Twenty minutes later, the SUV gets closer and closer to the abandoned refinery.
Simon taps his fingertips rhythmically on the steering wheel.
In the rearview mirror, Mark and Andy are checking their magazines, the handguns in the quick-draw holsters on their bulletproof vests gleam coldly in the moonlight.
"Sir, should we bring anti-armor weapons?" Andy leaned forward and asked.
"Bring more shock bombs."
Simon exhales a smoke ring, his gray-blue pupils slightly contracting behind the smoke.
"Song Heping likes to play dirty."
The SUV rolls over the gravel road, and the twisted outline of the refinery gradually becomes clear.
Distant gunshots echo sporadically.
Simon glances at the GPS next to the dashboard, only one kilometer from the refinery gate.
"We should get out of the car."
He silently smirks, flicking the cigarette butt out the window.
