Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1026 The Magic of Money

the next morning.

The sunlight, like red-hot steel needles, pierced Terry's eyelids.

He let out a painful groan and was jolted awake from a deep sleep.

At that moment, it felt like someone was swinging a sledgehammer inside my skull; every heartbeat caused my temples to throb wildly, bringing waves of nausea and dizziness.

My throat was as dry as a desert scorched by the blazing sun, burning intensely.

My bones felt like they were falling apart, and my muscles ached and felt weak.

He struggled to open his heavy eyelids, and it took several seconds for his blurry vision to focus.

An extravagantly high ceiling is adorned with a magnificent crystal chandelier, and sunlight streams in through huge floor-to-ceiling windows, softened by expensive Persian carpets and dark velvet curtains.

A faint, sweet perfume scent lingered in the air.

Memories, like a broken tide, carrying the stench of a hangover, surged chaotically back into my mind.

port……

The Marlin departs port...

Aziz's phone call...

Golden Flower Club...

Luxurious private rooms...

Endless whiskey...

The sweet mist of hookah...

A seductive woman...

then……

Then they were taken away...

A soft bed...

That body that leaned in, carrying an alluring fragrance...

Terry sat up abruptly, the violent movement making his vision blur and almost causing him to vomit.

He looked around—he was all alone in the huge, luxurious bedroom.

The bed on the other side was messy, but empty.

Where is that woman?
He cautiously lifted the blanket, revealing that he was only wearing his underwear.

He staggered out of bed, his head throbbing, and walked unsteadily toward the spacious bathroom. The frosted glass door was open, and the bathroom was empty as well.

On the luxurious marble vanity, only the hotel's toiletries were neatly arranged, with no trace of any women's items.

He returned to the bedroom and glanced at the bedside table. Apart from an antique-style brass lamp, there was nothing there.

There was no note, no contact information; it was as if everything from last night was just a drunken dream.

“Damn it…”

Terry cursed under his breath, rubbing his throbbing temple.

The lingering hangover and the emptiness that followed his indulgence washed over him at the same time. He felt a mix of frustration and an inexplicable sense of loss.

That girl...

Is her name Sofia?

Or is it Natasha?
He couldn't even remember his name.

It seems to be nothing more than a high-class "service" arranged by Aziz, which will disappear naturally after dawn without leaving a trace, as is the rule.

He dragged his weary body to the huge French windows and abruptly pulled back the heavy curtains. The blinding sunlight made him squint instantly.

The view outside the window is of Kuwait City in the early morning, with towering buildings and the Persian Gulf shimmering in the distance.

A new day begins.

Terry shook his groggy head, trying to clear his mind of the blurry, chaotic images from the previous night.

It was just a chance to relax, a reward after a successful mission, a harmless romantic encounter. That's what he told himself.

That woman named Sofia... or Natasha, was merely a scene in this luxurious place, to be dispersed at dawn.

He turned and walked into the bathroom, the hangover still churning him, so he didn't notice that the moment he drew back the curtains, a tiny, extremely well-hidden wide-angle camera was pointed directly at his drunken figure above the bedroom door frame, silently flashing a barely perceptible red light.
-
The day after leaving the port.

The Marlin cut through the deep blue Arabian Sea, leaving a long white wake as it sailed northwest toward the Red Sea.

Almost at the same time the Marlin sailed out of sight of the port, an invisible shockwave, a thousand times more intense than the headache caused by Bitri's hangover, instantly swept through the entire underground world of the Middle East.

The billion-dollar bounty was being frantically transmitted through ancient messages, encrypted satellite phones, garbled radio channels, and even hastily copied, illegible notes.

The source is deep in the Persian Gulf, where a Persian strongman codenamed "Avanti" faithfully fulfilled his peace agreement with the Song Dynasty.

The content is simple and brutal, carrying a fiery heat enough to ignite any greed or ambition:

Target: US Navy munitions transport ship USS Marlin (MV Marlin)
Location: Northwest Arabian Sea, heading towards the Bab el-Mandeb Strait and the Red Sea.

