At exactly midnight, Song Heping raised his hand to check the luminous dial and gestured to Henry behind him.
Twenty mercenaries quickly extinguished all light sources in the camp, like ghosts swallowed by the night.
"Proceed according to the original plan." Song Heping's voice was exceptionally clear in the communicator, "Group A leads, Group B covers the rear, maintain radio silence."
The convoy's engines emitted a low growl, the sound of tires skimming over the sand deliberately kept to a minimum. But unexpectedly, the convoy didn't head west as planned, instead, it suddenly turned north.
Becker gripped the steering wheel tightly and couldn't help but whisper through his headset, "Boss, aren't we supposed to head towards Northern Darfur?"
"The plan has changed." Song Heping's response was brief and firm, "Someone is waiting for us there."
The convoy, like a black serpent, silently slipped into the wilderness of Northern Darfur.
