Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 877 - 815 Conspiracy

Simon put down the phone and sat dazed in the office for a long ti.

He suddenly felt the terrifying presence of Song Heping.

When facing this person, he felt as if his throat was being choked, yet he was powerless to resist.

Even though he knew well that this person would surely be a major threat in the future.

But that was for the interests of the United States.

For himself...

Perhaps not...

Just like now.

A dream of many years, no, a fantasy—several months ago, Simon had completely lost his illusion about the position of the Deputy Director of the CIA.

Now, it's like a fantasy co true, right in front of him.

The cherry wood desk and that lambskin upholstered chair in Langley Pence's office seed within reach, perhaps he could really sit there, behind thick bullet-proof glass, enjoying the delightful view along the Potomac River...

"Let's do it!"

He gritted his teeth, secretly deciding to cooperate with Song Heping.

After all, the policy of the United States is changeable.

Each president brings a different style.

Two years ago, Song Heping was still a friend of Aricans, a hot contractor for the military, a black glove for the CIA in South Arica.

Now, two years later, he is an enemy, a KB faction leader, a high-reward target ranked second on the assassination list.

But.

Who can guarantee that in a year or two, he won't miraculously transform and beco a guest of honor for the United States, a "Friend" in the mouths of those politicians?

The next day, in the presidential suite of the Kempinski Hotel in N'Djana, the capital of Chad.

Heavy curtains blocked out the scorching sun of the Sahara, with the air conditioning humming softly.

Forr CIA Deputy Director Pence stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, holding a glass of whiskey with ice, gently swirling it clockwise, the sound of ice clinking particularly crisp in the quiet room.

Even though the air conditioning was set to 18 degrees, Pence still felt sowhat uneasy.

"This kid is more dangerous than imagined..."

He murmured to his reflection in the glass, while continuously sorting out the detailed contents of the plan in his mind.

In the shadows of the room's corner, a man wrapped in traditional Arabic robes slowly lifted his head.

The intersecting scars on his face appeared particularly grotesque under the dim light, and the cloudy cataract in his left eye indicated that it had been blind for many years.

"Shepherd"—that's his code na in the intelligence world.

No one knew his real na, but everyone knew that he was the most dangerous arms dealer and intelligence broker in Central Africa; for the past few years, he had been working for the "Elder Council," doing so shady business.

"Song Heping is not an ordinary rcenary."

"Shepherd's" voice was like sandpaper scraping.

"He worked in South Arica for your CIA for more than a year doing dirty work, knowing all your operational patterns."

Pence turned around, a trace of annoyance flickering in his eyes: "That's why the agency decided to eliminate this trouble completely, but we didn't expect him to be guarding against us already."

"Shepherd" let out a low chuckle: "I don't know if you have investigated all of his combat cases over the years. I have, and every ti he won with fewer forces without a miss. Honestly, I've never seen such a formidable character."

Pence said, "That's why I need your help. Now I've figured it out. They Chinese people are ticulous in strategy, and so can I. Now as long as you step in to coordinate Hakeem and Markuer's factions, they will definitely agree to join forces against Song Heping. By then we won't have to lift a finger. Even if these two ard organizations can't kill him, they can severely injure him, and when the ti cos, we can finish off this annoying guy."

Saying this, he couldn't help but snap his fingers.

"Hakeem and Markuer don't know at all, the ard organizations in Northern Darfur only listen to guns and weapons. With enough guns and weapons, they can follow your command like a dog."

"Shepherd" grinned, revealing several gold teeth: "Just like those 'professionals' you hired."

Just as the words fell, the suite's doorbell rang.

Pence pressed the intercom on the desk: "Co in."

The door opened, and a white man nearly two ters tall strode in.

His hair was shaven almost bald, a part of his right ear was missing, and the muscles under his camouflage outfit were bulging tight.

The most striking was the tattoo on his left arm—the logo of the EO company, with the small print "Executive Outcos" below it.

"Captain Brody, you are on ti."

Pence glanced at his watch, a smile appearing on his face.

Brody didn't respond to the greeting; his gaze was fixed directly on "Shepherd," his right hand instinctively moving close to the gun at his waist.

"Relax, Captain."

"Shepherd" raised his hands, making a harmless gesture.

"We're all in the sa boat."

Pence walked between the two: "Brody is the most elite assault team commander of EO company, executing 17 high-risk missions in Congo and South Sudan over the past five years."

"I've heard of you." "Shepherd" nodded, "Last year in the Niger Delta, your team wiped out the entire guard of 'Blood Lion' Makulu."

Only then did Brody relax a little: "That was an easy job. Unlike this ti..."

He turned to Pence, "Are you sure the target is Song Heping? That high-profile Chinese rcenary leader?"

