Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 1159 - 1028: Backup Plan (Part 3)

Truly, a nerve-wracking fellow.

Sotis, Vincent felt that competing against Song Heping was exhausting.

This guy...

Even harder to deal with than Brother Deng.

The shrill ringtone of the private encrypted phone exploded like an alarm, flashing "Simon" on the screen.

"Director! Turn on the TV imdiately! Any news channel! Right now!"

As soon as he picked up the phone, Simon's voice ca through impatiently, so sharp it was almost distorted.

Vincent's heart sank abruptly, and a foreboding seized him in an instant.

He quickly walked into the study, grabbed the remote, and pressed the power button with slightly stiff fingers.

The large LCD screen lit up.

Instantly, Chambers' face, flushed with anger and filled with moral judgnt, appeared on the screen, along with his resounding accusations— "Secret arms shipnts... supporting warlords with terrorist backgrounds... exacerbating humanitarian disasters... betrayal of the war on terror..."

Every sentence, every word pierced Vincent like an ice pick into his eardrums and eyes.

He stood frozen in place, his knuckles white with the force of gripping the remote.

The light from the TV screen cast ghostly shadows on his face, from which all color had drained away.

That expensive glass of red wine now seed like thick, looming spilt blood in his eyes.

The illusion of post-dinner tranquility was completely shattered, replaced by the shockwave of a dia explosion.

The house was deathly silent, with only Chambers' impassioned denunciation and the anchor's grave comntary echoing from the TV.

Vincent felt an icy sensation rush from his feet to his head, throbbing in his temples.

Secret operation!

Sayif background!

Humanitarian disaster!

Every term was like a poisoned dagger, striking right at the vital points.

This was not rely an intelligence leak!

It was a preditated, precise, targeted explosion ant to utterly destroy this operation and even destabilize the governnt's credibility!

Who?!

Before he could sort through this overwhelming wave, another encrypted red phone on the desk rang.

This phone was a direct line to the White House situation room, now ringing with a deathly urgency.

Vincent almost lunged to grab the receiver.

"Vincent!"

The voice on the other end was that of Thomas Ellis, the President's National Security Advisor, usually known for his calmness, but now his voice was like an enraged lion, filled with furious fire.

"What the hell are you doing?! 'Marlin Fish'! Libya! Sayif! Now the whole world knows! It's all over the TV and internet! The phones in the White House press office are blowing up! Letters of inquiry from Congress are flooding in like snowflakes! The President just called to berate for a full half an hour! Half an hour!"

Vincent could clearly hear the heavy breathing as if it were right next to his ear.

"Thomas, this..."

"Shut up!"

Ellis's roar interrupted him, "This operation was personally approved by the President! It was top secret! And now? It's beco the biggest scandal in the world! A warlord tainted with the blood of terrorists! An accomplice to humanitarian disaster! We have beco a global laughingstock! Tell , is the CIA's confidentiality so flimsy?! Or is it that within your office, Director Vincent, an enemy mole is sitting and watching?!"

Every word was like a whip cracking across Vincent's face.

He held the receiver tightly, his jaw clenched, his jaw muscles tense like rocks.

"Listen, Vincent!"

Ellis's voice quivered slightly with extre anger, yet carried an undeniable cold command.

"I don't care what thod you use! Imdiately! Right now! Clean up this damn ss for ! 'Marlin Fish' is now a walking ti bomb! Get it out of everyone's sight now! Find a port to hide it in! Imdiately! Also, the bastard who exposed all this! That mole! Dig him out for ! I want his na! Quickly! If I don't see clear progress and answers before tomorrow's sunrise... You know the consequences!"

"Bang!"

The phone slamd down, leaving only the busy tone shrieking in Vincent's ear.

Vincent slowly put down the receiver, his hand trembling slightly.

Not from fear, but from a rage potent enough to scorch reason.

The expensive oak furniture in the study, the painting on the wall, the serene night outside the window, were all distorted and tinged with a bloody red in his eyes.

Sha!

Unprecedented sha!

Being played by an arms dealer far away in Libya!

