Tehran Grocery Store: My Intelligence is Priced Clearly

Zhang Jian limped in and, under the gaze of everyone in the room, plopped down on the examination bed.

The people inside the house were looking at him, and he was looking at the people inside the house.

The military doctor sat at his desk, wearing a white coat.

Beside him sat a short-haired Iranian man in his early thirties.

Wearing a dark gray jacket, with his hands resting on his knees and his fingers interlaced.

The other man, around forty years old, had his legs crossed and his beard neatly shaved.

But the way he looked at people made people very uncomfortable.

The military doctor was the first to stand up and come over to examine his right leg.

The trouser leg was torn in half, and there was a large bruise on the calf with several scrapes.

The military doctor touched his shinbone.

"The bone problem isn't serious, it's just that the swelling is quite bad. Try to walk less in the meantime."

As he spoke, he began to clean the wound again.

In three to five minutes, the abrasions were cleaned up.

He stitched up the wound on his calf, wrapped it with gauze twice, and then got up.

"The injury to your arm isn't too serious, just bruises. It'll be fine after a few days of rest."

Thanks.

Zhang Jian nodded.

The medic packed his things, glanced at the two men, and tactfully left.

Once the door closed, the consultation room fell silent.

The older Iranian man tapped on the table and spoke first.

"Mr. Zhang, my name is Reza Bagheri, from the Intelligence and Security Department of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps."

Zhang Jian looked up and glanced at him.

"Hello there."

Reza slowly got up, supporting himself on the table, and walked to Zhang Jian.

"Is Mr. Zhang a Chinese citizen?"

"right."

"What are you doing in Tehran?"

"Selling small Chinese commodities, could he barely be considered the owner of a general store?"

"The owner of a general store?"

Reza repeated the sentence.

"How could a grocery store owner obtain the complete US strike plan against the 47th Air Defense Battalion?"

"Mr. Zhang, this doesn't make sense."

"It's just a distribution channel."

Zhang Jian answered very quickly.

"I've already spoken to Captain Karimi about this."

"What channel?"

"Informants on the Middle Eastern black market."

"What's the informant's name?"

"have no idea."

How can I contact them?

"Anonymous, we can't meet."

"How is it delivered?"

"It's not convenient to say."

Reza went back and tapped on the folder on the table.

The short-haired man next to him took out his notebook and started taking notes.

"Mr. Zhang, what's the difference between your answers and saying nothing at all?"

"The difference is..."

"I saved three hundred of your lives today through this channel."

Reza stared at him for two seconds.

I pulled up a chair and sat down directly opposite him.

His tone also became much sterner.

"Mr. Zhang, I am neither Karimi nor Bahrami."

"They led their troops into battle, and you provided them with intelligence, saving their lives. It's only natural that they're grateful to you."

"But my job is to find out the source."

"The F-35's attack trajectory is accurate to the minute in terms of missile impact time, and the weapon type is refined to the sub-type."

"I worked in intelligence for eight years, and I've seen all kinds of informants in Iraq, Syria, Yemen."

"There are only a handful of companies in the world that can achieve this level of precision."

"Tell me, you bought it on the black market?"

He paused for two seconds.

Do you think I'd believe that?

Zhang Jian's heart skipped a beat when he saw his sharp gaze.

However, I forced myself to remain calm.

"So, where do you think this intelligence came from?"

"I don't think so, I'm making my own judgment."

Reza spoke faster.

"Firstly, you do have a channel that we don't know about."

"Although the probability is extremely low, it cannot be ruled out."

"The second type..."

He drew out his voice.

"You are an employee of some intelligence agency."

"The CIA, Mossad, or assets jointly owned by both are all possibilities."

The short-haired man's pen hovered, and he looked up at him.

Zhang Jian chuckled as he looked at Lei Zha's serious expression.

"Major, your reasoning is quite creative."

"The Americans spent tens of millions of dollars developing the strike plan, and then arranged for a Chinese man who ran a grocery store in Tehran to leak their plan to you?"