"That's right, it's him. But let remind you...he's not an ordinary rcenary leader, his net worth is conservatively estimated to be over eight billion US Dollars, you can think of him as a very wealthy rcenary leader."

Pence took out a stack of photos from his briefcase and spread them on the coffee table.

In the photos, an Asian man is training soldiers in the desert, his bronze skin and sunglasses conceal his eyes, yet even so, a strong sense of nace emanates from the photos—a palpable pressure.

"Song Heping, forr mber of China's Special Forces, later beca an international rcenary. He has worked for the CIA and the US military, was once a partner of ISA, is proficient in four languages, specializes in sniping, demolition, and hand-to-hand combat, particularly adept in military command and tactical application, cunning and treacherous..."

At this point, Pence's voice turned icy, with a faint ache in his jaw.

Brody picked up a photo for a closer look.

A fellow can see the essence.

With just a glance, Brody's expression beca serious.

"This guy looks like trouble."

"That's why we're willing to pay a high price."

Pence opened the safe and took out a Swiss Bank draft.

"Five million US Dollars, half in advance. The remaining balance will be paid after the mission is accomplished."

"Five million US Dollars?"

Brody stared at the check, his Adam's apple moving up and down.

This figure matched his team's total inco for an entire year.

"Shepherd" suddenly stood up and walked over to Brody, "Scared?"

A defiant gleam sparkled in his solitary eye.

Brody sneered, "I only fear the money isn't enough. The question is, why do you need us? You CIA have your own action teams."

Pence and "Shepherd" exchanged a glance.

"Official denial," Pence found an excuse, "This operation has no governnt backing. If it fails or gets exposed by the dia, the White House will claim it was unauthorized action by a private military company."

"Standard operating procedure."

Brody said mockingly, yet his hand was already reaching for the check.

"Action plan?"

"Tomorrow, you'll accompany to Northern Darfur, to liaise with two local ard factions, use money to persuade them to cooperate with our operation, your task is to ensure my safety."

"Shepherd" took out a satellite map and spread it out.

"In seven days, weapons will be delivered to Northern Darfur to these two ard organizations; in nine days, the forces of these two organizations will attack the Atlon Oasis from both the east and west—it's Song's stronghold."

"Direct confrontation?" Brody frowned.

"Consider it a direct attack, but it's only a feint."

"Shepherd's" finger traced a route on the map.

"Based on my research on him, following Song's usual command habits, when faced with an enemy with superior forces, he will choose to retreat from the southern canyon. The terrain there is complex, suitable for small teams to conduct guerrilla warfare; he has often used this tactic to deal with enemies with superior forces."

"The main act is you," Pence continued, "Your team will be ambushed near the canyon entrance, waiting for them to enter the ambush circle..."

He made a throat-slitting gesture.

Brody examined the map, "The canyon spans over three kiloters, how can you be sure of its specific route?"

"Shepherd" revealed a mysterious smile, "Song Heping has a habit—always choosing the most dangerous route. He assus the enemy will avoid such places."

He pointed to a narrow pass on the map.

"Here, 'Scorpion's Tail,' flanked by twenty-ter-high cliffs, with a passage only three ters wide."

"Perfect killing ground," Brody muttered, quickly adding, "My team only consists of 13 people, what makes you think I can capture Song Heping through an ambush?"

"Song Heping's main force will certainly be at the rear, adopting phased withdrawal and mutual cover tactics. Currently, Atlon Oasis has about 200 rcenaries at most, so when Song Heping retreats, there won't be too many people around him; otherwise, it would be impossible to withstand the thousand-man attack from two ard organizations."

"Shepherd" clearly did his howork, patting Brody's shoulder.

"Besides, don't you have that Somali sniper? Word says he can hit a fly's testicles from 800 ters away."

Brody finally smiled, "Kadir truly is a genius. But he asks for a high price."

"Add another fifty thousand," Pence said without hesitation, "Rember, as long as you can take down Song Heping, your mission is considered complete! My money will be fully paid!"

The room fell into a brief silence, only the hum of the air conditioner filled the air.

The three looked at each other, although each had their own thoughts, their goal was now aligned.

"Deal," Brody folded the bank draft and tucked it into his chest pocket, "But I have a condition—the operation is entirely autonomous. No remote command accepted."

Pence nodded, "As long as the outco is satisfactory."

"Shepherd" stood, the hem of his robe brushing past the coffee table, "Well, gentlen, happy hunting."

His golden tooth shimred in the light.

"Rember, Song Heping is not ordinary prey. He's a wounded beast, the most dangerous kind."

Brody sneered, "Even the fiercest beast can't escape a carefully designed trap; don't worry, in Africa, apart from Satan's A Team, no one dares claim they're more professional than us."

When Pence heard "Satan's" regint na, he froze montarily, his hand paused slightly in lifting his cup.

A slight ominous foreboding swept over him like a thick cloud.