Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 836 - 775: Surrender Without a Fight

April in Morocco is already slightly warm.

But the small town of Asilah, being near the coast, is cooled by the sea breeze, making the climate very pleasant here.

Amanda's lace nightgown floated down from the second-floor balcony, conveniently covering the lens of the MI6 surveillance team on stakeout. The technician in the surveillance van stared at the two tangled orange figures on the thermal imaging device, while the captain's suppressed laughter ca through the earpiece: "Our forr colleague seems quite vigorous."

The diterranean wind swept over the blue and white houses, intermingled with the saltiness, as Amanda Leclair's lace curtains gently swayed in the twilight.

Inside the second-floor bedroom, Henry Wilson, a forr top analyst in British intelligence and now head of the "Musician" Defense Intelligence Departnt, was using his teeth to open a bottle of 2012 Bordeaux red wine.

"Darling, how long can you stay this ti?" Amanda's fingers traced Henry's chest scars, her French accent like poison mixed with honey.

This mixed-race girl he t at the Casablanca casino had the most dangerous figure in the intelligence world—a 0.7 waist-to-hip ratio paired with a 102 cm bust, enough to lt anyone's guard.

Henry glanced at the satellite positioning on his watch; Song Heping should have crossed the Ethiopia border by now.

"Three days."

His Adam's apple remained motionless as he lied, a basic skillfully honed in the MI6 anti-interrogation course.

In reality, he had booked a flight back to Ethiopia for six o'clock the next morning.

Three hundred ters away, in a van with a "Fishing Company" logo, MI6 operations team leader Coleman was adjusting the focus on the thermal imaging device.

The orange figures on the screen were overlapping in a 69 position, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust: "The target is in position, all teams report status."

"Alpha team in position, north alley cleared."

"Bravo team controls the high ground, good visibility."

"Charlie team seals off the coastline, no abnormalities found."

The earphones filled with confirmations one after another.

Coleman glanced at the tactical tablet; the 3D model of Amanda's apartnt was rotating, with every fire point marked in red.

He recalled Lady M's warning before his departure: "Henry is an old fox, trained in the 'Aurora' program, don't give him 0.5 seconds to react."

"All units, ready—"

He checked his watch.

"Act on my command."

"Understood!"

"Understood!"

"Understood!"

Each unit already in the assault position responded.

At 00:17, Henry suddenly woke up from the embrace of his mistress.

His pupils contracted rapidly in the dark—the sound of waves was mixed with a tallic friction noise, like the stock of an HK416 rifle being adjusted.

"What's wrong?" Amanda asked drowsily.

Henry didn't answer; the mont he stepped barefoot onto the Persian carpet, a slight tremor ca from under his feet.

The neon sign of the café downstairs shouldn't have been powered off at this hour.

He darted towards the nightstand swiftly as lightning, but before he could reach the Glock 19 hidden behind the vase, the floor-to-ceiling window shattered into countless shards.

"Flashbang!"

The exclamation was barely out of his mouth when the million-candela flash of the shock bomb engulfed the bedroom.

Amanda's scream was torn to shreds by the overpressure sound wave, and Henry, blinded, rolled towards the bathroom by muscle mory, only to crash into a human wall—a British emblem on a riot shield glinted under the night vision goggles.

A group of operatives in black combat uniforms burst into the room from the door and windows in different directions.

Glass shattered everywhere, the wooden door bursting open as if it were paper.

The shock bomb and flashbang still lingered, and before Henry could react, he was surrounded by wolfish operatives.

Two hefty n pinned him down like a lamb, hands instantly pinned behind his back, the Glock 19 in his grip seized like a useless toy.

"Long ti no see, 'Albatross'."

The voice behind the riot mask froze Henry's blood; it was his codena during training in Belfast.

"You are..."

Henry's face turned pale.

He realized who these people were.

Before he could finish speaking, a needle jabbed into his neck, and his last conscious mory was the crunch of a tactical boot crushing a wine bottle.

An hour later.

The white LED light in the interrogation room was like a shadowless lamp on an operating table.

Henry was tied to a specially designed chair, the nylon straps on his wrists automatically tightening by 1 milliter every ten minutes.

Coleman tapped a seized satellite phone with a pen, and the screen suddenly lit up with an encrypted ssage: [Cargo has arrived at B3 zone].

"Tell about Song Heping's Somalia itinerary."

Coleman poured chilled mineral water over Henry's head.

"Especially his 'private eting' schedule and plans with Abdul, and his next steps."

Henry spat out a mouthful of blood: "You've got the wrong man, I'm just a salaried clerk."

Coleman nodded towards the technician in the corner, and the projector imdiately displayed photos on the wall—on the execution ground in South Sudan, the Damal warlord knelt in a pool of blood, Song Heping's back to the cara, middle finger raised.

The next was a Dark Web screenshot, with clicks surpassing 470,000.

"Clerk?" He sneered, "What clerk helps a madman build a global intelligence network?" Suddenly tugging on Henry's hair.

"Do you know how much the CIA and Mossad offer for his head?"

"Of course I do."

Henry replied indifferently: "Do you think I would betray him for a reward?"

Coleman sneered: "We've all been colleagues before, Henry. You should know our thods. Taking money is an option, maybe the best option. If you don't choose this path, we have many other ways to make you more uncomfortable."

"You've underestimated ." Henry grinned.

Coleman pointed at the ssage on the satellite phone: "We've cracked your satellite phone and got the information inside. I'm interested in what this ssage specifically ans, can you explain?"

"Ah..."

Henry glanced at his satellite phone and began rambling: "That's an order for a rubber doll; you know my... I've been quite bored in Ethiopia recently, and since I don't know when Song Heping will give orders, I ordered a doll to comfort myself."

Coleman watched Henry's performance coldly.

Of course, he wasn't foolish enough to believe it was true.

Henry had sothing in his mind, just not speaking.

"Henry, my ti is precious. Once again, tell the real content of this ssage. What is the cargo, where is it being delivered? If you tell , perhaps for old tis' sake, I can give you a way out, arrange for you to join the protection program, and live a normal life..."

"Wait."

Henry interrupted Coleman.

"Captain, how many tis have you used this line? Are you sure everyone who cooperates with you lives a normal life? Rember Ali? You told him the sa thing. Hahaha!"

Henry laughed, Coleman's face darkening with the laughter.

After more than ten seconds, he turned to the agent beside him: "Take good care of our genius analyst."

"No problem, leave it to us."

Two agents stepped forward, cut off the restraints on Henry's hands, lifted him from the sides, and dragged him into the inner room.

"Coleman, you only have a few tricks up your sleeve! Screw your whole family!"

Henry's curses echoed in the basent; Coleman's gaze grew darker as he lit a cigarette, exhaled a smoke ring, and checked his watch.

He made a bet with himself.

How long this guy could hold out.

1 hour?

2 hours?

Or 3 hours?