Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1010 Technical Difficulty

Late at night, at berth X17 in Alexandria.

Far from the brightly lit main port area, only a few dim, yellowish tall mast lights cast a pale glow here.

The rusty, paint-peeled ship, resembling a skin disease, slowly approached the shore like a ghost.

The waves crashed against its decaying hull, creating hollow echoes.

Several blurry figures moved quickly across the berth, connected by thick cables.

No customs officials boarded the ship for a thorough inspection; only a few uniformed men watched silently from the shadows in the distance, ignoring the various "mining crusher components" unloaded from the ship, which were wrapped tightly in tarpaulins.

Occasionally, a flashlight beam would flash by, but it felt more like a perfunctory gesture.

On the port's official electronic records, an inconspicuous line of information was entered:

Vessel Name: MV Seagull
Berth: X17
Goods Description: Heavy Mining Crusher Components & Auxiliary Facilities
Status: Loading (Night Operation Permit Valid - Port Authority Special Approval/Customs Expedited Inspection Completed)
In the shadow of the port control tower, Toby Papadopoulos lit a cigar, its red glow flickering in the darkness.

He watched as the massive crane hoisted the heavy "components" into the Seagull's black-hollow cargo hold with a dull thud.

The surging undercurrent of bundles of US dollars has silently completed its mission, precisely lubricating Egypt's massive and decaying machine, allowing this floating scrap metal to carry its unspeakable secrets as it is about to sink once again into the deep night and the sea.

He exhaled a smoke ring and nodded slightly in a certain direction in the darkness.

In the distance, the silhouette of a naval patrol boat slowly turned and headed toward the "exercise area" designated by Colonel Rashid, leaving berth X17 completely silent and secret.

The sophisticated criminal machine operates at full speed, almost silently, driven by both money and connections.

MI6 headquarters on the banks of the Thames.

The huge screen on the wall is divided into countless images: satellite cloud images, encrypted communication streams, and hotspot markers around the world.

On one of the screens, a blurry infrared image of the rusty "Seagull" at berth X17 in Alexandria is frozen, next to a tiny dot of light from Toby Papadopoulos' cigar butt.

Ms. M herself stood before the command platform like a statue forged from will and steel.

Time has etched its mark on her face, but it has not dulled the hawk-like sharpness in her eyes.

She wore a well-tailored but unadorned dark suit, impeccably dressed.

The "ghost unloading" report from Alexandria had just been flagged in red on the internal system, and the official record about "heavy mining crusher components" seemed to her no different from the arrogant signature of a criminal.

Smuggling is certain, but what exactly is it?
Where does it flow to?

Who is the target?

Questions coiled around me like venomous snakes.

“Papadopoulos… Rashid…”

She murmured the two names softly, her voice devoid of warmth, only possessing a metallic quality.

"Money is a festering sore, power is a maggot."

The analysts behind her held their breath, and unconsciously lowered the volume of their keyboards.

Just then, a hurried but restrained footstep broke the silence.

Her chief intelligence officer strode over, holding a thin, edge-encrypted folder.

His expression was more serious than usual.

"lady."

The subordinate's voice was low, but every word was clear and forceful: "North Darfur, our 'Sand Eye' (satellite reconnaissance code name) has detected unusual activity in the area controlled by Song Heping. In the past 72 hours, twelve military trucks have secretly left his base in batches, with their destination clearly pointed to Khartoum."

Ms. M's gaze instantly shifted from the Alexandria screen, like a sniper locking onto a new target: "Details. What is Song Heping up to now?"

"The convoy consisted of twelve military trucks, without specific number markings. The departure times were spread out in three different time slots, perfectly avoiding the usual aerial reconnaissance windows. The route was chosen to follow the secondary roads and desert trails between Darfur and Khartoum, avoiding all major checkpoint areas."

The intelligence analyst pointed to another screen, which displayed a satellite map of Khartoum. A red dot flashed briefly on the edge of an industrial area on the northeastern outskirts of the city before disappearing.

"Satellite thermal imaging showed that the carriage was fully loaded and covered with a thick tarpaulin, making it impossible to identify the specific contents."

The final confirmed location was here; after entering this industrial 'blind spot,' all traces were lost. The time was… 9 hours ago.

Nine hours? In Khartoum?

Ms. M tapped her fingertips lightly on the cold metal control panel, the rhythm resembling the second hand of a countdown.

"Twelve fully loaded military trucks, instead of heading to the border for guard duty, sneaked into the core area of ​​the capital and then evaporated like water vapor?"

A cold glint flashed in her eyes.

"This is definitely not a routine supply transport. Song Heping, any unusual behavior from him deserves the highest level of vigilance. The 'ghost ship' in Alexandria, the 'ghost convoy' in North Darfur... the timing is so close, is it just a coincidence?"

The intelligence officer nodded: "The analysis team's initial assessment is that there is a temporal correlation between the two events, which warrants further investigation. Although the contents of the truck cannot be confirmed, considering Song Heping's background and activities, it cannot be ruled out that the truck was carrying high-value, sensitive items whose destination and purpose may pose a potential threat to regional security. We need to know what he's up to in Khartoum."

