Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 746 - 686 Awkward Question

The matter seed to have passed just like that.

The prominent figures attending the eting no longer pressed for details.

To be honest, everyone understood what was happening—it was surely another secret operation by the CIA that went awry, leaving bodies behind on foreign soil.

But this ti, their assumption wasn't entirely correct.

The photos included images of deceased mbers of the "Watcher" squad, but what really alard Pence were the photos of dead "Satan" organization black-clad operatives.

Failed CIA operations were hardly new, nor was leaving bodies in foreign nations and getting exposed.

In the past, if it was the handiwork of another country's intelligence agency, it could be quietly resolved through special channels to retrieve the remains.

Even when encountering ard organizations and getting their operatives killed, it was often possible to negotiate for their return.

This ti, however, things were different.

Song Heping wasn't the leader of an ard organization.

He wasn't short on money.

Negotiating with money wouldn't work.

What he wanted was for the CIA to compromise.

And compromise was extrely difficult for Pence.

Because Mr. Campbell was watching him closely.

The "Elder Council," fueled by the Curtis family issue, wanted Song Heping dead—it sparked this conflagration.

And now the blaze was already raging; putting it out or retreating was virtually impossible.

Either Song Heping dies, or Pence himself falls.

There was no middle ground.

After leaving Mr. Hudson's office, Pence finally let out a sigh of relief.

At least now, Mr. Hudson's side had been temporarily appeased.

Even soone like Mr. Hudson had to respect the "Elder Council."

After all, they represented the conservative forces of the United States' tradition. Their influence had long infiltrated politics, economics, business, and military. Even the White House's occupant had to show deference to these old family alliances.

Killing a PMC boss?

Then kill him.

In the eyes of the old tycoons, he was no more than an ant.

After Pence left, Hudson sat alone in his office for a long ti.

As a security advisor, he was a trusted aide to the president, able to influence decisions to a certain degree.

Of course, he had no choice but to give due respect to the "Elder Council," but sotis their unbridled arrogance crossed the line.

Recruiting special soldiers privately, and using their people embedded in the CIA to classify them as a Level 5 secret? It was sheer lunacy.

Most of the ti, this country was too large for Hudson to know everything; even the president couldn't possibly be aware of everything.

Still, he warned Pence to clean up this pile of ss quickly and avoid further complications.

If a major problem occurred, soone would have to take responsibility.

Who would take the fall?

The president?

Or himself as the security advisor?

Absolutely not!

It's simple: Whoever created the trouble should clean it up.

If the situation truly escalated, Pence would be returning to his farm to shovel cow dung!

"SIR, the press conference is about to begin."

The secretary entered, softly knocking on the door, waking Hudson from his deep thoughts.

"Oh!"

Hudson straightened in his chair, his eyes falling on his wristwatch.

"Alright, I'm coming. Lucy, can you check if my tie is straight?"

Hudson stood up, and the secretary walked over.

While fixing Hudson's tie, the secretary thoughtfully reminded him, "There will be a Q&A session after the press conference. You should be careful—Feier will be there."

"Feier?"

Hudson froze for a mont, his face overtaken by a look of disdain.

"That guy really irritates everyone..."

"Yes, none of the departnts' press conferences like having him around."

"No worries. Recently, our progress in Illiguo has been very effective, including so reconstruction projects in Baghdad and expectations for Illiguo's future. The attack counts are down by 16%. Hmm... Let think…"

He furrowed his brows, pondering for a mont before continuing, "Hmph, I doubt he'll manage to co up with any troubling questions for ."

The secretary said, "Still, it's better to be cautious. This guy has very reliable sources of information and sohow always manages to dig up inside scoops. I suggest we refuse him entrance next ti altogether."

"Turning him away now and then is acceptable, but we need a solid reason. This sort of person is hard to handle. Denying him entry to press conferences long-term, without justification, would likely rile him into making a big deal out of it. That would only put us in a more passive position. He might even relish the opportunity to raise a fuss."

Soon, both his tie and clothing were tidied.

Hudson walked to the mirror, admiring himself from multiple angles.

Then he combed his hair ticulously, ensuring not even an ant could stand upon it, before finally smiling with satisfaction and leaving for the press conference venue.

As a national security advisor, personal attendance at a press conference was rare; typically, this kind of task fell to the spokesperson.

But today was different.

Recently, the situation in Illiguo had seen improvents. Consolidated data showed progress—the conditions from Baghdad to Basra were improving, apart from so fierce conflict among Civilian Militias in Illiguo's northwest regions.

It was a noteworthy achievent.

As the president's security advisor, Hudson couldn't miss this chance for exposure.

After all, in the United States, being a politician required showmanship—the so-called "performative politician." Since it's election-based, visibility was key; you need to be recognized in order to stand out.

So today, Hudson invited journalists from major news networks, newspapers, and online dia outlets. He even extended an invite to Feier, whom he usually disliked, granting him a press pass proactively.

As Hudson expected.

His performance during the press conference was outstanding.

Even Hudson himself wanted to give himself a thumbs-up.

The two-thousand-word statent was delivered confidently and passionately, infused with occasional humor that drew uproarious laughter.

The press conference reached an enthusiastic peak.

Then ca the Q&A session—the main event.

Hudson was initially worried that Feier might stir up trouble.

But throughout, Feier kept his head down, scribbling notes on his laptop, seemingly indifferent to the whole event.

The ten-minute Q&A session felt brief.

Hudson stole a glance at his watch; ti zipped by quickly.

Two minutes remained.

After responding to a question from FOX News, Hudson picked up a bottle of water, pretending to need a sip, while discreetly shifting his gaze toward Feier.

At that mont, his assistant invited the next person to ask a question.

Feier, who had been silent, raised his hand.

"I have a question to ask."

Before anyone else could react, Feier was already on his feet, snatching the microphone from the journalist beside him mid-question.

"Cough, cough—"

Hudson nearly choked on his water.

The thing you fear always cos true.

It was almost over, and now this troublemaker couldn't resist making a move.

Inwardly, Hudson cursed, but outwardly, he maintained his polite smile.

"Feier is an old friend. Alright, go ahead with your question."

He began screwing the cap back onto the bottle.

Feier suddenly pulled out a stack of photos—color ones—and held them high as he spoke loudly: "According to reports from the Siria side, a fierce battle occurred late night in Gelashuk Town near their eastern border. Many corpses were left behind on site. Testing revealed that they were forr US Army Special Soldiers. Advisor, are we conducting secret operations in Siria? What kind of operation is it?"

Hudson's hand trembled slightly, almost losing grip on the water bottle.