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“…I see.”

The moment the familiar name came up, the tension that had been thick in the air dissipated.

Nasir pulled out the magazine and racked the slide. The live round that had been chambered clattered to the floor of the office.

“Was it someone sent by that woman? Which organization do they belong to? The Royal Intelligence Department or the Military Intelligence Agency?”

“The Ministry of Defense.”

“So, a soldier then.”

He nodded silently.

He placed his pistol sideways on the table and pulled out a chair.

It had been over twenty years since he had undergone operative training, but the habits ingrained in his aging body remained vivid.

I stood up and formally introduced myself.

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

Breaking the facade and revealing one’s true identity is considered taboo among information officers.

However, for the sake of mutual trust, revealing affiliation was sometimes necessary.

His old hand wiped across his wrinkled cheek. As he stored away his pistol in its holster, Nasir cast a steady gaze my way.

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

“I know.”

He must have noticed that I was using a pseudonym, but Nasir didn’t ask for my real name. He understood that it was not proper etiquette.

Having exchanged formal names, I took a seat beside him.

There was no more pretense to maintain, so it was time to get to the point. As I sipped my coffee and savored its aroma, I began.

“The reason I came to see you, Nasir…”

Nasir waved a hand dismissively.

“If it’s not urgent, it’s getting late, so let’s have a cup of tea and rest up, then talk tomorrow.”

His words were soft, but the atmosphere was oddly coercive.

His gaze shifted from me to the window. The sunset painted the western sky crimson, with the sun dipping just enough to peek above the horizon.

It was no surprise that with the time spent coming from the Al Bas Tribe’s territory to the stronghold of the Hassan Warlord, and the tedious scouting operations, we were delayed.

“It’s not urgent.”

A moment later, steam rose from the teapot, signaling the water boiling. Nasir pulled out some tea leaves from the desk drawer, placed a few jasmine leaves into two cups, and poured the water for me.

One cup was placed in front of me, the other in front of him.

He calmly sipped his tea, while I followed suit, tasting it as the subtle fragrance of jasmine filled my mouth.

Glancing at his watch, Nasir spoke lightly.

“Well, we still have time, so let’s hear what you have to say.”

—

**Episode 16 – The Six Million Dollar Man**

When you make it your job to swindle others, you develop a keen eye for people.

And in my judgment, Nasir was definitely not an easy target.

From the moment I entered his stronghold, and even now as we engaged in conversation, he had maintained his dominance, showcasing his authority over me.

Even as the guest he summoned sat before him, he avoided eye contact and when I finally brought up my business, he diverted the conversation to a later time. Yet, he proceeded to offer warm tea.

In situations like this, refusing the host’s offer is quite challenging.

The power in conversation invariably lies with the host.

The interplay of refusal and pressure, deferral and consent, inevitably corners a person. Those feeling anxious will often grab the bait when they think a chance has finally arrived, spilling out their stories.

At this moment, people tend to reveal more information than necessary. They end up saying things they shouldn’t have.

This inevitably leads the conversation into a labyrinth. The guest struggles to fathom the host’s intent, while the host listens intently, gathering information from the guest. The flow of dialogue thus becomes the host’s domain.

When the listener cautiously poses the question they truly want answered, the excited speaker starts to ramble on.

Most leading interrogations proceed like this.

It’s a situation that would be hard to evade for a typical guest.

For a typical guest, that is.

—

I refreshed myself with tea and tapped on the calculator.

Has he undergone information-gathering training? From his way of speaking, it seemed like something an information officer would do. Leoni taught him well.

Regardless, he was not someone who could benefit from excessive chatter.

Let’s just cut to the chase.

“I’m here to discuss certain matters regarding the Asen and Sanya. I came seeking some assistance, of course, I have a proposal as well.”

Nasir nodded, seemingly encouraging me to continue.

“I heard that someone from Sanya was looking for someone to sell ammunition. Recently, a similar proposal came through our intel lines. If we engage in trade with Sanya, it could lead to unfavorable outcomes for Hassan, so I wanted to come and respect Hassan’s honor.”

I shared the intelligence obtained by the Military Intelligence Agency last month. It was news from a weapons dealer that had been hired as an information agent by a local officer.

“If ammunition is supplied to Sanya, it would have a negative impact on our Hassan.”

Nasir nodded along as I laid bare the harsh reality of the warlord society.

“It’s a well-known fact that the relationship between Hassan and Sanya isn’t exactly friendly. So, did Abas come to propose a separate deal with our Hassan?”

“That’s correct.”

I threw in a new topic in an easy tone. This intel’s source was the Royal Intelligence Department.

“I’ve heard that Sanya recently provoked the Asen Tribe. Consequently, Asen blocked Sanya’s ammunition exports.”

“I’ve heard about the nitric acid and phosphor mines issue. Asen’s troops caused a stir in Sanya’s territory.”

“Do you happen to have any further information?”

“Well, let’s just say I know a bit about various things.”

At that moment, a hunch kicked in. Nasir had taken the bait.

Disputes between warlords are of primary interest to competing factions.

Asen and Sanya are the two strongest factions in this country, and the mines producing gunpowder ingredients are strategic spots.

Thus, the conflict between Group 1 and Group 2 inherently arouses the curiosity of Group 3.

“The reason Sanya bothered Asen seems to have some underlying cause.”

“Wasn’t Sanya trying to merge the gunpowder-producing area by force? Sanya must have wanted to start producing gunpowder on their own. Asen had no choice but to respond.”

