27: My God, you're finally back!

Although the sea transport plan was sound, there was still one minor issue.

Where would a ten-thousand-ton freighter come from?

Renting one himself would draw too much attention, and the complicated procedures could easily leave a paper trail.

David's brow furrowed slightly, then immediately smoothed out.

He almost forgot, he was a man with a System.

"System, does the Mall have ten-thousand-ton freighters for sale?"

[Ding! Host request detected. Screening for you...]

[Product Name: 'Yuanwang' Multi-purpose Freighter]

[Displacement: 15,000 tons]

[Status: Brand new, includes a complete set of Panama registration documents and forged manifest templates]

[Price: Five million USD]

"Bought it!"

David chose to purchase it without hesitation.

Five million was merely pocket change.

Now, the issue of transportation was also resolved.

All that remained was arriving in Iraq, figuring out how to connect with Saddam, and convincing him that he was capable of providing what Saddam wanted.

All difficulties were solved easily, and David's mood brightened considerably.

He set down his wine glass and, out of boredom, pressed the call button.

Soon, a beautiful figure appeared before him.

It was Emily.

"Sir, how may I help you?"

Emily wore a professional smile, but her beautiful eyes concealed a mix of anticipation and shyness.

David leaned back in his chair, lazily raising his eyelids, his gaze shamelessly surveying her, a playful curve forming on his lips.

"I'm feeling a bit unwell and need to use the restroom."

His words were bland, but his eyes were highly aggressive.

Emily's heart instantly skipped a beat, and her cheeks involuntarily flushed.

Of course, she understood the implication.

In the first class cabin of such a luxury flight, this sort of thing was not uncommon.

However, she hadn't expected this seemingly composed and handsome Oriental man to make such a request.

Countless thoughts flashed through her mind.

Should she firmly refuse, or... "Take me."

David's unquestionable command interrupted her wild thoughts.

As if possessed, Emily nodded.

"Alright, Sir, please follow me."

She turned and led the way, her heart pounding, feeling her legs turn slightly weak.

David followed behind her, watching the graceful, swaying curves concealed beneath her uniform, his gaze growing hotter.

The two arrived at the restroom door, one following the other.

Emily stopped, stepped aside, and lowered her head, afraid to look at him.

"Sir, it's right here."

Instead of entering, David grabbed her wrist, gave a gentle pull, and dragged her into the cramped space.

With a "bang," the door was locked from the inside.

The space instantly became intimate and confined.

When Emily returned to the galley, red-faced and straightening her slightly disheveled uniform.

Jennifer immediately scurried over like a groundhog discovering a new continent.

"Oh my God, you're finally back! Well? Did it happen?"

Emily shot her a glare, but couldn't hide the flirtatious look in her eyes.

"What are you talking about! I just helped a guest deal with a small issue."

"Tch, who are you kidding!" Jennifer pouted, wearing an 'I know exactly what happened' expression.

"The 'issue' was handled in the restroom? And for that long? Spill the beans!"

Seeing her colleague's teasing gaze, Emily's face grew even redder, and she pushed Jennifer.

"Stop messing around! Get back to work!"

With that, she fled, pushing the meal cart out, though her light steps clearly betrayed a sense of joy.

After a brief stopover in Amman, the capital of Jordan, David transferred to another flight heading to Baghdad.

When the plane landed at Baghdad International Airport, a hot blast mixed with sand rushed toward him.

Unlike the modern luxury of Dubai, the city before him exuded an atmosphere of age and grim severity everywhere.

Heavily armed soldiers were visible everywhere on the streets, and the faces of the citizens mostly bore expressions of numbness and vigilance.

Escorted by Juan, Alberto, and ten other Death Sworn, David checked into the local most luxurious hotel, the Al-Rasheed Hotel.

For the next three days, he did not rush into action.

Instead, accompanied by his bodyguards, he wandered the streets of Baghdad like an ordinary tourist.

He observed the equipment used by the Iraqi military.

There were large numbers of T-72 Main Battle Tanks, BMP-1 Infantry Fighting Vehicles, and countless Soviet-style artillery pieces.

These weapons might be considered excellent in the Gulf region.

But in the eyes of David, who had seen all kinds of advanced weapons of later generations, they were no different from a pile of scrap metal.

