Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1043 Planning
As the armored SUV drove back to the seaside villa, the setting sun was painting the Mediterranean Sea a fiery crimson.

At the villa entrance, Henry and Ferrari had been waiting anxiously. When they saw Song Heping get out of the car, the two quickly went to greet him.

"Boss!"

Henry's voice was filled with barely suppressed tension.

"How's Haftar doing?"

Song Heping didn't answer directly, but simply nodded, his gaze sweeping over the two tense faces.

Ferrari's lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he ultimately swallowed his words.

A heavy silence hung in the air. This time, the Americans were playing a more insidious political game, not a hail of bullets, but a political noose around the "musician's" neck. Unlike any previous military operation, this was a soft knife.

A soft knife is harder to deal with.

"I need to be alone for a while."

Song Heping walked straight into the villa. He didn't go to the terrace to admire the fake tranquil sea view, but went directly into the study and closed the door.

A huge map of Africa hangs on the wall of the room, marked with different colored magnetic nails and thin lines, indicating spheres of influence, resource points, transportation routes, and unseen undercurrents.

He walked up to the map and stopped. His gaze fell on the map, his brows furrowed slightly, and he raised his hand to touch the map, from south to north and from east to west.

My fingers unconsciously traced the names of Libya, Sudan, and the Republic of Senegal...

These are the places where the foundation was once laid with blood and fire.

The last rays of the setting sun streamed through the window, casting a deep shadow on his face.

Henry and Ferrari stood silently by the door, watching their boss's back, their breathing unconsciously becoming softer.

The only sound in the room was the monotonous ticking of the wall clock, each second striking a nerve.

Time passed in suffocating silence.

The light outside the window changed from golden yellow to dark red, and finally sank into the deep blue twilight.

The study was dark, and Song Heping's figure was almost blending into the outline of the vast and perilous continent on the map.

Henry and Ferrari exchanged a worried look—this time the Americans were using a dull knife to cut flesh; could the boss come up with a solution to break the deadlock?

As the last ray of light disappeared on the distant horizon and darkness completely enveloped the study, Song Heping finally moved.

He walked to the large mahogany desk, picked up the satellite phone, and dialed an encrypted number.

After a brief pause, a French male voice with a slightly languid tone came through.

"Song? You're calling now, much later than I expected. It seems the 'good news' Haftar brought you is quite significant."

It's DGSE's Ciel.

There was no surprise in his voice, only a playful, cat-and-mouse-like tone.

"Charles."

Song Heping's voice was flat and emotionless, like a frozen lake. "The Americans' 'cleaner' operation this time is quite ambitious. Do they want to uproot me and wipe me out completely?"

A low chuckle came from the other end of the phone: "Song, we're all smart people. The Americans are determined to eliminate a 'regional destabilizing factor' this time, and incidentally... reshape the order. That report they have, the CIA's fabrication, you know, is enough to make no country dare to openly protect you. Once the banner of counterterrorism is raised, it becomes politically correct, an impenetrable shield. You can't escape it."

Charles's tone carried a subtle warning.

"Political correctness?"

A cold smile curled at the corners of Song Heping's mouth.

"Charles, don't play those games with me. For decades, while Africa was undergoing 'decolonization,' the Americans were stirring things up behind the scenes, undermining your efforts. Independence movements? How much of that was a covert struggle between your French Community and the Americans? The Sahel's counter-terrorism leadership, the North African oil pipelines—weren't those two sides kicking each other around under the table? Grudges? They're etched into our bones!"

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone.

Charles clearly hadn't expected Song Heping to be so blunt, directly piercing the veil of "allies." He coughed lightly: "Song, history is history. The problem now is, the Americans have a knife to your throat."

"so."

Song Heping's voice suddenly turned cold: "I need you to stab the Americans in the back when it's time to do something sabotaging them. When they're most smug and think they have victory in their grasp."

"Help you? Haven't I helped you enough? Do you really think the information you obtained was accidentally dropped by my subordinates? Help you? Give me a reason."

Charles's tone also turned serious. "If we reach out, the risk is huge. We're dealing with the Americans..."

"The reason is your interests!"

Song Heping interrupted him bluntly, “Without me, ‘The Musician,’ holding the line, American special forces, the private PMC company Blackwater, and the Trifoliate Jungle would swarm into the Sahel like locusts, crowding out your space and cutting off your oil pipelines! Then, how much say will you have left in Africa? If you French people think it doesn't matter, if you think you can just sit back and watch the Americans completely extend their hands into your backyard…”

Song Heping paused deliberately, then chuckled twice and said, "I don't mind. I'll pack up the 'Musician's' oil field security contract in Sudan, the rare metal mining rights in the Seine, all the military advisors and training programs with Haftar in Lebia... and give them all to the Americans! As my 'pledge of allegiance' before leaving Africa! I'll take my men and start a new business in the Middle East. Anyway, I'm very rich now, I can find a place to settle down, or at worst I can go to Venezuela and live just as well. As for whether you French can stop the full-scale American infiltration in the Sahel? Heh, Charles, you decide for yourself!"

"Song, you're a shameless bastard..."

For the first time, Ciel's voice showed a noticeable fluctuation, filled with shock and anger at having his soft spot hit.

He deliberately leaked the "Scavenger" operation, intending to use Song Heping as a tool to blunt the Americans' edge and maintain a delicate balance.

If Song Heping really leaves and hands over the profits he has built up over the years to the Americans, it will be a disastrous blow to France's strategy in Africa!

Americans will fill all the vacuums instantly.

I could hear Charles's breathing becoming noticeably heavier on the other end of the phone.

The silence that lasted a few seconds felt like an eternity.

Henry and Ferrari listened at the door, their palms sweating. The boss was playing with fire!
Betting the entire company's foundation on the French attitude!

“…Fils de pute!” (French: son of a bitch!) Charles finally muttered a curse under his breath, his voice filled with helplessness and resentment at being manipulated.

"Song, you win. Now, tell me, how exactly do you want me to 'poison your eyes'? When?"

Song Heping's taut jawline relaxed slightly, and a sharp glint flashed in his eyes: "When the time comes, you will naturally see it. You just need to remember that when that moment comes, remaining silent is helping the Americans, while speaking out—even if it's just seemingly neutral and trying to smooth things over—is helping me, and also helping your France keep its share of the African pie! Your on-the-spot 'judgment' is of paramount importance."

"..."

Charles fell silent again, seemingly processing Song Heping's vague yet weighty request.

"Okay. I'll be watching. Hopefully your 'timing'... won't keep me waiting too long, and won't drag us all into hell."

"Don't worry, Charles."

Song Heping's voice regained a hint of elusive calm, "My hell is usually the nightmare of my enemies and the sweet dream of my friends."

After saying that, he abruptly ended the call without waiting for Charles's response.

After hanging up the satellite phone, Song Heping did not take any immediate action.

He walked to the window and looked out at the dark blue Mediterranean Sea. In the distance, the silhouette of the port ruins looked like a ferocious beast in the night.

A moment later, he picked up another encrypted phone and dialed a very short number.

The screen displays only one code: "Q".

The call was connected almost instantly.

"it's me."

Song Heping's voice was low and brief.

"Your old squad leader."

　Asking for a monthly ticket! ! ! !
　　
　
(End of this chapter)