Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 239 - 203 Lavish Dinner

"You're here?"

At seven o'clock in the evening, within the Green Zone's Republic Palace, Song Heping t with the third highest-ranking official of the US forces in Iraq under the guidance of General Peter's aide.

General Peter was wearing camo gear with his sleeves rolled up, showing the deanor of a hard-bitten soldier.

Song Heping had heard from Ferrari that this guy was from the US Special Forces, with a military history in his family tracing back to the War of Independence—definitely a military family with a profound background.

In Ferrari's words, getting in touch with this man was like getting connected to the top brass within the US military.

"I'm here, General," Song Heping said.

He approached General Peter's desk, and the latter gave his aide a aningful glance, "Have dinner prepared."

"Yes, General."

Aide Frank turned and left, closing the office door behind him.

"Have a seat."

General Peter gestured for Song Heping to sit down.

Song Heping made himself comfortable across the table, adjusting his posture to settle in.

General Peter was reviewing docunts, signing off on them, and speaking to Song Heping all at once, "You did well in Mosul; I wasn't wrong about you."

"It's all thanks to your support, General," Song Heping replied.

Without lifting his gaze from the docunts, General Peter continued, "I heard you killed the 'Mosul Reaper' with a Desheka Heavy Machine Gun shot from sixteen hundred ters away?"

Song Heping answered, "It was Chris from the Seal Team snipers who did it."

"Chris's report doesn't say that," General Peter stated.

Song Heping was slightly taken aback.

General Peter added, "It clearly states that it was you who took down the sniper, not him."

Song Heping argued, "There were two bullet holes on the body; maybe one of them was Chris's."

"Both bullet holes were from the back," Peter stated.

Song Heping: "…"

He really hadn't expected Chris to be so damned honest.

He had told him not to ntion himself, but the guy still did.

Yet, it seed that the man did have a sense of military honor.

However, he didn't want to talk about this anymore, so he changed the subject, "Was that really the 'Mosul Reaper'?"

General Peter nodded slightly and continued reviewing the docunts, "Yes, we've verified the intelligence. His na was Abu, a forr mber of the Illigo National Shooting Team. After retiring, he was recruited by the Revolutionary Guard Suicide Squad to beco a sniper instructor—one of the most outstanding snipers in Illigo."

Then he paused and finally looked up at Song Heping, "Which Special Forces unit did you co from?"

"I'm guessing the CIA has checked my records, right? Don't you know, General?" Song Heping asked.

"They say you're a pig farr," Peter said.

Song Heping laughed, "That's right, I'm a pig farr, a feeder in a logistics base."

General Peter let out a light snort and said sarcastically, "In China, there's an old saying, 'Don't speak falsely in the presence of a real person.'"

Song Heping muttered to himself, this guy even knew that saying.

But he still wouldn't admit it, "I'm good at shooting because I t a gunsmith while raising pigs at the base. He was retired from the Special Forces due to injuries. When he had nothing to do, I would ask him to teach how to shoot. I stayed there for five years and picked up a little."

General Peter, of course, wasn't going to believe such a clumsy lie, but he also knew there was no point in asking further.

Soon, he finished reviewing his docunts.

"Report, dinner is served, General."

Right on cue, there was a knock on the door.

"Co in."

As the door opened, two orderly soldiers entered, pushing a cart laden with food.

"We'll have a simple al here tonight," General Peter said, gesturing towards the corner of his office.

His office was very large, probably a hundred square ters.

No wonder—the palace used to belong to Sadam in the capital, and naturally, was quite luxurious.

General Peter had divided it into several areas; one was his work area with his desk, computer, bookshelf, and safe.

Another was a reception area featuring a coffee table, sofa, and fridge.

There was also a corner with a dining table and a wooden cabinet, and Song Heping didn't know what was inside.

The orderly soldiers wheeled the cart next to the dining table, setting the food out one piece at a ti, stealing glances at Song Heping.

After all, it was rare to see a person from China dining with the General in this office.

"Take a seat."

General Peter sat down at the dining table and gestured to the chair beside him.

After sitting down, Song Heping got a clear view of the food on the table.

There were beefsteaks, salad, fish and chips, and to Song Heping's amazent, sothing utterly unexpected—sashimi.

And it looked like it was from bluefin tuna.

He knew this because the gourmand cook had made special orders for it in the Maldives.

In addition, there were two Big Macs.

Yes, the kind from McDonald's—you know, Big Macs.

Two Big Macs...

Big Macs?

Song Heping was a bit confused.

This al didn't quite fit into the category of western or Japanese cuisine.

Once the orderly soldiers left, General Peter rose from his seat to the cabinet, opened the door.

Song Heping now understood what the purpose of this cabinet was.

It was a liquor cabinet.

Peter pointed to the bottles inside and asked Song Heping, "Care for a drink?"

Song Heping had intended to decline, but then thought why should he? This general must have plenty of good liquor.

How could he pass up an opportunity to cut a slice from capitalist leeks?

"Which bottle is the most expensive?"

Song Heping asked with a half-joking tone.

He had thought that Peter would look down on him, thinking that he was the kind of guy who seeks petty advantages.

Unexpectedly, Peter's eyes revealed a glint of admiration.

