Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

"Walter, one truck's worth $54 million in gold bars, and there's twenty trucks total?"

Martin took the call at home, his mind immediately latching onto the gold. Even one or two trucks would be immensely valuable—not just for their raw worth, but for gold's role as a universal rare metal in global economics.

Though the gold standard era was long gone, nations still hoarded gold. The U.S. held over 8,000 tons, the world's largest reserve. India over 700. Why? Gold remained a hard currency even if fiat systems collapsed, immune to debt fluctuations. A nation's gold reserves shielded it from international financial attacks, offsetting trade deficits and stabilizing economies.

The 1997 Asian Financial Crisis exemplified this. Most Asian nations, including the "Four Asian Tigers," were pummeled by international speculators. Their economies collapsed, wealth siphoned off through financial maneuvers. Why them? Wealth was one factor, but weak gold reserves left them defenseless.

Gold reserves were a nation's financial firewall. Guinea, despite its gold mines, had low reserves due to past inefficient mining (until Martin's company boosted output) and the need to trade gold for cash. Gaddafi's stash, if secured, would be a strategic asset for Martin's future dominance in West Africa.

"I've got to get my hands on it," Martin thought.

Three days later, at Baghdad International Airport, Iraq.

"Boss, you didn't need to come yourself," Gordon said, exasperated.

Martin grinned. "Not about doubting anyone's skills. But moving that haul out of Libya won't be easy. We'll need to borrow some military planes."

"The military?" Gordon hesitated. "Won't that leak?"

"Don't worry. My annual trips to Iraq aren't vacations. The military brass here is already in my pocket," Martin said confidently.

"What about Satan's team?"

"They've got Saif al-Islam, Gaddafi's second son, and secured all ten trucks. They're hiding out in Tarhuna at one of Saif's safehouses," Gordon reported.

"Perfect. Arrange a cargo plane and have them find a nearby landing spot. If they can't, helicopters will do. Tell them not to worry—even if Libya's military spots them, they can claim to be U.S. soldiers."

"Got it. I'll contact Satan now."

…

Rewind a bit.

Satan's team trailed the convoy.

Ahead, the outline of a city emerged.

To major powers, Tarhuna's 110,000 residents made it a small town, but in Libya, it was a significant city. Still under government control, its western desert location and lack of strategic value kept it off the rebels' radar. Gaddafi's choice to head here wasn't unwise.

Satan frowned, weighing options. If the convoy entered Tarhuna, they'd be surrounded by government forces. Would Mutassim's orders still hold weight? Should they strike outside the city?

The dilemma resolved itself. Five or six kilometers from Tarhuna, the convoy veered onto a side road, heading into desolate terrain.

"Not bad luck," Big Dog grinned, clearly sharing Satan's earlier concern.

"Damn right," Satan smirked.

The convoy strayed further, eventually rolling across pathless sand.

After another half-hour, a small oasis appeared, dotted with a cluster of low buildings.

The convoy made a beeline for the structures.

Satan activated his silent radio. "Boys, check weapons. Prepare for battle."

Ram's voice crackled through the earpiece: "Hell yeah, we've been itching for this."