Chapter 24: Thomas’s Embarrassed Fury

The sunset cast its remaining glow into Thomas’s office, landing squarely on his desk. Its occupant had been sitting there for nearly an hour, never once shifting from his chair.

On the desk lay a file. It was an operational assessment report detailing the firefight that had occurred on the overpass that afternoon. Langley always managed to get their hands on first-hand intelligence the fastest. He had already read the report at least three times.

Thomas felt both astonished and humiliated. He was humiliated because he had failed to deliver on the promises he made to his superiors. He was astonished by Song Heping’s performance during the operation. If it weren't for him, Angel might well be lying in the morgue at the Green Zone hospital by now. And this Chinese man was someone he himself had recommended to Cook.

Thomas couldn't help but touch his own face, as if he had been struck hard by an invisible hand.

*Ring-ring—*

The desk phone rang. He picked up the receiver and heard the signal of a fax machine. He dialed back to confirm the signal and hung up.

*Whirrr—*

With the buzzing sound of the machine, a faxed document slowly emerged. Thomas tore it off quickly and scanned the contents twice.

"...XXX Unit Logistics Support Base, Rank: Private First Class, Position: Livestock Keeper..."

A livestock keeper?

He returned to his computer and sent an inquiry to the intelligence department via the encrypted system: "What is the job of a livestock keeper?"

After sending it, he sat back in his chair, propped his feet on the desk, and read every word on the fax again, whispering them to himself.

It was an unremarkable resume. A perfectly ordinary Chinese veteran who, after leaving the military, had worked odd jobs, run a water delivery business, and then come here to trade dry goods in the Green Zone...

*Ding—*

A notification sounded from the computer. Thomas pulled his feet back, straightened his posture, leaned toward the screen, and clicked on the message.

It contained only three words: "A pig farmer!"

"SHIT!"

Thomas cursed and slumped back into his chair. "What kind of background does this kid have?" He was beginning to regret introducing Song Heping to Cook.

Just then, his cell phone rang. Seeing the number, Thomas felt a headache coming on, but he pressed the answer button anyway.

"Thomas, what the hell are you doing! Didn't you say that girl would never make it back to the Green Zone? Didn't you say you’d handle this?! I just received news that Angel has safely arrived in the Green Zone!"

"Sir, you have to let me explain... Our troops stationed in Baghdad arrived just in time. If they had been ten minutes later, Angel certainly wouldn't have made it... Rest assured, I will make sure she doesn't get her hands on any evidence..."

Thomas was a veteran at deceiving his superiors. After a round of explanations, he managed to stall, and his superior finally accepted his story.

No sooner had he hung up than another phone rang. He grabbed it impatiently, but his expression changed the moment he saw the number. He hesitated for a few seconds before answering. It was Cook.

"Thomas! Are you still in the Green Zone?"

"Still... yes, I am..."

"Come to the bar tonight, it's on me!"

"What's the happy occasion?"

"Of course there is! And it involves you! Remember that guy, 'Lost'? The kid you recommended to me at the bar? I really have to thank you! If it weren't for him today, our VIP would have been done for! I won't say more—come to the bar tonight, I'm opening a bottle of the best Scotch! No more talking, I'm off to collect the bounty. See you tonight!"

The call disconnected. Thomas held the phone, listening to the dial tone. After three seconds, he slammed the phone onto the floor. He was burning with rage, feeling insulted but unable to lash out. It was his own fault, after all. He had thought that a rookie plus a few Russians was the worst possible combination in the Baghdad mercenary scene. He never expected them to hold off more than thirty militants with just five men. It was absolutely insane!

***

In the Blackwater International mission hall, Miss Loli was handing out bounties to contractors who had completed their tasks. Cook grinned as he took a thick stack of brand-new hundred-dollar bills from her. He pressed the money to his lips and gave it a loud kiss. Then, he counted out a thousand for each person.

Song Heping took the cash and carefully tucked it into his pocket.

"Come to the bar for a drink tonight!" Cook said.

Song Heping shook his head. "I'm not going; I have a use for this money."