"What is the purpose?"

"Let you evacuate ahead of time? So they'll bomb a bunch of empty tunnels with dozens of precision-guided bombs?"

"If those people in Congress found out, wouldn't they tear the roof off the Pentagon?"

Reza frowned.

Zhang Jian continued speaking.

"If I were on their side, I should give you false information so you can stay on the front lines without worry."

"Instead of handing over the real information to help you survive."

"Having worked in intelligence for eight years, don't you even have this basic judgment?"

The consultation room was silent for three seconds.

Reza suddenly clapped his hands lightly.

"Your logic is sound, but there's a flaw in it."

He sat back down in his seat.

"The Americans could have released real intelligence in the first wave to build trust."

"They'll then use you to spread false information and lead us into a trap."

"'Feeding the truth to expose the falsehood' is an old trick in intelligence warfare."

Zhang Jian nodded.

"For your approach to work, there's a prerequisite."

"What are the prerequisites?"

"You have to survive until the 'sequel'."

Zhang Jian held up one finger.

"The cycle of 'feeding the real and cracking down on the fake' is at least three to five rounds. But at today's strike density, your air defense system won't last a week."

"You'll be finished before the third round."

"If the Americans really had that kind of patience, they wouldn't have launched F-35s, F-15EXs, and drones all at once on the first day."

He put his fingers down.

"Major, you're an intelligence expert; you know the timeline better than I do."

Reza remained silent.

Zhang Jian was telling the truth; it was indeed the case.

With their strength, they really weren't capable of being treated this way by the arrogant Americans.

It paused for a few seconds.

"Mr. Zhang."

Reza pulled a blank sheet of paper from the folder and pushed it in front of Zhang Jian.

"In that case, I'll give you a chance to prove yourself."

"12 hours."

He looked at the watch on his wrist.

"You'd better produce the US military equipment for tomorrow within 12 hours..."

"Note that this is a complete airstrike plan for the entire Tehran area tomorrow."

"Coordinates, names, attack time windows, aircraft types and formations, weapon types and quantities of all targets."

"None of these can be omitted."

Zhang Jian looked at him calmly.

"If you can provide it, I will recommend to my superiors that you receive protection and cooperation."

Reza leaned forward.

"But if you can't produce it..."

"You are a foreigner who transmits unknown intelligence during wartime."

"According to wartime regulations, indefinite detention and interrogation."

"Even though you are Chinese, this is, after all, the Middle East."

"It's perfectly normal for someone to die."

Zhang Jian understood what he meant.

Translate into human language.

If you deliver the goods, you'll be treated like royalty; if you can't, you'll die here.

"OK."

Zhang Jian considered for a moment, then spoke.

He had already anticipated this day when he helped Karami.

Reza's eyebrows twitched.

He didn't expect Zhang Jian to agree so readily.

"But I have one condition."

"explain."

Reza looked at him.

"How much are you paying for this intelligence?"

The air in the consultation room suddenly became deathly still.

Reza and the short-haired man were momentarily stunned.

"What?"

"I said, how much are you willing to pay?"

Zhang Jian's tone was exactly the same as when he was selling goods at the Grand Bazaar.

"The people I deal with aren't doing charity work. In these kinds of transactions, it's always cash on delivery."

"You haven't paid me for that intelligence report about the air defense battalion today."

"You guys don't really think you can get this kind of information for just five hundred dollars, do you?"

"If it weren't for Karami, do you think I'd care whether you lived or died?"

"Want a complete list of airstrikes targeting Tehran?"

"Okay, get the budget approved first, then we can talk."

Reza's brow twitched slightly.

He never expected this guy to be so bold.

In this situation, how dare you ask me for money!

Seeing Zhang Jian's nonchalant attitude, she gritted her teeth, suppressed her displeasure, and asked a question.

"How much do you want!"

Zhang Jian pretended to bend down to adjust the gauze on his leg, his mind racing as he asked the system.

