The cargo ship slowly turned southeast in the night of the Red Sea, Song Heping stood on the rusted deck, the sea breeze carrying a salty stench hit him.
He pulled out the satellite phone, his finger paused on the keypad for a moment, and finally dialed an encrypted number.
"The old teahouse needs new tea leaves."
After the call was connected, Song Heping spoke in Persian in code.
The distinctive raspy laugh of Avanti came through on the other end: "My friend, you're late. The teahouse is already closed; there are wild dogs barking in the street."
Song Heping squinted his eyes, the lights from the distant US destroyer on the sea shimmered like a beast's eyes.
"Set off a bit late, too many wild dogs on the way, I need a quiet little path."
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, followed by the sound of pages turning.
"The back door in Yemen is still open, but it's chaotic there, are you daring enough to go?"
"Better than dying at sea."
