Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm-Chapter 436 - 435: Wiretapping, Mosul, and Pursuit

After hearing Martin's account of what happened in New York, Gordon frowned.

"Boss, the interests at stake with the Segurna No. 1 oil field are enormous. Texas Oil Group might resort to even more extreme and illegal means—after all, this isn't America, where U.S. laws apply."

"Especially since you're planning to meet with those people in Iraq. It's a war zone—anything could happen. If Texas Oil Group convinces the military to take action..."

Gordon trailed off, but Martin understood. If he died in Iraq, no one would be held accountable. His death would be meaningless.

No—more likely, his death would be pinned on Saddam's government.

No, scratch that—his death would definitely be blamed on Saddam's government. It would conveniently give the U.S.-UK invasion more "justification."

Martin said, "The military and Texas Oil definitely have a partnership, so we need to be cautious. But I doubt they'd go as far as killing me."

In the future, when Texas Oil Group stole oil from Segurna No. 1, the military was the one transporting it. They used military vehicles, and the Iraqi side didn't even dare to stop them.

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"David, I need you to put on a little show for me in your office."

—

Two days later.

U.S. military base.

A brown-haired middle-aged man—Texas Oil Group's full representative in Iraq for the Segurna No. 1 negotiations, Goodman Hall—was reviewing a stack of notes.

These notes contained transcripts from wiretaps inside David Scott's office, recorded by U.S. military intelligence personnel over the past two days.

"Useless information."

"Useless information."

"Useless information."

"Hm?"

Goodman Hall mumbled to himself as he flipped through the papers.

Suddenly, his fingers stopped. His eyes locked onto one particular note.

The message was brief:

Tomorrow night, 8 PM, Mosul City, Tigris River, Upper West Bank.

Goodman Hall pulled this note aside and continued flipping through the rest.

Nothing else useful.

He picked up the first note again and turned to Brigadier General Clayton, who was leisurely sipping coffee nearby.

"Have you seen this?"

Clayton didn't even look up. "No. I haven't read any of the wiretap reports. I sent them straight to you. Remember, we're just partners—I don't have time or interest in doing your legwork."

Goodman Hall hesitated for a moment before flashing a smile. He figured his attitude from two days ago had annoyed Clayton, so he quickly softened his tone.

"I understand, I understand. I never meant to treat you like a subordinate. I was just thinking—this location might be exactly what we've been looking for. And—"

He paused, then added, "Saddam might even be there."

"Oh?" Brigadier General Clayton's eyes lit up as he took the note, carefully reading it.

A moment later, he looked up and said, "Looks like this is where Campbell Oil Company is meeting with the Iraqi rebels."

Then, with a puzzled expression, he asked Goodman, "Why did you keep Martin in New York? If you had the chance to take him out in Iraq, wouldn't that eliminate a major competitor?"

Goodman Hall shook his head. "The Meyers family isn't one to mess with—especially since Martin is their sole heir, and such an outstanding one at that. If we killed him, you know the Meyers family's retaliation would be brutal."

"Of course, it's not like Texas Oil Group is afraid of them—but there's no need for such drastic measures. As long as Martin stays out of Iraq, Campbell Oil's negotiations will stall. This is a $4 billion deal—we both know someone like David Scott doesn't have the authority to finalize it alone."

Goodman Hall smirked, clearly enjoying his own status as the Texas Oil Group representative authorized to move such massive sums.

But his smugness faded quickly.

With great power came great responsibility—if he failed to secure the Segurna No. 1 oil field, he was finished.

—

Two days later, noon.

A golden Gulfstream jet landed at Baghdad International Airport.

Baghdad, now the headquarters of the U.S.-UK coalition, was swarming with soldiers.

Inside the airport's control tower, Goodman Hall peered through a pair of binoculars, staring at the golden jet through the glass.

He muttered to Brigadier General Clayton beside him, "That's the Sheikh's private jet. They say Martin has a close relationship with the UAE royal family... Looks like it's true."

"Wait... David Scott is getting off... Those men behind him are Martin's bodyguards... A black Maybach and an armored vehicle just arrived... They're getting in... Move, move, move! Follow them!"

"Shut up. I know what to do."

Clayton was already annoyed by Goodman's bossy tone.

Moments later, the black Maybach and armored vehicle drove out of Baghdad Airport.

"Follow them! Those two cars—one of them is carrying our target!"

A black Mercedes slowly merged onto the road, trailing the convoy.

Meanwhile, other cars on different routes also discreetly followed.

Further back, Goodman Hall sat inside a black armored SUV, wearing an earpiece, receiving constant updates from the pursuit teams ahead.

Beside him, Brigadier General Clayton scowled.

"That armored vehicle is British military. Damn it—Campbell Oil must have paid them off."

Goodman Hall gave him a confused look.

"Isn't that normal?"

—

Mosul.

This city, 362 kilometers north of Baghdad, was historically a key junction on the Silk Road, linking Anatolia to the Persian Gulf.

Due to its strategic location, Mosul became a primary target for U.S.-UK airstrikes during the invasion. Much of the once-thriving metropolis now lay in ruins.

The black Maybach and armored vehicle exited Baghdad, heading north.

The pursuing cars followed closely.

To avoid suspicion, some of the tailing vehicles overtook the convoy, positioning themselves ahead—since they already knew the destination.

On the roadside, bomb craters and wreckage were visible. Many cars on the road belonged to Iraqi civilians fleeing to rural villages for safety.

Inside Goodman Hall's SUV, apart from the driver, there were only two bodyguards.

Brigadier General Clayton had disembarked earlier—he couldn't personally follow the convoy to Mosul.

He had an army to run.