Markuer's words almost made Song Heping and Klein burst into laughter.
In such an environnt, the complaint from this warlord who resembles a gorilla, expressed with a mix of humor and absurdity, indeed carried a codic touch.
"We have it here."
Song Heping held back his laughter, took a laptop out of the bag, and placed it on the table.
Then he skillfully connected the data cable, turned on the power, entered the system, opened the playback software, selected the file, and started playing...
When the dialogue emitted from the computer speakers, the air in the tent seed to freeze.
"...Markuer, that fool, has no idea of the real value of the gold mine, he doesn't deserve to own it..."
Hakim's voice was clearly distinguishable in the recording.
"...Once the arms you've sent are in hand, I'll be the first to eliminate him. By then, I'll give you half the shares of his gold mine. I know you really need these now..."
"His strength isn't weak, how can I be sure you'll handle him?"
A hoarse voice from another man ca out in the recording.
"Him? He was just a company commander in the governnt army before. His troops were stationed near Kibian Village before the war chaos, and when the southern rebels attacked, they fled to Northern Darfur like panicked wild antelopes..."
"...Later, when the North-South war was at a stalemate, there was a power vacuum here. He took the opportunity to kill the Nigerians originally mining gold there, took over the place, and stumbled upon a gold mine for free. Dealing with him, as long as I have enough weapons, is easier than crushing a fly in the toilet... Hahaha!"
Hakim's unrestrained laughter filled the tent.
Markuer's face grew increasingly grim.
The recording continued, detailing Hakim and the mysterious man's plan to lure Markuer with a fake arms trade.
The recording ended, and the tent was deathly silent.
Markuer's fingers clenched around his gun.
"This is impossible..."
Markuer muttered, but the anger in his eyes was already ablaze.
Song Heping took out several photos — clear images of Hakim and the mysterious man toasting drinks inside a checkpoint, with one photo deliberately capturing a military map spread out on the table, marking several of Markuer's stronghold locations.
"Why are you helping ?"
Markuer posed the soul-searching question.
Of course, there is no love without reason in the world, nor is there hate without cause.
His understanding of the two people before him was limited to so simple identity background information.
For instance, the one-eyed man in the Arabic robe in front of him is a famous arms dealer and intelligence broker in Africa, codenad "Shepherd."
And the person beside him is a bodyguard from the EO Company.
It's said these two currently work for the CIA.
These two had no obligation to help him.
As for benefits.
There seem to be none...
This naturally aroused his suspicion.
"It's a long story. Indeed, we have no dealings in the past, not even once, but..."
Klein's voice slithered into Markuer's ears like a poison snake.
"You should know we're working for the CIA, and do you know who the man in the recording, the one talking to Klein, is?"
Markuer's gaze fell on those photographs.
Unfortunately.
Hakim was clearly visible, but the man sitting across from him was wearing an Arabic robe with his face masked, making him unidentifiable.
"Do I know him?" Markuer asked.
Klein said, "He is, in fact, the leader of the ard forces that have recently entered your Northern Darfur. He's a Chinese nad Song."
"Song?"
Panic flashed through Markuer's eyes.
He had heard of this person.
Rumor has it, he's formidable and his equipnt is excessively lavish; he previously shot down the Aricans' drone, which caused quite a stir.
An ard organization capable of shooting down Arican drones had never existed before Song Heping entered Northern Darfur.
"That's right, his original na is Song Heping; he's the boss of a defense company. He used to cooperate with our CIA but turned against us, and now we're hunting him down. He's fled here, so now you understand why we're extending a helping hand to you, right?"
Klein, seemingly nonchalant, answered the doubt in Markuer's mind.
"I've no grievance with him, why would he team up with Hakim to deal with ?! Besides, Hakim and I had an agreent before; he minds his business, I mind mine, and there's no interference between us!"
"It seems your gentleman's agreent has expired." Klein shrugged and laughed, his tone full of sarcasm.
Markuer abruptly stood up, knocking over the chair.
"That ungrateful bastard! I saved his life before!"
Song Heping remained silent, quietly watching this enraged warlord, allowing the anger to fernt within Markuer's heart.
This is the art of manipulating the human heart — providing enough information, then letting the target co to the "right" conclusion on their own.
"At dawn, five days later..."
Markuer suddenly cald down, his eyes flickering with dangerous light.
"Where will Hakim's expected arms be delivered to?"
Klein pretended to hesitate: "This... we haven't reached an agreent until now, and for the mont, we're not allies."
"Now we are!"
The veins in Markuer's temples were pulsing.
"As long as you help through this, once I've taken down Hakim, I'll consolidate his troops and then help you eliminate Song Heping!"
The ti has co for Klein to perform.
"I'm glad you made the right choice, Mr. Markuer."
Klein stood up and extended his hand.
"Now that we are allies, I will support you in eliminating Hakeem and Song Heping. You will also receive my arms support, which will arrive here in three days, enough to equip two battalions. Additionally, I will provide the location and ti of their arms deal, and how to handle it will be up to your skills, brother."
