While passing by those corpses, he shot each one in the head to ensure they were completely dead.
Then, with lightning speed, he swapped magazines and approached the severely injured Kamran.
Earlier, Kamran had taken a bullet to the thigh, and now shrapnel from a hand grenade had struck him, blinding one eye. Still, he lay on the ground groping around, seemingly searching for a weapon.
"Who sent you?"
Song Heping stepped in front of Kamran, looking down at him with a voice as cold as the frozen tundra of Siberia.
The muzzle of the Glock 17 was steadily aimed at his brow.
Kamran's face was twisted with sweat and dust from excruciating pain, yet his gaze was ferociously venomous, fixated dead on Song Heping. He cursed madly in Persian mixed with Kurdish, cursing these infidels to hell, claiming Holy Warriors would tear them apart, ignoring Song Heping's question.
"Bang!"
