Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 1007 - 935: The Temptation Laid Before Vincent

"Director! Urgent intel!"

Simon's voice exploded in the quiet office, filled with the urgent gasps of a sprint and undeniable urgency.

Inside the office, Vincent stood in front of the large floor-to-ceiling bullet-proof window, back facing the door, seemingly gazing at the distant buildings.

Hearing Simon's shout, he slowly turned around.

"Simon, what's the urgent matter?"

Vincent's voice wasn't loud, carrying a usual calmness. He raised his eyebrows slightly, his gaze stopping on Simon's anxious face for less than a second before saying, "You look like you've been chased by a bear."

"No ti to say all that, Director!"

Simon rushed to the wide, heavy mahogany desk, his chest still heaving dramatically.

Disregarding any courtesy, he slapped the intelligence briefing in his hand on the mirroring surface of the mahogany desk with a heavy thud, almost using all his strength.

"Song Heping!" Simon said urgently, forcefully pointing at the briefing, "I've received the latest intel, he appeared on the eastern slopes of the Gelbi Mountain Range! Exact coordinates, precise coordinates, are inside here! Along with the intercepted 1515 communication channel recording we just decrypted, clearly showing they are mobilizing a large force to encircle him! Roughly estimated over three thousand 1515 militia soldiers are gathering in the target area! Ard pickups, heavy firepower, fully equipped!"

Vincent's gaze finally moved from Simon's face to the briefing on the desk.

He didn't imdiately touch the intel, instead slowly returning to his seat, leisurely sitting down.

The air in the office seed to freeze.

The light outside the window passed through the bullet-proof glass, casting a cold, hard shadow on half of Vincent's face.

He slightly leaned forward, with both hands on the table edge, his scrutinizing gaze like an invisible probe, focusing again on Simon's face.

"Song Heping's location..."

Vincent's voice was low and slow, like a blunt knife being dragged on a whetstone, "And thousands of 1515 militants... Such precise, such tily intelligence..."

He paused, his mouth seemingly curling into a tiny, almost imperceptible arc, devoid of any laughter, only cold scrutiny.

"Simon, isn't this intelligence a bit too 'convenient'? So convenient... it's as though soone packed it up nicely and then..."

He stared into Simon's eyes, word by word: "Delivered it to my desk personally?"

Simon's heart seed to be seized hard by a cold hand.

Vincent's suspicion licked his nerves like a poison snake's tongue.

The imnse pressure soaked his back with cold sweat in an instant.

But he knew that any hint of panic or hesitation at this mont would be deadly.

He forced himself to et those penetrating eyes, his voice trembling slightly due to excitent and urgency, making it appear even more genuine:

"Director! I understand your suspicion! But the opportunity is right in front of us! Song Heping! Our top target we've pursued for so long? He's right there now! The coordinates are right here!"

He slapped the sealed bag on the desk forcefully, making a resounding noise: "And also, there are thousands of 1515 bastards gathering together! This is a godsend opportunity! You know the Air Force's strike capabilities, one mission, two targets! Completely eliminate Song Heping, and simultaneously heavily damage or even annihilate 1515's core mobility! How significant is this achievent? This is the best explanation for our withdrawal operation in Illiguo! The best explanation to the President and Congress!"

The US Army began organizing a withdrawal a year ago.

Afterwards, the 1515 militia erged on the western border of Iraq, rapidly expanding their territory.

There has always been speculation, with nurous declassification websites presenting evidence of CIA and 1515 ties, and there are opponents within Congress Hill who've questioned the CIA, demanding an intelligence inquiry.

As Simon said, perhaps a thunderous strike against the 1515 militia would shut those questioning argunts from Congress.

The decision had been uncertain before because the current leader of 1515, Buckdadi, indeed had so ties with CIA's Secret Action Departnt, although they broke off over a year ago. Buckdadi seed unsatisfied being a puppet, perhaps from the beginning, he was using the Aricans to help him ascend to the highest leadership position of 1515, fulfilling his personal ambitions.

Vincent had long intended to make a move against Buckdadi.

Today everything seed to fall into place.

An important assassination target, thousands of 1515 extremists...

The target value was absolutely high enough.

Simon, seeing Vincent remain silent, took a breath and spoke even faster, with a sense of scorched-earth determination: "As for the risk of the intelligence source, I'm fully aware, and I'm willing to assu responsibility... Director! The battlefield changes quickly! By the ti we've spent days or even weeks to validate, simulate, and ensure everything's foolproof, Song Heping will already have escaped! Those thousands of lunatics will have already dispersed into the desert, potentially posing a significant threat to our supported Kurd Ard in the future! Risk? The greatest risk now is hesitation! It's watching this once-in-a-lifeti opportunity slip through our fingers! That will be our greatest mistake!"

Simon's voice echoed in the office, carrying a nearly desperate allure.

He bet all his acting skills and years of accumulated credibility, slamming the words "achievent" and "missed opportunity" heavily in front of Vincent.

Vincent's gaze finally moved from Simon's flushed face due to excitent, back to that sealed bag.

The office fell into dead silence, with only the air conditioning system emitting a faint hum.

Ti seed to stretch, each second like a heavy lead weight pressing on Simon's heart.

He could almost hear the thumping of his blood against his temple.

A few seconds later, Vincent moved.

He didn't look at Simon again, nor did he touch the sealed bag. Instead, he pressed an inconspicuous red button on the edge of the desk.

The button lit up with a slight glow, emitting a low hum.

"Connect to the Combat Air Operations Center (CAOC), highest priority line." Vincent's voice returned to its usual, emotionless steadiness.

Almost as soon as the hum sounded, a similarly calm, professional male voice ca from a hidden speaker on the desk: "CAOC, Duty Officer Major Walker."

Vincent's gaze was sharp as a hawk's, precisely reporting the string of coordinates Simon brought, his speech steady but with an undeniable piercing force: "This is CIA Director Vincent, currently exercising highest authority requesting the Operations Center to imdiately deploy all available resources to verify real-ti conditions of the Gelbi Mountain Range eastern slopes, coordinate XXX-XXX area. Highest priority. I need images, now."

"Understood, highest priority. Deploying 'Keyhole' satellite resources, coordinates XXX-XXX. Image transmission initiated, expected to connect to your terminal in thirty seconds."

The response from the speaker was crisp and straightforward.

Vincent stopped speaking, his attention turning to the several large encrypted displays on his desk.

One of the screens initially showed a complex regional situational map, flashed once, then switched instantly.

About half a minute later, an ultra-high-resolution satellite view was clearly presented: the rolling, gully-crossed eastern slopes of the Gelbi Mountain Range. The image was rapidly enlarged, sharpened.

The prominent, almost vegetation-free large weathered rock area at the summit was clearly outlined.

An extrely tiny, almost indiscernible human heat source signal was displayed in bright white against the cold rock background, conspicuously visible!

More alarming, in the valley below the mountain and along several main slopes leading to the summit, nurous heat source signals representing personnel and vehicles were converging fiercely like a boiling ant swarm from all directions, forming several distinct, upward-moving yellow torrents.

One of the front lines had already approached within less than two kiloters of the summit heat source!

Those larger, brighter heat source spots, representing ard pickups, were clearly visible.

Vincent's gray-blue eyes remained fixed on the isolated white spot on the summit on the screen, as if trying to see through the screen to that audacious person.

His face bore no expression, but his jawline was taut to the extre, the pressure in the office unbearably stifling.

"Why is he alone?"

Vincent frowned, sensing sothing amiss.