I manufacture weapons in the Middle East and am wanted globally?

Chen Zheng called Qiao Gen to thank him for lending him the truck.

The phone rang several times, beep—beep—beep—

No one answered.

Chen Zheng frowned, took the phone away from his ear, glanced at the number on the screen, and yes, it was Uncle Qiao's number. He dialed it again.

beep - beep - beep -

Still no one answered.

Chen Zheng's heart skipped a beat, and an ominous premonition crept over him.

He found the number of Li Yang, the young man who delivered the car, and dialed it.

This time it rang twice before I answered.

"Feed? Brother Chen?" Li Yang's voice was a little urgent.

"Xiao Li, why can't I get through to Uncle Qiao on the phone?"

"Brother Chen... Uncle Qiao has been kidnapped."

"What?!" Chen Zheng was stunned.

Why would a stinky old man kidnap him?

"This morning, Uncle Qiao went out on some errands, accompanied by two government soldiers. He said he was going to the south of the city to discuss some matters. However, he was ambushed on the way. Gunmen in a pickup truck suddenly rushed out of an alley and opened fire."

Li Yang's voice grew lower and lower, as if afraid of being overheard, "Two government soldiers, one died on the spot, and those people dragged Uncle Qiao into the car and took him away."

"Did you see who it was?"

"I don't know..." Li Yang's voice was filled with helplessness. "Uncle Qiao's wife has already fainted twice from crying, and the house is in complete chaos."

"We are at the police station."

Chen Zheng took a deep breath and suppressed the rising anxiety.

"What good are Middle Eastern police? You might as well consult a fortune teller instead. Okay, I got it."

Chen Zheng said, "Don't panic, I'll figure something out. Let me know as soon as you hear any news from Uncle Qiao."

"Okay, Uncle Qiao is a kind-hearted person and has helped many people here, so please don't..."

Before Li Yang could finish speaking, a commotion erupted on the other end of the phone, with someone shouting something. Li Yang quickly said, "I'll hang up now," and the call ended.

Chen Zheng tossed his phone onto the table.

The first thought that popped into his mind was—does that mean the truck doesn't have to be returned?

That was a sixteen-wheeled cart!

They're incredibly valuable even in non-war-torn regions.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when he froze for a moment, then he cursed himself fiercely: "Chen Zheng, are you even human? How good has Uncle Qiao been to you? When your dad was hospitalized, he called to ask about it. He told you not to rush to pay back the outstanding balance. He even lent you his truck without asking for a deposit. And now you're thinking you don't have to return it? Have you lost all your conscience?"

Since he started using CNC machine tools to make weapons, he has found that his bottom line has become increasingly easy to cross.

Oh shit!

Human nature...!

Without legal restrictions, they could truly become monsters.

He took a deep breath, put the cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and took a deep drag.

He coughed twice as the smoke filled his lungs.

calm.

clam down.

Uncle Qiao is a Chinese man who has been doing business here for so many years. Who has he ever made an enemy of?

Those who are in the steel business are simply dealing with customers and suppliers.

Or perhaps…

Kidnapping for money?

Although Uncle Joe wasn't extremely wealthy, he had worked here for so many years that he could still come up with tens of thousands of US dollars.

Chen Zheng rubbed his temples, which throbbed as if a needle were pricking them.

Suddenly, a loudspeaker blared outside the courtyard gate.

Two short, sharp sounds.

Chen Zheng went downstairs and opened the iron gate.

A white 2010 Toyota Corolla was parked at the entrance, covered in dust, with a crack in the windshield as if it had been hit by a stone.

Khalid leaned out of the driver's seat, wearing a dark gray jacket, his head uncovered, revealing his rather long, messy hair, which looked like a bird's nest.

"Boss, I'm here to report for duty."

But as they talked, Chen Zheng's expression became somewhat serious.

"What's wrong? What happened?" His heart skipped a beat.

Chen Zheng opened the car door, sat in the passenger seat, and closed the door.

"One of my uncles, the one who's in the steel business, was kidnapped this morning."

Khalid was taken aback: "Who kidnapped you?"

"I don't know, I'd like Abu to help me find out."

Khalid reached into his pocket, took out his phone, flipped through it a few times, and handed it to Chen Zheng.

"This is Abu Ali's number. Call him directly."

Chen Zheng took it, glanced at the number on the screen, took out his own phone, and dialed the number.

The phone rang three times.

The call was connected.