He reached out and took out a bottle with a yellow label on which "1946" was printed in red.

"This bottle of whiskey is the most expensive,"

he said. "Most of these bottles are from Saddam's collection in the Imperial Palace."

Song Heping inquired tentatively, "How much for a bottle?"

"More than twenty thousand US dollars a bottle." Peter curled his lip, shrugged his shoulders, and said with a helplessly tone, "Most of the liquor here is from Saddam's stock in the palace, can't help it, that's the situation, so let's just make do."

Oh ho!

Song Heping thought to himself, more than twenty thousand dollars a bottle of booze, and you tell to make do?

Quite "making do," indeed. If not this, then what? Not even Gold Waer could be more expensive!

If it were military matters, nothing could shock Song Heping.

He knew it all.

But when it ca to luxury and indulgence,

Peter had completely floored Song Heping.

As a poor small-town youth, if he wasn't already worth twenty million US dollars now, learning that a 750 ml bottle of whiskey costed more than twenty thousand dollars could have scared his calves into cramps.

Just a few months ago, Song Heping couldn't afford even one such bottle.

"Haha, then let's just make do . . . "

Song Heping chuckled dryly, hiding his embarrassnt.

He decided to truly savor the drink tonight. If it sells for more than twenty thousand a bottle, by the current exchange rates, it's worth two hundred thousand RMB.

Peter skillfully tore off the bottle's tin seal and pulled out the cork, sniffing it as intensely as one would inhale cocaine. His eyes closed in delight, seemingly savoring the fragrance emitted by the mixture of aged whiskey and oak cork.

After a mont, he opened his eyes and said to Song Heping, "Not bad, Saddam stored it well."

He then took out two glasses, poured a bit of the whiskey into one, and pushed it towards Song Heping.

Afterward, he returned to his seat and poured himself a glass as well.

"Add so ice cubes." Peter dropped two cubes into his glass, then passed the tongs to Song Heping. "This drink is quite aged and strong, adding ice cubes will make it smoother on the palate."

Song Heping followed suit, adding ice to his own glass.

Peter picked up a knife, slicing through a steak, with the blood mixed with fat oozing out from within.

Obviously, this steak was cooked to dium-rare.

"Do you know what breed this is?"

Song Heping shook his head, "I don't know. I'm not knowledgeable about beef, General."

As Peter patiently cut the steak into small pieces with a knife and fork, he said, "This is Wagyu from Neon Country. Did you know they have fifteen ways of eating it? When I was stationed in Neon Country, there was a place I liked that could serve all fifteen styles in one set, allowing you to taste different types. Too bad I don't have a Neon chef here, or I would have had him make this dish for us."

"I only know they have many ways of filming action movies . . . " Song Heping said sarcastically, "It seems they apply this professional spirit to beef as well."

He thought Peter would beco angry at the mockery, but to his surprise, they both burst into laughter.

"Hahaha! Song, you're an interesting man," he laughed, holding up his fork towards Song Heping. "You're right, in Neon Country, two things are superb—one is the food, the other is the won."

Song Heping said, "Let's leave food aside, I still have a China stomach."

He instantly lost interest in the plate of Wagyu, rembering sothing Ferrari had once ntioned to him—that Wagyu exportation was limited. So, he asked, "General, I've heard that Neon Country strictly controls the export of its Wagyu. Are you sure what you're eating is Wagyu?"

Peter scoffed, "Those rules are for other people to see. We are the ones who set the rules."

Song Heping thought about it and it made sense; Neon would definitely not dare to disobey the Aricans, and it wasn't odd for Peter, who had been stationed in Neon, to get his hands on it.

He was just curious about how much money and connections one needed to put that plate of beef on the table.

"What's the matter?" Peter picked up his glass and glanced at the plate of Wagyu in front of Song Heping, saying, "You don't like beef? Then try this plate of sashimi. It's the cheek at of a bluefin tuna, very delicious. Or try that burger, with a blend of Wagyu and dium-rare tuna belly chunks. This bluefin tuna ca from Nagasaki in Neon Country, the best bluefin tuna spot in the world."

"Nagasaki?" Song Heping curiously asked, "Is that the sa Nagasaki where you guys dropped the mushroom cloud?"

Peter said, "That's right."

Song Heping asked, "Not worried about contamination?"

Peter nearly spat his whiskey back into his glass.

He picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth, saying seriously, "Song, I've actually arranged this dinner tonight to tell you, just like the food on this table, no matter how rare, it's all easy for those of us who set the rules. Do you want to join us at the table, or remain like this food – displayed for others?"

"Cough, cough—"

Song Heping coughed twice.

"General, I appreciate your hospitality, but if you have sothing to say, could you be more direct? Going around such a big circle, you just want to talk business, right? Tell , what's the deal?"

"Straightforward!" Peter's face relaxed. "I like your direct approach."

He walked over to the safe, entered the combination, took out a docunt, and then returned to the table, placing it in front of Song Heping.

"Here is a top-secret mission, I need your help to kill three people. Take a look at the dossier first, then let's talk details."

Song Heping picked up the file with a puzzled look and opened it.

The dossier contained information about the three individuals.

Song Heping's gaze slowly swept through each line in the file, as a thin layer of sweat gradually ford on his forehead.