At that moment, the door at the end of the corridor opened.
Safar Al-Rahim stood at the doorway.
He wasn't wearing a regular uniform, but combat camouflage, with knees and elbows worn white. Above the left chest pocket was the badge of the Desert Eagle Camp, and on his right arm was the patch of the Iraq Army Special Forces.
Song Heping scrutinized the man closely for the first time.
Thirty-two years old, but looked somewhat older.
The desert sun and sand had etched lines on his face that transcended age, especially around the eyes and mouth—marks that only come from prolonged pressure and fatigue.
His physique was well-maintained, with broad shoulders and a straight back, characteristic of a professional soldier's posture.
But what caught the most attention was his eyes.
Deep brown irises, very dark pupils, sharp and penetrating when looking at someone.
"Mr. Song." Safar spoke proactively: "Please come in."
The office was as simplistic as the corridor.