Bounty: One billion US dollars in cash, or equivalent military equipment.

Requirements: A sunken ship.

……

Billion.

Dollar.

arms.

These words together are like pouring a ladle of ice water into a pot of boiling oil, causing it to explode.

Nomon, a cave in the HS armed control zone.

Chief Abu Khalid pressed his finger heavily against a blue area on the map representing the northwestern Arabian Sea.

His voice was low and hoarse.

"The will of Allah guides us!"

He glanced around at his trusted lieutenants, his eyes blazing with fury. "Look at this number! A billion! Or, the weapons that can fight the enemy!"

A young commander beside him licked his chapped lips, his eyes gleaming with longing, yet also with a hint of instinctive fear: "Chief, that's an American ship... a steel behemoth, it must be guarded by the fiercest soldiers and the most advanced weapons."

"Soldiers? Weapons?"

Khalid slammed his hand on the table, causing the oil lamp flame to flicker violently.

"Even the strongest shield can't stop artillery shells and our rockets! The bounty only states that they want to sink the ship, with no other conditions attached! Isn't that easy to handle? They'll eventually have to pass through the Red Sea Strait!"

He tapped his finger on the map, pointing directly to the route the Marlin had taken through the Red Sea.

Outside the cave, the scorching wind whipped up dust, as if echoing the murderous aura rising from within.

Almost at the same time.

Bosaso, Somalia, a dilapidated port.

The salty, rotten sea breeze, carrying the stench of fish and garbage, blew past the rusty tin shacks and the wrecked ships stranded on the mudflats.

On a converted ship that could barely be identified as a high-speed interceptor, a group of dark-skinned, fierce-looking men were crammed into a small cabin.

The smell of sweat, cheap tobacco, and fish oil mixed together was suffocating.

Pirate leader "One-Eyed" Bakal had a centipede-like scar across his face. At this moment, his only remaining eye was fixed on the screen of a satellite phone handed to him by his subordinate, which displayed the text of the bounty order.

He gulped down a mouthful of cheap palm wine; the spicy liquid burned his throat, but it also caused his one eye to gleam with a terrifying light.

"One billion! US dollars!"

Bakal's voice was like the grinding of a grinding wheel, filled with unbelievable ecstasy and greed, "Damn it! I couldn't even scrape together a fraction of this amount even if I robbed ten oil tankers or a hundred fishing boats!"

"Boss, that's an American transport ship..."

A young pirate, his face still bearing a hint of childishness but his eyes gleaming with experience, glanced uneasily at the murky water outside the ship's side. "Their ships definitely have cannons! Huge cannons! And our ships..."

He pointed to several well-maintained AK-47s and RPG-7 rocket launchers hanging on the bulkhead.

"These...aren't they enough?"

"idiot!"

Bakal slapped the young man on the back of the head, making him stagger. "No matter how big the cannons are, if they can't hit our small boats, they're just scrap metal! How big is the sea? How many eyes can they have watching? Notify all the brothers! Drag out all the men who can still move from the hangar! Take all the guns, all the rockets! Contact our other groups at sea! Tell them, the fat sheep has arrived! Ten thousand times fatter than they've ever dreamed of! A billion! Divided among everyone, that's enough for us to build palaces in Mogadishu and play with the most beautiful women until we die!"

He grinned, revealing yellowed teeth, and a gambler's madness burned in his single eye. "Let's do this! Either go to hell and enjoy it, or go to heaven and count our money! I'll gamble!"

On the dock, several modified fishing boats, equipped with additional outboard engines and with crude steel plates welded to their bows to serve as ramming angles, were hurriedly pushed into the water amidst the sputtering black smoke of their diesel engines.

The pirates, clad in tattered vests and carrying various weapons, swarmed forward like hyenas smelling blood.

That night
Deep inside a noisy and extravagant nightclub in Beirut.

The deafening electronic music was kept out by the heavy soundproof doors.

