At two in the morning, Song Heping, having returned to Mosul, still sat in the small office of the Tenth Division.
He didn't turn on the main light, leaving only an adjustable brightness LED desk lamp on the table.
The tactical tablet was connected to the real-time data flow of six convoys, twelve reconnaissance teams, and five combat units, with dots moving slowly across the map like stars in the night sky.
He poured half a pot of warm tea into his thermos cup, sipping it slowly.
The door was knocked.
Milosh pushed the door open and entered.
"Interrogation report." He placed a paper document on the table: "The small leader of the Dulaimi Tribe confessed the features of the contact: voice processed through a frequency modulator, age hard to determine, English with East Coast accent, possibly highly educated. Each call lasts no more than three minutes, never discloses any traceable information."
Song Heping picked up the report and quickly glanced over it.
