foreign mercenaries are the Gray Wolf Mercenary Group, about fifty people in total. Most of them are retired soldiers from Eastern Europe and Africa. They are well-equipped. Their leader is nicknamed White Wolf. Nobody knows his real name. They never get involved in the local power struggles. They are very mysterious."

At this point, Ali paused, "Right now, the most scarce items in the city are light weapons and ammunition. Opposition groups and tribal militias are scrambling to buy them. An AK-47, regardless of its condition, is already fetching $1,200 on the black market, and there are often no buyers even when it's available. Ammunition is sold by the bullet."

This intelligence largely matched what Wu Hen had heard on the black market, but it was more specific, especially regarding the background of Crow and Gray Wolf, which was exactly the information he needed most at the moment.

Ali has a deep understanding of the organization and operational patterns of armed groups, and this knowledge is far more valuable than a few hundred dollars.

Wu Hen remained silent for a moment, then turned around, opened the back of the pickup truck, and pulled out three AK-47s from the tattered cloth covering the weapons.

These three guns were seized from a patrol team. They are in excellent condition, with only slight wear on the rifling of the barrels and fully loaded magazines. They would definitely be hot commodities on the black market.

He handed the three guns to Ali: "You need to sell these three guns for me secretly. Don't go through Crow's channels, and don't let Gray Wolf's men find out. The price is one thousand dollars each, cash transaction, the sooner the better."

Looking at the three rifles in his arms, Ali could tell at a glance that they were in excellent condition, far superior to the junk on the black market. Wu Hen could produce such guns so easily, their origins were definitely not simple.

But he was sensible and didn't ask a single question. He just held the rifle tightly and said, "Don't worry, sir. I know what to do. I have reliable buyers. They are all armed groups from small tribes. I will definitely get back to you within two days."