There was no response from the other end.

Chen Zheng could hear the breathing in the receiver; it was very light and steady, like someone waiting for something.

"Hello, Mr. Abu," Chen Zhengxian said, his voice light and natural, like an old friend greeting him. "I'm Bruce, the one who provides you with the gun barrels."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

Then Abu Ali's voice rang out, his tone softening, "Bruce, is the goods ready?"

"It'll be here soon, very soon." Chen Zheng chuckled. "Don't worry about the quality, it will only be better than the last batch."

"That's good."

"Mr. Abu, I'm calling today to ask you for a personal favor."

Chen Zheng's tone became more sincere. "My uncle, who runs a steel business here, was kidnapped this morning. I'd like to ask you to help me find out which department did it."

"What's your name?"

"His surname is Qiao, Qiao Gen, he's Chinese, he's in the steel business, and his factory is in the south of Delaware."

"Let me ask."

Abu Ali's voice was devoid of emotion, as if he were stating something very ordinary: "Have someone notify you when there's news."

"Thank you, Mr. Abu, for your help."

The phone hangs up.

Chen Zheng took the phone away from his ear, glanced at the screen, and then put it in his pocket.

He leaned back in his seat, took out a cigarette from his pocket, put one in his mouth, but didn't light it.

"What did Abu say?" Khalid asked.

"He said he'd ask." Chen Zheng took the cigarette from his mouth and held it between his fingers. "I don't know if he really wanted to ask or if he was just trying to brush me off."

"Abu is the kind of person who, once he agrees, will go and ask, but he won't help for nothing. You should keep that in mind."

"I know." Chen Zheng lit a cigarette, took a puff, and said, "Favors owed will have to be repaid sooner or later."

Chen Zheng suddenly remembered something.

"Oh, right, there's one more thing I need to trouble you with."

"Is this the first job my boss assigned me?"

Chen Zheng took out the wad of US dollars from his pocket, counted out 3000, and then took out a piece of white paper. He wrote a name, a number, and a city name on it—Cairo.

He handed the money and paper to Khalid.

Do you know any underground money transfer companies? Transfer the money to this address.

Khalid took the money and paper, glanced at them, folded them, and stuffed them into his pocket.

"Okay, I know someone over on Garbage Street who specializes in cross-border money exchange. He can exchange Syrian pounds for US dollars, US dollars for euros, euros for pounds, and anything else. The fees aren't high either."

Chen Zheng gave him a strange look: "How come you know everything?"

Khalid chuckled and scratched his head: "Making a living isn't easy. These days, how can you survive if you don't know a few people?"

Chen Zheng smiled as well.

Cats have their ways, and mice have theirs.

The car turned onto the main road and drove towards the garbage street.

There were more cars on the road than yesterday, but the atmosphere was still very oppressive.

Someone was burning tires by the roadside, thick black smoke billowing up and a pungent, acrid smell filling the air.

Several young people stood at the intersection, holding up flags with slogans in Arabic.

A military vehicle drove up from the opposite direction, with a machine gun mounted on its roof, the muzzle pointing towards the street.

Several soldiers sat in the truck bed, their expressions indifferent.

As the two vehicles passed each other, Chen Zheng saw the machine gunner's finger on the trigger.

He turned his gaze back to the road ahead.

"This place is getting more and more outrageous," Khalid muttered.

"Alas, some people pursue extravagance, some pursue freedom, some pursue fashion, and some pursue art, but they all forget that the most basic thing for people is to pursue survival."

Khalid gave him a thumbs up when he heard his sentiments.

The car stopped at the intersection of the garbage street.

Khalid got out of the car and bent down to lean against the window.

"Boss, wait for me here, it'll only take ten minutes."

"OK."

Khalid turned and walked away quickly, the hem of his jacket fluttering in the wind.

Chen Zheng sat in the passenger seat and rolled down the window halfway to let some fresh air in.

The air smelled of burning, dust, and a strange, unpleasant sour odor, like it was coming from the garbage dump.

He had a cigarette in his mouth, his mind a jumbled mess.

Uncle Qiao's matter.

Abu's matter.

The matter concerns the customers of the milk tea shop.

The matter of the new factory site.

And then there's the company's business—damn it, those guys haven't replied to any messages yet, they're not even proactive in doing business. If I'm really annoyed, I'll just start my own team!

Build your own team?

Once the thought popped into my head, I couldn't suppress it anymore.