Stabbed in the back by his own people!

He suddenly turned around and slamd his fist hard onto the heavy mahogany desk!

The resounding crash echoed through the silent study.

The pen and paperweight on the desk leapt up in response.

Mole!

The word hissed like a viper's tongue in his mind.

His eyes burned with a nearly maniacal fury as he grabbed the phone connecting to Langley's core encrypted network on the desk, his fingers digging deep into the keys from the force.

"Hanks!"

As he spoke, he could almost hear the grinding of his teeth.

"Summon the counterintelligence departnt personnel back to the bureau imdiately! Yes! Right now! We'll et in the small conference room next to my office in thirty minutes!"

***

The next morning, Langley, CIA headquarters, seventh floor, Director's office.

The air in the office was as heavy as lead, infused with a scent of gunpowder mixed with anxiety in every corner.

Director Vincent stood by the window, back to the door.

His suit remained crisp, but the dark circles under his eyes and the deep creases between his brows betrayed his sleepless tornt.

An ashtray overflowed with cigar butts, as chaotic as his current state of mind.

Overnight, the dia storm not only failed to subside but grew ever more ferocious.

Newspaper headlines scread "Arms Ship," "Humanitarian Disaster," "Secret Operations."

The New York Tis even published a scathing editorial, its headline shocking: "Hypocrisy Under the Flag of Anti-Terrorism: Arica's Libyan Arms Scandal."

Early this morning, the Intelligence and Foreign Relations committees of the Congress have already announced the launch of ergency hearings.

Pressure, like a tangible tsunami, surged unrelentingly from the White House, Congress Hill, the dia, and even allied embassies, battering him and his departnt from all directions.

He had no choice but to personally order—under tight US Army protection, the "Marlin Fish" hastily changed course, sailing towards the relatively secluded Djibouti Port to temporarily dock and weather the storm.

This was tantamount to admitting the scandal's authenticity, and an embarrassing retreat.

"Knock, knock, knock."

A cautious knock sounded.

"Co in!"

Vincent's voice was hoarse.

The door opened, and Hanks, the head of counterintelligence, quickly stepped inside.

His figure was lean, clad in a ticulously tailored gray suit, his hair immaculately combed, with a deanor marked by the rigidity and caution typical of long-term secret operations.

He tightly clutched a thin blue folder, his expression unusually grave, a trace of incredulous suspicion lurking deep in his eyes.

"Director."

Approaching Vincent, Hanks' voice was low.

"We've found out."

Vincent suddenly turned, bloodshot eyes glaring at the folder in his hands like a hawk, as if intent on scorching through it.

"The result?" he asked.

Hanks did not answer imdiately, stepping forward, he placed the blue folder on Vincent's broad mahogany desk with both hands.

On the folder's cover, "Top Secret - Internal Leak Investigation Preliminary Conclusion" was prominently printed.

Vincent grabbed the folder, flipping it open roughly.

Inside was just one sheet of paper.

A thin sheet of paper.

No lengthy analysis report, no complex diagram of clues, no list of suspicious points.

Only a line of printed text, lying solitary at the center of the page, like a bomb dropped into a pool of stagnant water:

Terry Walters.

The na hit Vincent like high-voltage shock.

His pupils contracted instantly to the size of a pin, his facial muscles seizing abruptly, as if frozen in an instant.

A chill swiftly climbed up his spine, surging to his head, nearly suffocating him.

Terry Walters?

The deputy chief of the Kuwait intelligence station?

That reticent, steady, even sowhat rigid middle-aged man?

The veteran agent he once deeply trusted and deed absolutely reliable?

The person responsible for the Marlin Fish's loading and unloading at the Kuwait dock?

Absurd!

Unbelievable!

Like a thunderbolt on a clear day!

Vincent's gaze remained fixed on that na, as if trying to gouge it off the paper.

The office was dead silent, only his heavy, suppressed breathing audible.

Hanks held his breath, not daring to make a sound.

"Within 48 hours, I want to see him; you make the arrangents, I will interrogate personally!"