When the bulletproof SUV returned to the seaside villa, the sunset stained the diterranean with a burning blood red.
At the entrance of the villa, Henry and Ferrari were already waiting anxiously. Seeing Song Heping get out of the car, they quickly approached him.
"Boss!"
Henry's voice carried an irrepressible tension.
"How is it with Haftar?"
Song Heping didn't answer directly, he just nodded, his gaze sweeping over the tense faces of the two n.
Ferrari's lips moved as if he wanted to say sothing, but he ultimately swallowed his words.
The air was filled with a silent heaviness. This ti, the Aricans played a more insidious political stranglehold on "the Musician", rather than an open military confrontation. It was a soft knife.
A soft knife is harder to deal with.
"I need so ti alone."
Song Heping walked straight into the villa. He didn't go to the terrace to enjoy the false calm of the sea but went directly to the study and closed the door.
On the wall of the room hung a huge map of Africa, marked with colored pins and fine lines to represent spheres of influence, resource points, transportation routes, and unseen undercurrents.
He stood before the map, his gaze falling upon it, his brows slightly furrowed, his hand moving over the map, from south to north, from east to west.
His fingers unconsciously traced over Libya, Sudan, Sen Republic...
These places were once established with blood and fire.
The remnants of the sunset cast deep shadows over his face through the window.
Henry and Ferrari stood silently at the door, watching the boss's back, even their breathing subconsciously lightened.
Only the monotonous ticking of the clock on the wall remained in the room, each second beating against already taut nerves.
Ti passed in suffocating silence.
The light outside changed from golden to dark red before sinking into the deep blue of dusk.
The study was unlit, and Song Heping's figure seed almost integrated into the vast and crisis-ridden outline of the continent on the map.
Henry and Ferrari exchanged worried glances—this ti the Aricans were cutting with a dull knife, could the boss co up with a way to break the deadlock?
When the last ray of daylight disappeared beyond the horizon and darkness completely enveloped the study, Song Heping finally moved.
He walked to the broad mahogany desk, picked up the satellite phone, and dialed an encrypted number.
After a brief waiting tone, a male voice with a hint of a lazy drawl in French ca through.
"Song? Calling at this ti is much later than I expected. It seems that the 'good news' Haftar brought you was quite significant, huh?"
It was Shire from the DGSE.
The voice bore no surprise, only a cat-and-mouse whimsicality.
"Shire."
Song Heping's voice had no inflection, like an ice-covered lake, "The Arican's 'Cleaner' operation has quite an appetite this ti. Are they trying to uproot completely?"
A low laugh ca from the other end of the line: "Song, we both know the score. The Aricans are determined this ti to eliminate a 'regional instability factor' and by the way... reshape the order a little. That report they have, crafted by the CIA, you know it well enough to know that no country would dare publicly shelter you. Once the banner of anti-terror is raised, it becos politically correct and an invincible shield. You can't avoid it."
Shire's tone carried a barely noticeable warning.
"Politically correct?"
Song Heping's lips curled into a cold arc.
"Shire, don't play this ga with . For decades during Africa's 'decolonization', the Aricans were fanning the flas behind the scenes, undermining your foundation. Independence movents? How much of it was a covert war between your Francophonie and the Aricans? The counter-terrorism leadership in the Sahel, the oil pipelines in North Africa, which of these isn't being kicked around under the table by you two? The rift? It's long been etched in the bone!"
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.
Shire obviously didn't expect Song Heping to speak so nakedly, directly piercing through the thin veil of 'ally'.
He coughed lightly: "Song, history is history. The problem now is that the Arican knife is already at your throat."
"So."
Song Heping's voice suddenly turned cold: "I need you to throw so shade on the Aricans at the right ti. When they are most complacent, thinking victory is in hand."
"Help you? Haven't I helped enough? Do you think the intelligence you obtained was really accidentally left behind by my subordinates? Help you? Give a reason."
Shire's tone also turned serious, "If we get involved deeply, the risk is great. We and the Aricans…"
"The reason is your interests!"
Song Heping unceremoniously cut him off, "Without , the 'Musician' bearing the brunt, Arican Special Forces, the private military company Black Water, and the Tri-Leaf Jungle would swarm into the Sahel like locusts, occupying your space and cutting off your oil pipelines! By then, how much influence would you French have left in Africa? If you French think it doesn't matter, and that you can sit back and watch the Aricans fully extend their hand into your backyard…"
Song Heping deliberately paused, then chuckled twice and said, "Then I won't mind either. I would pack the 'Musician's' oilfield security contracts in Sudan, rare tal mining rights in Sena, and all military advisor and training projects with Haftar in Libya... and hand them over to the Aricans! As my 'pledge' for leaving Africa! I will take my people, and start anew in the Middle East. Anyway, I'm very wealthy now, I can find a place to settle; if worse cos to worst, I'll go to Venezuela, and still live well. As for whether you French can resist the full infiltration of Aricans into the Sahel? Hehe, Shire, weigh it yourself!"
"Song, you are one shaless bastard…"
Shire's voice showed clear fluctuation for the first ti, carrying the shock and anger of being hit at the soft spot.
He had deliberately leaked the 'Cleaner' operation, intending to use Song Heping as a knife to blunt the Arican edge and maintain a delicate balance.
If Song Heping really upped and left, handing over years of cultivated interests to the Aricans, it would be a disastrous blow to France's strategy in Africa!
The Aricans would instantly fill all the vacuums.
Shire's breathing was audibly heavier over the phone.
A few seconds of silence felt as prolonged as an era.
Henry and Ferrari listened with sweaty palms at the door, the boss was playing with fire!
Gambling the entire foundation of the company on the French response!
"...Fils de pute!" (French: Son of a bitch!) Shire finally cursed in a low voice, his voice full of reluctant helplessness and resentnt at being manipulated.
"Song, you win. Tell , how exactly should I 'shade them'? When?"
Song Heping's taut jawline relaxed slightly, a sharp light flashing in his eyes: "When the ti cos, you will naturally see it. You just need to rember, at that mont, staying silent would be helping the Aricans, but speaking out—even if just seemingly neutral and trying to smooth things over—would help , and also help your France keep your piece of Africa intact! You, Ambassador Shire's on-the-spot 'judgnt' is crucial."
"…"
Shire fell silent again, seeming to digest Song Heping's vague yet weighty request.
"Fine. I will be watching. Hope your 'timing' doesn't make wait too long and doesn't drag us all into hell."
"Relax, Shire."
Song Heping's voice regained a bit of elusive calm, "My hell is usually the enemy's nightmare, and a friend's sweet dream."
After speaking, without waiting for Shire's response, he crisply ended the call.
Putting down the satellite phone, Song Heping didn't imdiately move.
He walked to the window, looking out at the dark blue diterranean, the outlines of the distant port's ruins looming like a daunting beast in the night.
After a mont, he picked up another encrypted phone and dialed a very short number.
The screen displayed only a codena: "Q".
The call was connected almost instantly.
"It's ."
Song Heping's voice was low and concise.
"Your old squad leader."
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