Inside a luxuriously decorated VIP box, the air was thick with smoke.

Faris Zahran, a powerful local gang leader, leans back on a soft Italian leather sofa, wearing a well-tailored silk shirt.

He slowly swirled the amber-colored whiskey in his crystal glass, the ice cubes clinking against the glass.

On the expensive cherry wood coffee table in front of him was an encrypted tablet computer, the screen of which displayed the bounty that had been stirring up trouble on the dark web.

Zahlan's lips curled into a playful smile, but his eyes remained as calm as a frozen lake.

"A billion? Or weapons?"

He chuckled softly, his voice low but carrying a hint of barely perceptible mockery, "What a grand gesture. So grand that... it's like a crazy trap."

The trusted bodyguard standing beside the sofa, a man as burly as an iron tower, bowed slightly: "Boss, the risk is extremely high. The target is too hot to handle. The Americans will react very quickly and ruthlessly. Our forces are mainly on land and in ports, and our naval strength is weak."

“I know, Joseph.”

Zahran took a sip of his drink, the spicy, mellow liquid sliding down his throat. "Go straight to the sea and confront that ship? Only fools and desperados would do that."

He put down his wine glass and gently tapped the screen with his slender fingers.

"But a billion dollars, or an equivalent amount of arms... that's too much bait. The entire Arabian Sea, and even the Red Sea, will soon become a shark pool. Chaos... is the best cover."

A shrewd calculation flashed in his eyes: "Notify our personnel at all key points—the Suez Canal, the Gulf of Aden, Djibouti…—to keep an eye on the Marlin. Whenever they dare to dock for supplies…"

He gave a shrewd, hunter-like smile, picked up his glass again, and made a cutting motion across his neck with his other hand.

"Do you know what I mean?"

In just two days.

Intangible information flows catalyze tangible actions. Greed, hatred, ambition, despair...

Driven by the frenzied stimulus of billions of dollars or arms, all of humanity's most primal urges have been transformed into actions directed toward the ocean.

The tranquility of the entire sea area was completely shattered.

The Marlin sails on the vast Arabian Sea.

The sky was azure, the sea was vast, and only a gentle sea breeze blew by.

Inside the bridge, the atmosphere was originally calm and routine, as if a task had been completed.

Nobody dares to touch an American ship.

Especially U.S. military logistics transport ships.

This is a fact that every crew member on board firmly believes in.

Captain Jackson was holding a coffee cup, looking at the green dots on the radar screen.

He had just finished a routine encrypted communication with CIA headquarters and reported that everything was normal and that he was expected to pass through the Bab el-Mandeb Strait into the Red Sea as planned.

Suddenly, a piercing alarm, tearing apart the silence, blared without warning inside the bridge!

The high frequency and rapid speed were like steel needles piercing everyone's eardrums.

"Warning! Warning! Multiple targets detected approaching at high speed! Bearing 270, distance 15 nautical miles! The number... is still increasing!"

The radar operator's voice tightened instantly, filled with disbelief and shock, "My God... twenty... no, more than twenty-five! They're moving very fast! Heading straight for my ship!"

"what?!"

Captain Jackson nearly spilled his coffee.

He rushed to the radar screen, his eyes fixed on the dense cluster of green dots rapidly approaching the center, representing the Marlin.

"Twenty-five? Fishing boats?"

His voice was filled with surprise and doubt.

"Radar signature...very messy, much faster than a typical fishing boat, looks like a large fishing vessel that has been modified..."

The radar operator quickly reported, his fingers flying across the control panel, "But the speed is wrong! It's generally over 20 knots! The highest is close to 30 knots! Ordinary fishing boats don't go that fast! And... the signal strength indicates that they're all quite large!"

"Armed observation post! Report visual situation! High alert!"

Jackson yelled into the internal communicator, his voice still clear and strong amidst the alarm.

At the same time, he decisively pressed the ship's combat alarm button.

A deeper, more penetrating whistle instantly resounded throughout the entire giant ship.