Cook said, "I heard you’re desperate for money, but surely you aren't that stingy?"

Song Heping replied, "I have a purpose for it."

White Bear and Queen teased from the side, "Lost, in our line of work, money comes and goes fast. Eat, drink, and be merry today, because you never know when you might kick the bucket. Saving money is useless."

Cook added, "Lost, I know you have younger siblings waiting for you to support them, but we make fast money. We could meet God any day now. You should enjoy yourself. Money isn't for saving; in this business, money is for earning, and you earn it with skill! Don't worry, stay with me, and I guarantee you'll have meat on your table!" He shook his fist in front of Song Heping’s face for emphasis.

Before Cook could finish, a mocking voice echoed from the doorway.

"I’ve always heard Russians like to brag, but today I’ve finally seen it for myself, ha ha ha! Cook, aren't you afraid of biting your own tongue while blowing such hot air?"

Everyone turned toward the door. The voice was very familiar. Song Heping realized it was the guy from the Duke of Wellington Regiment, the retired British officer, Rice.

Small world, indeed. It was indeed Rice. He appeared in the hall with his men, carrying that characteristic, overconfident air of the British Empire. His eyes swept over everyone before landing on Song Heping.

Song Heping knew this guy didn't like him. He had humiliated Rice in public that morning by mentioning the dark history of the Duke of Wellington Regiment on the peninsula. Was he here to pick a fight?

However, Rice and his men didn't seem interested in bothering Song Heping. After sizing him up, they walked straight to Miss Loli to register their mission completion. Then, they turned to Cook, glanced at the stack of bills in his hand, and said, "Happy over a ten-thousand-dollar bounty? Seems you guys haven't seen any real money." He sneered and strode away.

"Pah!" After they left, Cook spat on the floor.

Song Heping asked Gray Wolf, "They seem very arrogant."

Gray Wolf said, "Of course! They are official Blackwater contractors. Rice, nicknamed 'Mad Dog,' brought his own twenty-man team from the UK to form the 'Mad Dog' mercenary group. They are currently signed under Blackwater International, so they get the same benefits as official employees. That's why they earn so much more than us."

As a newcomer, Song Heping wasn't familiar with the mercenary ecosystem. He asked curiously, "How much more?"

Gray Wolf explained, "The income gap for mercenaries in Baghdad is huge. Freelancers like us, who aren't signed to a company, are at the bottom. We pick up the scraps others don't want, earning between $100 and $300 a day. When there's a mission, we get bonuses and commissions; when there isn't, we go hungry."

"Those signed to small companies have long-term contracts, usually $7,000 to $10,000 a month. They have a steady income, plus mission subsidies. It's quite comfortable. But the official employees of big PMCs like Blackwater International or AAFES are on another level. They get a fixed monthly salary of $15,000. Senior, capable ones make even more. They get personal insurance, high mission bonuses, commissions, paid leave, and top-tier benefits. We wandering ghosts can't compare..."

"Oh... so it's the difference between being 'in the system' and 'outside the system'..."

Fifteen thousand dollars a month—the figure stunned Song Heping. In his home country, workers in the south typically made only a few hundred to a thousand RMB. Even in his small hometown county, those working in government positions only made four or five hundred.

At the current exchange rate, forget comparing himself to those big-company mercenaries; the thousand dollars he earned today was enough to support a person in his hometown for a whole year. One day’s pay equaled a year’s work for others.

Although this line of work meant trading his life for cash, the rewards were tempting. A small goal suddenly sprouted in his heart: earn a million RMB in Iraq, then head home, buy three apartments in the county seat, and have enough left over to run a small, quiet business.

A million RMB was only about a hundred thousand dollars. If Cook’s team kept working and he didn't spend recklessly, he could save that amount in less than a year.

Since he had to work to support his family anyway, rather than struggling at home, he might as well give it his all here. The lowest-cost business in the world was trading one's life for money, and the highest-cost business was also trading one's life for money. The only difference was which industry you invested in.

People need ideals, a small goal or two. A million might sound like a lot, but what if he actually achieved it?