Ch.410Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

“…I see.”

The tension that had been building dissipated when a familiar name was mentioned.

Nasir removed the magazine and pulled back the slide. The bullet that had been chambered rolled across the office floor.

“So she sent you. Which department are you from? The Royal Intelligence Agency or Military Intelligence?”

“The Ministry of Defense, sir.”

“A soldier, then.”

He nodded silently.

After placing his pistol on the table, he pulled up a chair.

Though it had been over 20 years since he’d received operative training, the habits ingrained in his aging body remained sharp.

I stood up and introduced myself formally.

“I’m Asud from Military Intelligence. Director Leoni sent me.”

Revealing one’s true identity after maintaining a cover is considered taboo among intelligence officers.

However, sometimes revealing one’s affiliation was necessary to establish mutual trust.

His aged hand swept across his wrinkled cheek once. Nasir holstered his pistol and fixed his gaze on me.

“Pleased to meet you, Asud. I’m Sheikh Nasir Al-Hassan.”

“I know, sir.”

Having received operative training himself, he must have noticed I was using an alias, but Nasir didn’t ask for my real name. He knew that wouldn’t be proper etiquette.

After our clean introductions, I sat down beside him.

With nothing left to hide, it was time to get to the point. After tasting the coffee and savoring its aroma, I began.

“The reason I’ve come to see you today, Nasir, is…”

Nasir waved his hand dismissively.

“If it’s not urgent, it’s getting late. Let’s have some tea, rest, and talk tomorrow.”

His words were gentle, but the atmosphere was strangely forceful.

My gaze shifted from the old man to the window. The sunset that had painted the western sky red was now barely peeking above the horizon.

Between traveling from Al-Bas tribe territory to Hassan’s headquarters, and the prolonged cat-and-mouse game earlier, this delay was inevitable.

“It’s not urgent, sir.”

Shortly after, steam rose from the teapot as the water came to a boil. Nasir took tea leaves from his office drawer, placed a couple of jasmine leaves in two cups, poured the water, and handed one to me.

One cup was placed before me, the other before him.

He drank his tea with a serene expression, and I followed suit, taking a small sip. The subtle fragrance of jasmine filled my mouth.

Glancing at his watch, Nasir broke the silence with a light tone.

“Still, we have some time. Go ahead and tell me.”

Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man

When you make a living exploiting others, you develop an eye for people.

And in my judgment, Nasir was definitely not someone to be taken lightly.

From the moment I entered his headquarters, and even now as we conversed in this room, he had been asserting his dominance and maintaining control of the conversation.

Despite having invited me, he didn’t acknowledge me when I arrived, and when I tried to state my business, he deflected by suggesting we talk later. Yet he personally served me warm tea.

In such situations, it’s difficult for a guest to refuse the host’s suggestions.

The host holds the conversational power.

The cycle of rejection, pressure, deferral, and permission tends to back someone into a corner. When anxious people see an opportunity, they bite the bait and spill everything.

In these moments, people inevitably reveal more information than necessary. They say things they shouldn’t.

The conversation then gradually enters a labyrinth. While the guest struggles to understand the host’s intentions, the host unilaterally gathers information by listening. The flow of conversation becomes the host’s property.

When the listener carefully poses the question they truly want answered, the excited speaker begins to ramble.

This is how most interrogations work.

It’s a situation difficult for an ordinary guest to navigate.

An ordinary guest, that is.

*

I moistened my throat with tea while doing mental calculations.

So he’s had intelligence gathering training too. His speaking style is exactly what information officers would use. Leoni taught him well.

Either way, he wasn’t someone I should talk too much with.

Better keep it simple.

“I have business in Asen and Sana, and I came to request some assistance. Of course, I have something to offer as well.”

Nasir nodded for me to continue.

“I’ve heard that people in Sana are looking for ammunition suppliers. Recently, a similar proposal came through our intelligence channels. Since dealing with Sana could potentially cause problems for Hassan, I’ve come to you out of respect for Hassan’s honor.”

I leaked intelligence that Military Intelligence had obtained last month—news about Group 2 warlords from an arms dealer employed as an informant by our field officer.

“If ammunition is supplied to Sana, it would adversely affect us Hassan.”

Nodding, Nasir exposed the bare face of warlord society.

“The poor relationship between Hassan and Sana is well-known. So, has Abbas come to propose a separate deal to us Hassan?”

“That’s correct.”

I casually introduced a new topic. This information came from the Royal Intelligence Agency.

“Recently, Sana provoked the Asen tribe. As a result, Asen blocked Sana’s ammunition exports.”

“If you’re referring to the nitrate and phosphorus mines issue, I’ve heard about it. Asen’s forces caused problems in Sana’s territory.”

“Do you have any information about this?”

“Well, I know various things.”

I sensed an opportunity. Nasir had taken the bait.

Conflicts between warlords are of primary interest to other warlords.

Asen and Sana are the most powerful warlords in this country, and the mines producing gunpowder ingredients are strategic locations.

Therefore, a clash between Group 1 and Group 2 would naturally be of utmost interest to Group 3.

“It seems Sana had their reasons for provoking Asen.”

“Wasn’t their forced annexation of the gunpowder production site an attempt to produce gunpowder themselves? Asen had no choice but to counter such a move.”

“Well, that may be their true intention, but what’s important is that Sana had justification.”

I unraveled the hidden story behind the warlord conflict.

