Chapter 14

"Hi~"

Tang Dao placed his spoon on the table, patted his stomach contentedly, and was about to speak when he noticed Osborn putting his AKM rifle on the table, unintentionally aiming it in his direction. He pushed the gun down and said with a hint of annoyance, "Hey, please put that away. If it goes off, I'll need divine intervention."

Eating liquid food was quite inconvenient for someone like Osborn, who ended up with food smeared across his face and even managed to get some on his beard, causing him to resemble a messy child rather than a grown man.

"Sir, how does it taste?" Dalton appeared at the door, holding a basin full of cherries. Robert, who had been supervising the workers below to prevent any mischief, followed closely behind.

"It tastes excellent," Ambrose responded as he reached for the table but didn't find a napkin. He resorted to wiping his mouth with his sleeve, giving a thumbs-up. He seemed rather familiar with this extravagant meal.

Dalton's eyes squinted into narrow slits as he smiled. This meal, which would cost about $30 in the city, had been priced at $100 here. What was wrong with a little extra smile for some extra money?

Tang Dao glanced at Robert, pulled out a chair for him, and signaled for him to sit down. He noticed that Osborn was still devouring his food and jokingly slapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, leave some for Robert. Were you a starving ghost in your past life?"

Amused, Robert pulled half of the sausage he had already started eating out of his mouth and placed it on his plate. He then wiped his hands on his pants, extended his hand, and offered it to Robert. "Don't worry, I'm good."

Robert's face twitched at this odd display of generosity. With a forced smile, he pushed the plate away and muttered in Chinese, "Thank you, mate."

Osborn was a bit puzzled, but he had the sense that Robert must be thanking him. So he waved his hand grandiosely, stood up halfway, brought his cigarette in front of Tang Dao, and placed it in his mouth. "You don't need to thank me. I love helping people."

Tang Dao, too tired to argue with this man, simply changed the topic. "How's everything going?"

"The tanks and armored vehicles are all in storage. As for the firearms, there are too many to fit in the airport warehouse, so they'll have to be transported in trucks," Robert replied. He wore a furrowed brow as he gave Osborn's hand on his lap a stern look, indicating that he should keep it to himself. He then continued, "With so many weapons, are you sure we can sell them all?"

Robert understood that blindly following a plan was a major pitfall for businessmen. Arms dealing was not just about bravery; it was also a science. The significance of the arms trade industry lay in the fact that humanity had not yet evolved beyond using violence to resolve conflicts of interest. Technological developments had not reached the point where one side could have an absolute advantage in terms of force. That's why arms dealers existed. Once they mastered the core of the industry, they could identify the markets in these regions.

For Tang Dao, the purpose was to deliver goods to the market. But turning them into wealth required intelligence and means.

There were only a few sales channels:

1. Selling to countries or organizations with a positive image, such as those with strong networking backgrounds like Francis Betterling, the largest private arms dealer in France. He had previously served as the French Consul General in West Africa and had close ties to many high-ranking officials in various countries. This was how he managed to sell a Phantom III, which was over 30 years old, for $11 million!

2. Selling to bulk buyers, including arms dealers and mercenaries. The latter were a reliable source of income, as they consumed large quantities of ammunition and needed daily wages, which meant they always had money on hand.

The first option was currently impossible for Tang Dao, so the question remained: should he set up shop on the battlefield?

While he was deeply entangled in these thoughts, he had to maintain a composed appearance. "Don't worry, I already have a plan. Finish your meal first."

Robert nodded, stood up, and chewed on the last bit of his sausage.

"Hey... all the goods are piled up, the employees are fed, but Nevins Consulting hasn't paid us yet. That's a headache."

Tang Dao's expression took a momentary downturn as he shook his head. Then, suddenly, the electronic voice interrupted his thoughts:

[Temporary side mission: Sell a weapon worth more than $50,000. Reward: one personal special skill, one elite employee. Failure will result in local government pursuit.]

Tang Dao couldn't believe his luck or the timing. A mission like this could provide a significant boost to their operation, but it also came with its own set of challenges. Selling a weapon worth over $50,000 would not be easy. In a place like Namibia, where prices were inflated due to scarcity, this task would be a monumental challenge.

In a place like Africa, where private mercenaries had a substantial presence, Tang Dao couldn't help but ponder who would be interested in such a significant quantity of weapons. While firearms might not be the ideal starting point, he thought about trying to sell the BTR-40 armored vehicles instead.

With that thought in mind, Tang Dao hoped for divine favor to shine upon him.

Ambrose and his group departed for Ukraine that night.

Tang Dao and his team stayed in the "luxury presidential suite" at the airport, complete with hot water and a TV, all for the reasonable price of $7 per night. Dalton even hinted that he could arrange for some "special services" in the city if they were interested.

Tang Dao found the situation amusing. Could the airport manager possibly have so many side gigs?

He had no interest in the proposition, but Osborne seemed a bit tempted. Tang Dao simply warned him by saying, "Namibia has an HIV prevalence rate of 1.7%." That effectively discouraged the British man, who promptly retreated to his room, locking the door securely.

Dalton, though somewhat disappointed, remained polite to his benefactors. "Wishing you a pleasant night, sir."

"Goodnight."

...

In Africa, days were long, and nights were short, with the sun working overtime.

One early morning, shouts could be heard at the airport.

"Hey buddy, don't put your fingers in the gun barrel; that's not a toy!" Tang Dao said with a mixture of frustration and concern as he opened the door of an armored transport vehicle. The black man in question was treating the guns like children's playthings. Tang Dao was the only one who could regard this armored transport vehicle as a mere truck. The BTR-40's machine guns were long gone, and its three machine gun mounts sat empty, looking somewhat undignified.

Not exactly menacing!

However, the vehicle did have an armored air intake grille underneath the front, a sloped roof over the power compartment, and top armor. As long as it didn't encounter anti-tank mines, it should provide reasonable protection.

"Robert, you and Angie stay here. Osborn and Job, come with me."

Tang Dao closed the armored car's door, pointing to a few people as he issued his orders. Angie and Job were the white men sent by Tire; they had proven themselves capable, and nothing untoward had occurred so far.

"Man, help us prepare dinner. I'm in the mood for beef," Osborne winked at Robert, hopped into the driver's seat, tossed his AKM into the vehicle, and settled in. He grasped the gearshift, toying with it as if it were second nature. He depressed the clutch and accelerator, whistled, glanced at Tang Dao, and suddenly asked, "Boss, fancy a little drag race?"

Before waiting for a response, he slammed the car into fifth gear!

The old vehicle let out a grumbling protest, but Osborne paid it no mind, ignoring the growling engine. He floored the accelerator, and they shot out of the airport. Brakes? Who needed them?

They raced toward the town of Belial!