“That’s likely the case in theory, but the important part is that Sanya had justification for their actions.”

I delved into the backstory behind the clan conflicts.

“It seems Asen’s chieftain’s nephew had extorted money from a trader affiliated with the Sanya Tribe. They haven’t returned it yet. The item in question was a necklace that the nephew is still wearing.”

Nasir’s expression shifted slightly.

That was only natural, considering that the chieftain of Asen…

“Do you know Sirdo?”

“Bint’s nephew? Who? Doesn’t he have over ten nephews?”

The leader of the Asen Warlord, Sheikh Bint Al Asen.

“Jamila Al Asen.”

“If it were another nephew, I would suspect Bint of intentionally creating a conflict to seize control, but Jamila…”

The leader of Hassan gulped the remaining tea in one go and walked to his desk in the office.

“Jamila is known as quite the troublemaker. When she visited our tribe before, she caused such a commotion that Bint had to compensate us.”

I directed a question at him, purely out of curiosity.

“So, does that mean Asen didn’t plan this?”

We didn’t know if this conflict was intentional from Asen; there wasn’t enough evidence. Information was needed.

Nasir answered.

“That’s unclear. Jamila recently started taking up a position under Bint, learning the ropes. I heard she was in charge of taxes.”

That was new information.

According to data shared by a foreign information agency, Jamila was one of the nephews Bint proudly put forward. It was expected that he would spoil her terribly and send her abroad for training or studies.

But if Jamila is leading Asen tribe affairs, that changes the narrative.

My mental calculator began to churn wildly.

If Jamila, who caused the conflict between warlords, is involved in Asen’s activities, then the dispute over nitrate and mining sites could also be interpreted as a power struggle between warlords.

In other words, her actions might have been calculated.

As I organized my thoughts, Nasir suddenly posed a question.

“So, what do you plan to do?”

“I’m going to weaken Asen and Sanya. My goal is to instigate a conflict between the two warlords.”

The leader of Hassan subtly turned his head towards me.

“…Then Hassan will suffer damage too.”

“I’m here to minimize that damage. My intention is to actually provide you with benefits.”

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

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

Time ticked away. Nasir remained silent, deep in thought.

The moment of silent contemplation ended when the tea served had grown cold.

Nasir opened his eyes, and the wrinkles around his mouth began to shift.

“This is quite a tricky situation. Abbas’s information officers won’t directly dive into dangerous work that might provoke Asen and Sanya…. That means we must take on the risk ourselves.”

“…….”

“We should at least show some sincerity, right?”

He was hinting to bring gifts, as an advance payment.

Well, I thought it was a reasonable expectation. Why would Nasir trust someone he just met enough to provide troops?

I put on a smile and looked back at him.

“Is there something you want me to do?”

“I have plenty of requests for foreign information agencies…. but right now, what’s coming to mind is weapons and ammunition.”

That’s not a bad request.

Nasir laid out his requirements and leaned back in his chair. It was a gesture suggesting there was nothing more to discuss.

“We’ll need some time to prepare as well. Wait here for a while. I’ll call you back later.”

It sounded nice, but it was an empty assurance.

He was avoiding a commitment.

He was saying he would decide after receiving the goods.

*

Even though I didn’t get the answer I wanted, it was a fruitful meeting in its own right.

I gained new information and received Hassan’s requests.

Anyway, Hassan had no choice but to accept my proposal. Asen and Sanya were a threatening competitive pair for him. It would be irrational to take on both tough warlords at the same time.

So, Hassan’s remaining choice was to subdue his rivals with Abbas’s support.

I just had to bring back an advance payment they would be satisfied with.

“What kind of weapons would warlords like?”

“Huh?”

“What kind of arms would make African fighters and Arab tribes run wild with excitement?”

“Huh?”

“Ugh, you don’t get it, do you?”

Camila, seated in the driver’s seat, blinked her clear eyes. In one hand, she held a pistol, and with the other, she gripped the steering wheel.

She slowly opened her mouth with a bewildered tone.

“No, it’s just that the question came out of nowhere… Why are you asking that…?”

I summarized the conversation I had with Nasir and delivered it to Camila.

“Oh, I see now.”

Her short hair swayed briskly as Camila nodded with her arms crossed. She had dyed it to conceal her identity, so it seemed she hadn’t fully adjusted yet, but she was getting used to it now.

“When it comes to weapons the rebels want, it varies. They can source firearms from many routes and even produce some themselves, but specialized equipment would need to be acquired from the black market.”

“For example?”

“Military-grade arms. That sort of thing would be preferred. They guarantee performance and quality. The more powerful, the better.”

I thought the same.

I took over the wheel, started the engine, and sped out of Hassan’s stronghold.

The SUV sped through the pitch-black darkness. The vehicle careened across the rough terrain, swaying left and right.

Camila clutched the handle tightly, forcing her bouncing rear to stay glued to the seat.

“Where are we going?”

“To the border.”

“The border? Are you planning to cross into another country?”

I nodded.

On the edge of the horizon illuminated by the headlights was the border area marked by a river.

I was calculating coordinates as numbers rapidly fluctuated on the radio emitting high-frequency noise, glancing at my watch.

It was already 2:38 AM, the perfect time for the black market.

Camila asked, “What are you planning to do there?”

“Buy some goods.”

“What kind of goods? You’re not going to buy guns for the warlords, are you?”

“Uh, rifles are off the table.”

I’d like to get some missiles.

 

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