“Apparently, the nephew of Asen’s leader extorted valuables from a merchant belonging to the Sana tribe. He still hasn’t returned them. The item in question is a necklace, which the nephew continues to wear.”

Nasir’s face twisted slightly.

Understandably so, since he knew Asen’s leader personally.

“Bint’s nephew? Who? That man has over ten nephews.”

Sheikh Bint Al-Asen, the leader of the Asen warlord faction.

“I’m talking about Jamila Al-Asen.”

“If it were any other nephew, I’d say Bint was deliberately provoking conflict to gain the upper hand, but Jamila…”

The Hassan leader drained his remaining tea in one gulp and walked to his office desk.

“Jamila is known for being a tomboy. When she visited our tribe before, she caused similar trouble, and Bint ended up compensating us.”

I asked him a question out of genuine curiosity.

“Does that mean this wasn’t something Asen planned deliberately?”

I don’t know if Asen intended this conflict. There’s no evidence. I need information.

Nasir answered.

“That’s unclear. Jamila recently started working under Bint, learning the ropes. I heard she’s in charge of taxes.”

This was new information.

According to intelligence shared by foreign agencies, Jamila was one of Bint’s favorite nieces. Since Bint adored her terribly, we expected him to send her abroad for training or education where she’d be safe.

But if Jamila was actively involved in tribal affairs, that changed things.

My mental calculator went into overdrive.

Jamila, who caused the dispute between warlords, is working for Asen. Then the conflict over nitrate and phosphorus mining sites could be interpreted as friction between warlords.

In other words, her actions might have been calculated.

As I was organizing my thoughts, Nasir suddenly asked:

“So what do you plan to do?”

“I intend to weaken both Asen and Sana. My goal is to provoke conflict between the two warlords.”

The Hassan leader turned his head slightly toward me.

“…But that would harm Hassan as well.”

“That’s why I’m here—to minimize that harm. In fact, I’ve come to offer you an advantage.”

Finally, the smile disappeared from the old man’s face.

He sat down in his chair with a serious demeanor and quietly closed his eyes.

A considerable time passed. Nasir remained silent, deep in thought.

By the time his quiet contemplation ended, the tea I’d been served had grown cold.

Opening his eyes, Nasir’s wrinkled lips began to move.

“This is a difficult situation. Since Abbas’s intelligence officers wouldn’t directly involve themselves in the dangerous business of pitting Asen against Sana… that means we would have to take the risk.”

“……”

“Shouldn’t you at least show some sincerity?”

He was asking for a gift. An advance payment, at that.

Well, it’s a reasonable reaction. Why would Nasir provide troops to someone he just met?

I turned to him with a smile on my face.

“Is there something you’d like to request from me?”

“There are many things I’d ask of a foreign intelligence agency… but what comes to mind now is weapons and ammunition.”

Not a bad request.

After stating his demands, Nasir leaned back in his chair—a gesture indicating he had nothing more to say.

“We’ll need time to prepare as well. Go and wait. I’ll call for you later.”

Pleasant words, but empty ones with no substance.

He avoided giving a definite answer.

He was saying he’d decide after receiving the goods.

*

Though I didn’t get the answer I wanted, the meeting was productive in its own way.

I gained new information and received Hassan’s requests.

Hassan will have to accept my proposal anyway. Asen and Sana are threatening competitors to Hassan. Unless they’re insane, they wouldn’t face two powerful warlords simultaneously.

That leaves Nasir with one option: accepting Abbas’s support to subdue his competitors.

I just need to bring an advance payment they’ll be satisfied with.

“What kind of weapons would warlords like?”

“Excuse me?”

“What weapons do African darkies and Arab yalla-yallas die for?”

“What?”

“Damn, you don’t understand what I’m saying.”

Camilla, sitting in the driver’s seat, blinked her clear eyes. She held a pistol in one hand while gripping the steering wheel with the other.

She opened her mouth slowly, her voice perplexed.

“No, the question was just so sudden… Why are you asking about that…?”

I summarized my conversation with Nasir for Camilla.

“Ah, I see the situation now.”

Her short-dyed hair swayed gently as she folded her arms and nodded. Though I wasn’t quite used to her appearance after she’d dyed her hair to conceal her identity, I was getting more accustomed to it now.

“Weapons that rebels want. Well, there are many. They have routes to acquire firearms and can even produce some themselves, but weapons requiring specialized facilities can only be obtained through the black market.”

“For example?”

“Military-grade weapons. That’s probably what they prefer, right? Guaranteed performance and good quality. Double points if they’re highly destructive.”

My thoughts were similar.

Taking over the wheel from her, I started the engine and drove away from Hassan’s headquarters.

The SUV raced through pitch-black darkness. The vehicle bounced up and down as it sped over the rough terrain.

Camilla gripped the handle tightly, forcing her bouncing bottom to stay on the seat.

“Where are we going?”

“To the border.”

“The border? You’re not thinking of crossing into another country, are you?”

I nodded.

At the edge of the horizon illuminated by our headlights lay a border area marked by a river.

As numbers chaotically appeared on the radio emitting high-frequency noise, I glanced at my watch while calculating coordinates.

The time was now 02:38 in the morning.

Perfect timing for visiting a black market.

Camilla asked:

“What are you planning to do there?”

“We need to buy something.”

“Buy what? Don’t tell me you’re buying guns for the warlords?”

“Hmm, rifles won’t do.”

I’d like to get some missiles.