【Ding! 】

[Complete Plan for the Next-Day Airstrikes Across Tehran (Including All Targets/Times/Aircraft Types/Weapons/Flight Routes)]

[Required Intelligence Points for Exchange: 100000]

Zhang Jian looked up.

"Five hundred thousand US dollars."

"How many?"

Reza jumped up from the chair.

The sounds became much sharper.

"You're insane!"

"It's the market price; you don't have to buy it."

"In all my years of intelligence work, I've never handled a single case exceeding 100,000!"

"You want 500,000?"

Zhang Jian looked up at him.

You get what you pay for.

"I don't know what your information is like, but I imagine it's not as detailed as you're asking for."

Reza stared at him, his breathing becoming much more rapid.

After a long pause, he finally grabbed the folder from the table.

His gaze was fixed on Zhang Jian on the examination bed.

"Okay, I agree!"

"However, Mr. Zhang, I'll only give you 12 hours."

"If you can't produce anything in 12 hours, you'll be staying in Tehran for the rest of your life."

The door opened and slammed shut.

Half an hour later.

Karimi's hospital room.

At the end of the corridor was a private room, with a gunman standing at the door.

Zhang Jian gave his name, the guard checked the list, and then let him pass.

Karimi lay on the bed with a bandage wrapped around his right shoulder and around his chest.

His face was deathly pale, but he was already awake.

"Karami, how's it going?"

"Two ribs were broken, but no internal organs were damaged."

Karimi tried to stand up, but Zhang Jian pushed him back down.

"You should lie down."

Zhang Jian sat down on the stool by the bed.

"Did you see Reza?"

"Just finished meeting with him."

Zhang Jian gave a brief account of the conversation.

Espionage allegations, demands for new intelligence 24/7—everything fell apart.

Karimi wanted to sit up halfway through the conversation.

I felt a sharp pain in my ribs as soon as I moved.

"Zhang, he's making things difficult for you!"

Karimi looked terrible, his forehead covered in sweat.

"The Tehran airstrike plan is beyond the reach of even the Supreme National Security Council's analysis center! That's information at the level of the US Central Command!"

"I know."

"you do not know!"

Karimi lowered his voice.

"Reza doesn't want validation; he wants credit!"

"If you actually give it to him, the first thing he'll do isn't thank you, but steal your distribution channels!"

Zhang Jian looked at the system in front of him.

"It doesn't matter, my channels aren't something someone at his level can easily find."

"What's more, he also gave me half a million US dollars."

"At worst, I'll go to the embassy for help. To be honest, I really don't believe he would dare to do anything to me at the embassy."

"No, not at all."

Karimi shook his head.

"This behavior is tantamount to provoking war."

"We have no intention of starting a war with you."

"And Zhang."

"When Bakhrami reported it, he not only reported it to the intelligence department, but also to the General Staff."

"It's just that Reza is a bit faster."

"Believe me, the General Staff would never do that to you!"

Zhang Jian nodded.

"I hope so."

Inside an SUV on the west side of the hospital.

Reza sat in the back, while his co-driver Ali sat in the passenger seat.

"They've got someone watching you?"

"Two shifts, 24 hours a day."

Alibaba responded.

"Communication tools, contacts, and movement patterns will all be recorded."

"not enough."

Reza took a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it, and took a deep drag.

"Get his entry and exit records for the past three years."

"Focus on Dubai."

"Who did you meet before, where did you stay, and were there any unusual transactions in your account?"

Ali nodded.

"Okay, but this information needs to go through the customs system, which may take a day."

"long time."

Reza leaned back in his chair.

"Tell customs that this is a wartime priority."

Alibaba sent out the message.

He put his phone back on the center console, his mind filled with Zhang Jian's answer.

After thinking for a moment, he still leaned over and clung to the back of the driver's seat.

"Boss, what if we can't find anything?"

Reza suddenly looked up.

Ali met his gaze.

"Boss, forgive my bluntness."

"Have you ever considered that not all the satellites above our heads belong to the Americans?"