The generational gap in conventional weaponry was simply too wide.

It was no wonder that in the original timeline, Iraq's million-strong army was utterly crushed by America.

"It seems what Saddam wants most right now is air superiority capable of rivaling America."

David made his assessment.

Approaching Saddam directly would be too difficult and unrealistic.

He needed to find a suitable intermediary.

Someone who had influence with Saddam and was eager to prove their own capabilities.

A name surfaced in David's mind.

Uday Hussein.

Saddam's eldest son, a Major in the Iraqi Republican Guard, a spoiled brat famous worldwide for his cruelty and extravagance.

This kind of person—ambitious and extremely arrogant—was the best point of entry.

Returning to the hotel, David immediately summoned Alberto.

"Alberto."

"Boss."

"I have a task for you: investigate a person, Uday Hussein."

David told him the name.

"I need to know everything about him: his residence, his daily itinerary, and his routine. The more detailed, the better."

"Understood."

Alberto left without asking a single question, accepting the order.

This Death Sworn, who came from the Latin American Special Forces, was an absolute expert in intelligence gathering and infiltration.

Just two days later, a detailed report was placed on David's desk.

The report showed that after Uday came of age, he moved out of his father's official residence and settled in the wealthy district south of Baghdad.

He owned an extremely luxurious villa, and around ten o'clock every morning.

He would take his bulletproof mercedes-benz, escorted by two military vehicles, to the Presidential Palace for 'work'.

The route was largely fixed.

"Very good."

David looked at the marked route on the map, the corner of his mouth curving slightly upward.

He tapped his finger on a crossroads marked on the map.

"Tomorrow morning, we'll greet him right here."

He instructed Alberto.

"Remember, I don't want you to kill him, nor should you provoke a large-scale conflict."

"I want you to create a small but noticeable 'accident'—enough to make him stop and leave him furious with nowhere to vent."

"Then, find a reliable local person, someone who speaks Arabic and is brave."

David's eyes sharpened.

"I want you to have him tell Uday one sentence."

"Just tell him that someone can procure an f-15 'eagle' fighter jet for him."

Alberto's pupils contracted sharply.

The F-15!

That was the absolute mainstay of the American Air Force!

The Boss's ambition was truly enormous!

But he didn't question it; he just nodded heavily.

"I guarantee the completion of the mission!"

The next day at nine fifty in the morning.

On a major thoroughfare connecting the Baghdad wealthy district to the Presidential Palace.

Uday Hussein was leaning back in the rear seat of his mercedes-benz S600, eyes closed, enjoying the rich aroma of his cigar.

The motorcade, escorted by two military pickup trucks—one in front and one behind, both full of guards—sped recklessly down the street, forcing all other vehicles to scatter.

Just as the motorcade was about to pass an intersection.

"Screech—!"

A piercing sound of brakes suddenly rang out!

A dilapidated pickup truck and a semi-old sedan suddenly rushed out from the left and right directions, completely blocking the path ahead.

"Protect His Excellency!"

The driver's face changed drastically, and he slammed on the brakes.

But it was too late.

"Bang!"

Under the massive inertia, the mercedes-benz' front end violently collided with the rear of the leading escort pickup.

Uday, sitting in the back seat, was caught off guard, his forehead slamming hard into the backrest of the front seat.

"Fuck!"

The intense pain and the sudden unexpected event sent Uday's fury skyrocketing.

Clutching his bleeding forehead, he violently shoved the car door open and began cursing his personal guard detail.

"A bunch of useless trash! How do you drive! Are you all blind!"

"Who is it! Which blind son of a bitch dared to block my car! Drag him out! I'll personally execute him!"

Just as Uday was raging.

The Iraqi local person arranged by Alberto.

Taking advantage of the chaos, he squeezed out of the crowd and shouted with all his might toward Uday.

"Your Excellency Hussein! Please calm your anger!"

"A very important person asked me to deliver a message to you!"

Uday's personal guards immediately raised their weapons and aimed at him.

"He said he can provide you with the most advanced fighter jet in the world!"

Ignoring the danger, the man continued shouting in Arabic.

"The F-15! The 'eagle' fighter jet!"