Song Heping did not move, only coldly scrutinizing Kafvan and the guards behind him.
The soldiers' eyes were vigilant, well-equipped, their movements exuding an air of precision.
However, in Song Heping's eyes, there was no trust, only scrutiny.
"I'll sit in the last vehicle with you."
Song Heping's voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable weight.
Kafvan was stunned, his thick eyebrows furrowing: "The last vehicle? Mr. Song, that's against security protocol! The VIP should be in the core protection area of the convoy, the last vehicle is most susceptible to attack!"
His tone was full of confusion and a hint of professional objection.
"Do it."
Song Heping's response was only two words, cold and brief, his gaze fixed on Kafvan, carrying an invisible pressure.
Kafvan's expression became somewhat unpleasant, he was about to speak again when the encrypted satellite phone at his waist suddenly vibrated.