On the bridge, everyone sprang into action.

The atmosphere instantly plummeted from calm to freezing.

High up on the ship's deck, at an armed observation post equipped with high-performance telescopes and infrared thermal imagers, two escort team members wearing bulletproof vests and tactical helmets were already in position.

Through the high-powered telescope, an anomaly appeared at the edge of the vast sea.

At first, they were just some blurry black dots.

But soon, the black spot rapidly enlarged, revealing a hideous outline.

"Captain! Visual confirmation!"

The sound of the observation whistle came through the earpiece, carrying a hint of tension.

"Straight ahead and to the left and right aft! A large number of high-speed vessels! More than twenty confirmed!"

The telescope's crosshairs were firmly locked onto the target that was charging at the forefront.

It certainly had the characteristics of a fishing boat—a dilapidated hull, covered in rust.

But the welded attachments were shocking: crude ramming steel plates were welded to the bow, thick armor plates with firing ports were installed on the sides, and four high-powered outboard engines were mounted on the hull, roaring wildly and spewing black smoke from the stern, propelling this "fishing boat" forward at an incredible speed.

At the stern, there was a pile of objects partially covered by tarpaulins, clearly shaped like the launch tubes of an RPG rocket launcher.

Amid the ship's midsection, figures moved about, and the telescope could even catch a glimpse of the metal in their hands reflecting the sunlight—automatic rifles!

"Captain! Armored modifications confirmed! Ram at the bow! Armored skid plates on the sides! RPG detected! Automatic weapons detected! Crew armed!"

The lookout's voice was urgent and cold: "They...they've scattered! They're trying to encircle us from multiple directions!"

Captain Jackson listened to the report, his face turning ashen.

He strode to the bulletproof glass window on the side of the bridge, grabbed the high-powered binoculars fixed to the bracket, and looked out himself.

In the field of vision, those oddly modified ships, painted with all sorts of colors and symbols, were drawing chaotic and aggressive white trails across the sea with the frenzied manner characteristic of desperados, closing in on the behemoth Marlin from all directions.

The distance was rapidly closing, and through the binoculars, one could even see the figures of people waving weapons on the ship.

A sense of absurdity mixed with a chilling anger surged through Jackson's heart.

He put down the binoculars, but a cold, extremely contemptuous smile appeared on his lips.

"A bunch of stupid idiots who don't know their own mortality!"

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to everyone on the bridge: "You dare to rob a US Navy transport ship with just a fire poker? Do you think this is like robbing a few broken fishing boats off the coast of Somalia? You're like a caveman challenging a tank with a stick!"

He turned around, his eyes sharp as a hawk's, his tone resolute: "Communications Officer!"

"Yes, Captain!"

"Immediately send a highest priority distress signal to the Arabian Sea Joint Task Force Command! Repeat, highest priority! Report our ship's position, course, and speed; report that we are surrounded by more than twenty high-speed armed pirate ships! Request emergency air and surface support! Tell them that we are carrying 'special cargo'!"

He deliberately emphasized the last four words to highlight the seriousness of the situation.

"Yes! Highest priority distress call! Send immediately!"

The communications officer's fingers left afterimages as they typed on the keyboard.

"All armed escort personnel!"

Jackson roared into the ship's intercom, "Ready! Level 1 combat readiness! Let's show them what we're made of!"

On the massive hull of the Marlin, several concealed hatches slid open.

The heavy M2HB .50 caliber machine gun and MK19 automatic grenade launcher were quickly pushed out, their dark muzzles and firing tubes turning, locking onto the armed boats that were rapidly approaching from all directions.

Armed escorts, wearing bulletproof vests and Kevlar helmets, leaned against the thick armored shields welded to the deck, their eyes cold, their fingers steadily resting on the triggers.

The steel fortress has already bared its fangs.

On the vast sea, a cat-and-mouse game, where the odds are heavily against each other and full of unpredictable twists and turns, suddenly begins with a bloody prelude.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)