“Start up our ‘mole’ in Khartoum immediately.”

Ms. M's order was decisive and without the slightest hesitation. "Top priority instruction: at all costs, find out what those twelve missing military trucks were carrying, and the true intentions behind Song Heping's secret operation. I need to know what's hidden in those trucks and what tricks Song Heping is playing within 12 hours!"

The intelligence officer immediately recorded and sent the command. The encrypted signal instantly pierced through thousands of miles of space, flying towards the dust-swept African capital. "The Mole" was their deepest and most secretive pawn planted among the high-ranking military and police in Khartoum, priceless and never to be awakened unless absolutely necessary. At this moment, in order to uncover Song Heping's secret, Ms. M did not hesitate to reveal this trump card.

"We're simultaneously intensifying our intelligence gathering on the 'Seagull' in Alexandria and its shipping lanes," Ms. M added, her gaze shifting between satellite images of the "Seagull" and Khartoum. "We're keeping a close eye on both of these lines."

The atmosphere in the command center instantly tensed up, with keyboards clattering rapidly and indicator lights on the encrypted communication channels flashing wildly.

A few hours later.

The sandstorms from North Africa have also blown into the "Musician" defense base in North Darfur.

In a room with the curtains drawn, Song Heping had just finished a satellite phone call that had left him with a furrowed brow.

Before him lay the projected flight path of the "Seagull" and a map of the corridor that the Hoopoe Air Force might attack, the ash from his cigarette falling silently into the blue Mediterranean Sea.

The call was from Vasily in Alexandria, and it brought no good news.

"Boss, all the cargo has been loaded. The 'Seagull' is a mobile arsenal."

Vasily's voice, even through the encrypted line, still carried the heavy weight of a Russian accent.

"However, the problem was serious. We did some initial assembly and testing on deck, and the result... was terrible!"

"Get to the point, Vasily!" Song Heping's heart sank.

"Radar! The marine environment is a nightmare for the SAM-6's 'advection' radar!"

Vasily's tone was full of frustration. "Sea clutter is ten times stronger than land clutter! The reflection from the waves makes the radar screen look like it's in a blizzard! The detection range and accuracy are greatly reduced. Locking onto high-speed, low-altitude targets? The success rate... I estimate is less than 30%! Even if the F-15s with their hoopoes come, we'll know their flight time and route, but we might still be blind, not even knowing where the missiles are going after we launch them!"

Song Heping listened in silence, his finger unconsciously tracing the flight path on the map.

Vasily was a top technical expert, and his judgment was essentially the final verdict.

It seems I underestimated this kind of technical problem.

To shoot down the Hoopoe military's F-15I with an outdated SAM-6, especially at sea...

difficult!
It's harder than climbing to heaven!

"Is there any way to remedy this? Any way!" Song Heping's voice was low.

“Yes, there is… but… sigh…” Vasily sighed, “Theoretically… if we could obtain extremely accurate, real-time target location information, preferably a continuously updated coordinate stream, in conjunction with our fire control system, it might be able to compensate for the lack of radar accuracy. I’ve heard of a technology called ‘multi-satellite cooperative staring tracking’…”

"This technology uses multiple reconnaissance satellites to keep a close eye on the target, generating positioning data with centimeter-level accuracy in real time..."

Can Russia do it?

Song Heping interrupted him, grasping at a sliver of hope.

After all, the cook still owed him a huge favor.

This guy is a big shot in Russia right now.

He might be able to help.

"Can't do it!"

Vasily's answer was crisp and decisive, tinged with a hint of helplessness.

“This level of space-based reconnaissance and data processing capability is not something that ordinary countries can achieve. Some people were researching it during the Soviet era, but unfortunately, after the collapse of the Soviet Union, no one has mentioned it since… Currently, only… well, you know those top players might have it, and it would definitely be top secret, so it’s impossible for us to use it. We… do not have this kind of resource.”

The call ended in a somber atmosphere.

Song Heping stared at the blue area on the map that represented the deadly route, feeling a cold boulder pressing on his chest.

Intelligence from Alexandria confirmed that the cargo had been loaded onto the ship, and the Hoopoe Air Force's frantic response and air strike plan were also learned through inside sources; the window of opportunity was closing in.

This should have been the signal to close the net, but Vasily's message was like a bucket of ice water being poured on him—his pre-planned strategy was almost completely ineffective at sea!

Song Heping was well aware of the variables involved: flight altitude, speed, sea state, wind speed, and even the slightest operational deviation by the operator could cause the bomb to miss its target by hundreds of meters.

Moreover, the "Seagull" itself is also moving...

'Multi-star collaborative gaze tracking'...

Who can do it?

He suddenly remembered the key words in Vasily's words—"Currently, only... well, those top players you know might have..."

correct!

Top-tier player!

It's just the three senior officials!
A name, a name that was both familiar to him and filled with complex emotions, surfaced in his mind—Lei Ming.

　Asking for a monthly ticket! Asking for a monthly ticket!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)