As they left the camp, dawn was already breaking in the east.
The jeep was on its way back, and Song Heping finally allowed himself to show a hint of fatigue.
After more than twenty hours of non-stop operations, even he felt the strain.
"Now let's just wait for the two poison snakes to tear each other apart," Klein remarked.
Song Heping rubbed his eyes and then closed them to rest: "In five days, Darfur will have two fewer scourges."
After a pause, he added, "But there's still a scourge in Chad, I need to go there personally."
Klein was taken aback: "You an Pence?"
"As long as Duke Hua lives, Lu won't have peace," Song Heping said quietly, "I'll rest for a bit, then head to Chad imdiately. A gentleman takes revenge without waiting ten years."
A day later, at the Chad border.
The scorching sun baked the wilderness, the jeep's air conditioning was on full blast, yet the interior remained unbearably hot.
Song Heping checked the GPS, with 200 kiloters remaining to reach N'Djana.
He chose a little-known smuggling route to cross the border, avoiding major checkpoints.
The purpose was to avoid detection while crossing, as no one knew how deeply Pence's intelligence network penetrated on this side.
Better safe than sorry.
"Ard patrol 500 ters ahead."
Jiang Feng suddenly warned, as six heat sources appeared on his drone control screen, approaching them.
Song Heping imdiately ordered a turn, but it was too late—two ard pickups had already rushed out from behind the dunes, their roof-mounted heavy machine guns aid at them.
"Don't use weapons," Song Heping ordered softly, "Execute Plan C."
The pickups approached, seven or eight ard n in mixed military uniforms jumped off, pointing their guns at the jeep.
A burly man in a red beret shouted in Arabic for them to get out of the car.
Song Heping slowly raised his hands and shouted in the local dialect, "We are Doctors Without Borders! There are dical supplies in the car!"
This identity was their carefully prepared second layer of disguise—the jeep's trunk was indeed filled with dications and basic dical equipnt, enough to pass a general inspection.
"Docunts!" the red beret rudely commanded.
Song Heping handed over the forged IDs and transit docunts, while quietly observing the ard personnel.
They were well equipped, but not governnt army—possibly private soldiers of a tribal ard group or smuggling syndicate.
As the red beret flipped through the docunts, he suddenly sneered, "French doctors? Let's hear so French."
Song Heping fluently recited a passage of dical jargon in French.
French was not unfamiliar to him.
The company had many talents like Ferrari proficient in multiple languages.
Not to ntion Jiang Feng, who could also speak fluent French, having lived outside the law before.
The red beret still seed unsatisfied, signaling his n to search the vehicle.
Song Heping's heartbeat slightly accelerated—their weapons were hidden in a specially designed compartnt, difficult to discover in a regular search, but not foolproof.
Just as the tension reached its peak, Song Heping suddenly took out a wad of US Dollars from his pocket. "We are rushing to report in N'Djana... maybe this can compensate for your ti?"
The power of money quickly beca evident.
The red beret's expression softened, he took the cash, counted it swiftly, and pocketed it.
"Go ahead. But don't take the northern route, the governnt army has set up checkpoints there."
As the jeep returned to the road, all three breathed a sigh of relief.
Jiang Feng wiped the sweat from his forehead: "That was damn close. The guy almost started dismantling the car for inspection."
Song Heping looked ahead, contemplating the distant scenery and murmured, "That's how it is at the African borderlands. Money and lies work better than bullets."
White Bear suddenly asked, "Any latest news on Pence?"
Song Heping nodded: "Information from Weber. Pence is staying in the presidential suite of the N'Djana Hotel, and goes to the gym on the hotel's top floor promptly at 3 PM every day. He usually has two bodyguards with him, with more in the shadows, providing high-level security."
"The gym..." White Bear pondered, "A confined space, limited exits, but also the most secure area."
"We need more detailed floor plans," Jiang Feng said, "and an escape route."
Song Heping had already considered these.
"MI6 has arranged an informant over there—a hotel staffer is their person. They'll provide all the information we need."
The jeep continued to drive across the wasteland, kicking up a long trail of dust.
Song Heping's mind had already drifted to N'Djana.
It's a city unfamiliar to him.
Pence must die, it's not just revenge but survival—as long as the forr CIA deputy director lives, he can never be truly safe.
"We'll operate separately after reaching N'Djana," Song Heping instructed, "White Bear will be responsible for assembling weapons and gear, Jiang Feng will scout the hotel surroundings. I'll et with the informant."
The two nodded in acknowledgnt.
The atmosphere in the car beca tense.
They all knew, assassinating Pence was far more dangerous than provoking two warlords to kill each other.
The security asures around a forr CIA deputy director were no trivial matter, and failure would provoke the entire US intelligence system's reprisals.
But Song Heping had no choice.
Just as he told Klein—there's no choice.
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