Chen Zheng took the cigarette out of his mouth, stared at the hazy sky outside the windshield, and the light in his eyes gradually brightened.

Many large companies in the Middle East maintain private armies.

This is common sense.

When you do business on someone else's turf and make money off them, your factory, your equipment, and your people become their targets.

Today someone blocks your door, tomorrow someone kidnaps your friend, and the day after tomorrow someone smashes your machine.

You have no people of your own, no guns of your own; you are just a fat sheep waiting to be slaughtered.

Why was Abu Ali willing to do business with him? It wasn't because Chen Zheng was handsome, but because his goods were good, the prices were fair, and Abu needed his goods.

But what if one day Abu doesn't want to pay?

Getting something for free is great!

In the Middle East, without some power and connections, you're just cannon fodder.

Arms dealer.

This identity sounds impressive, but in reality, he's just a CNC machine tool operator.

He understands machinery, machining, blueprints, tolerances, cutting tools, and cutting parameters.

But he didn't understand warfare.

He didn't know how to set up a perimeter, how to plan an escape route, how to identify and track targets, or how to deal with an ambush.

He needs people.

We need people who understand these things.

Ten people, fifteen people, that should be enough.

The factory is still small, with only a few machines and orders for a few hundred guns.

But what about later?

If a civil war really breaks out, orders will increase tenfold or a hundredfold.

At that time, his factory will be a gold mine, and everyone will want to get a piece of it.

Without someone of your own guarding it, the gold mine belongs to someone else.

Chen Zheng took a deep breath, his mind racing.

What kind of people are you looking for?

PMC employees are expensive, but they are professional.

His instinctive reaction was that hiring those people, $1500 a day, was fine for one or two, but hiring ten? That would be $15,000 a day, $450,000 a month, which his current profits couldn't support.

Locals are cheap, but unreliable.

Syrian locals will work for you if you pay them, but if someone else pays them more, they'll sell you out in the blink of an eye.

He didn't intend to ask Khalid what he would do if he gave up all the military power.

Let's just treat them like cattle or horses.

When you start a company, can you entrust sales and finance to the same person?

Tomorrow, someone will be singing "Eighteen Touches" while hugging a prostitute, while you'll be singing "Tears Behind Bars" in jail.

But there aren't many of our own people here.

His grandfather's generation of veterans fought in the Sino-Vietnamese War. Several of his uncles are still alive. After retiring from the army, they farm, work as gatekeepers, and run transport businesses in their hometown, living a meager existence.

I'm almost sixty.

Why are you still fighting at almost sixty?

Chen Zheng rubbed his temples, which throbbed even more violently.

Throw your phone on the dial.

The phone slid across the dial and almost fell off. He reached out to grab it but missed, and the phone landed with a thud on the floor mat.

He bent down to pick it up, and his head hit the steering wheel, making him wince in pain.

I just picked up the phone when the screen lit up.

A WhatsApp message.

It was sent by the person who sells blueprints on that forum.

"The money has been received, and the remaining drawings have been sent to your email."

Chen Zheng was taken aback.

Khalid got it done so quickly?

He opened his email and found a new email. The sender was a string of gibberish, and the attachment was a compressed file named "SVD_Full_Tech_Package.rar".

Just as he was about to open it, another message popped up on his phone screen.

It's a short message.

The number was unfamiliar, and the message contained only one sentence:

"Someone is investigating Joe's case. They'll give us an answer within three days. It's very complicated! It's about the Free Syrian Army."

Chen Zheng stared at the text message for several seconds.

Free Syrian Army?

What the hell is that?

He replied, "Thank you, let me know if there's any news."

Shallow waters attract many turtles.

Just then, gunshots rang out from inside the garbage street!

Then Khalid rushed out, looking anxious, and opened the car door, saying, "Hurry, hurry!"

"What happened?"

"The family that blocked my door last time saw me and they want to kill me!"

Chen Zheng was already irritable, and hearing this made him even angrier.

"Damn it! I said I'd kill your whole family, and you hesitated. Now you've come knocking on our door, haven't you? How many people are there?"

"Three."

Chen Zheng pulled out an APS pistol from behind his back, his face contorted with rage.

"Since their whole family is so eager to die, then let's send them all to hell!"

After saying that, he opened the car door and said to Khalid, "What are you still standing there for? The BOSS will teach you the first trick of doing business."

"Either don't offend them, or if you do, eliminate them completely!"

……