Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1092 Unwittingly Drawn into a Covert Struggle
Zayed tapped his fingers impatiently on the table, a shadow falling over his shrewd eyes.

"Mr. Song, I hope your 'restroom' trip didn't encounter any problems?"

His tone was clearly displeased and probing.

“In our line of work, suddenly leaving usually means…unnecessary attention.”

Song Heping picked up his slightly cooled coffee and took a sip, his tone calm and even: "It was just a minor hiccup, but it's been resolved. Mr. Zayed, we don't need to waste time on such a trivial matter. Let's get back to the main topic—your proposed 15% commission, plus 5% 'special operating fee,' is too high."

Zayed leaned back, spread his hands, and gave a "that's just how the market is" look.

"High? My friend, you have no idea how many steps you have to go through to safely deliver a single drop of Persian crude oil to a buyer! Customs, Coast Guard, Navy patrols... every single checkpoint costs money! Not to mention we also have to charter specially modified tankers, arrange 'ghost ships' to meet us on the high seas, and design complex routes to avoid American satellites and reconnaissance planes! Every penny of that 5% operating cost will be spent wisely to ensure your $100 million worth of goods are safely converted into cash. 20% of the total cost is very fair for this kind of high-risk, high-difficulty business."

"justice?"

Song Heping sneered, a hint of disdain flashing in his eyes.

“Mr. Zayed, I acknowledge the risks, but please understand that I am not providing a shipment of cargo of dubious origin, but rather spot goods with complete documentation, top quality, and ready for immediate pickup! This in itself reduces your risk and initial investment. A 15% commission is already top-tier in the industry, so what about the extra 5%? To be frank, that's more like profiteering. I am not a sucker to be exploited.”

"Oh?"

Zayed raised an eyebrow, his businessman-like smile fading slightly, revealing his true, calculating nature.

"Mr. Song, it seems you're very confident in your goods. But you need to understand, right now you urgently need to liquidate your goods, not that I, Zayed, am begging you to do business. In all of Goa, and even along the entire western Indian Ocean coast, the number of people capable and willing to take on this hot potato of yours can be counted on one hand. And I am the fastest and most reliable choice among them. Without me, your pile of documents is just waste paper. 20%, not a penny less. This is the final price."

The atmosphere instantly became tense.

Zayed seems to have his eye on him.

In this industry, having control over resources means having a voice.

Zayed realized that Song Heping was eager to sell this batch of crude oil.

Otherwise, they wouldn't have contacted me through a friend.

Generally, he does only charge a 15% commission, but this time is different. Since the other party is in a hurry to ship the goods, he might as well take a cut.

Song Heping remained silent, his fingers unconsciously stroking the rim of the coffee cup.

He knew that Zayed was telling part of the truth, and that the channels were indeed in the other side's hands.

But a 20% cut means that the oil that was obtained at great risk will evaporate by 20 million US dollars for no reason!
This far exceeded his bottom line and severely limited the financial resources available for subsequent actions.

This greedy Indian clearly saw that he seemed to have no other choice and wanted to take a big bite out of the fat.

"If it's this price, then I'm afraid I need to reassess the necessity of this deal."

Song Heping said slowly, his tone resolute, "Perhaps I should visit the other 'fingers' you just mentioned."

Upon hearing this, Zayed's face flashed with a barely perceptible annoyance, but he quickly regained his slick demeanor, scoffing, "Go ahead, Mr. Song. But I must remind you, time waits for no one. I've investigated your background, heh heh, don't think I'm some Goa bumpkin who knows nothing. You're in a very precarious situation right now... the situation in Persia, the patience of the Americans, and those people behind you waiting for their rice to cook... they can't afford to wait for you to go door-to-door and negotiate slowly. Besides..."

He paused meaningfully, "The conditions offered by others may not be more favorable than mine; their appetites may even be bigger than mine."

He glanced at the gold watch on his wrist, stood up, and straightened his flashy shirt.

"It seems we won't be able to reach an agreement tonight. I'll give you some time to think it over, Mr. Song. Once you've thought it through and are willing to accept my terms, then contact me again. Remember, my patience, like my offer, has its limits."

After saying that, Zayed gave Song Heping no further chance to speak, turned around and left, quickly disappearing into the bustling crowd on the night street.

Song Heping sat alone in the same spot, his face grim as he stared in the direction where the other person had disappeared.

The salty, fishy smell of the sea breeze blowing in from outside now smelled somewhat nauseating.

The negotiations have reached a stalemate, which is the last thing he wanted to see.

Zayed's greed and power exceeded his expectations.

He sat in the cafe for almost ten more minutes, making sure no one was paying attention to him and that Zayed was indeed far away, before getting up to pay and leave.

He walked quickly to the quiet corner where he had parked, opened the car door, got into the driver's seat, but did not start the car immediately.

His gaze fell on the passenger seat—where the cheap cell phone and folding knife he had taken from the stalker were placed.

We must find out who the stalker is.

This is directly related to my safety. If it's a CIA informant, it means I'm not safe in the United States either, and I must leave immediately.

So he started the SUV and slowly drove away from the seaside area.

Instead of heading to the hotel he had booked in the city, he drove along the coastal highway toward the more remote, less lit suburbs.

The view outside the car window gradually changed from a bustling resort area to dense coconut groves, scattered villages, and patches of dark, undeveloped land.

After driving for about half an hour, he found a dirt road leading to the abandoned fishing port.

This place has clearly been abandoned for a long time. The dilapidated wooden pier is half-submerged in the sea, and the air is filled with a strong fishy smell and the stench of decaying plants. Only the moonlight and the sound of the waves accompany you.

A perfect place.

Song Heping stopped the car, turned off the engine and lights.

He picked up the folding knife and a bottle of mineral water he'd bought at the airport, got out of the car, and went around to the back. The trunk opened, and the man in the baseball cap was still unconscious, breathing heavily.

Without the slightest hesitation, Song Heping grabbed the other man by the collar, roughly dragged him out of the trunk, and threw him onto the gravel-covered ground.

The icy mineral water was suddenly poured onto his face, and the stalker shuddered, coughing violently and opening his eyes in horror.

As the blurry vision gradually focused, the first thing that came into view was Song Heping's expressionless face in the moonlight, and the folding knife in his hand that gleamed coldly in the dim light.

"Ah! You... what do you want to do?!"

He struggled to sit up, only to find that his fingers were tightly bound by shoelaces, making it impossible for him to exert any force. He could only wriggle futilely like a fish out of water.

Song Heping crouched down, the tip of his folding knife almost touching the other man's eyeball, his voice as cold as ice: "Now, I'll ask, you answer. If you utter another word of nonsense, or if I think you're lying, I'll take something from you. Starting with your eyes. Nod if you understand."

A tremendous fear gripped the watcher instantly; he could clearly feel the chilling death emanating from the blade.

He nodded frantically, making gurgling sounds in his throat, and cold sweat instantly soaked through his polo shirt.

"Who sent you?" Song Heping's first question went straight to the heart of the matter.

"C...CIA?"

The stalker blurted it out instinctively, seemingly trying to intimidate the other party with this title, but his voice trembled and was utterly unconvincing.

Song Heping's eyes sharpened. He could tell from the other man's shifty eyes that he was lying!
It's not the CIA at all!

For a top-tier special forces soldier who has received interrogation training, it's astonishing that someone without professional training would dare to lie to his face.

This is like showing off one's skills in front of Guan Yu (a legendary Chinese martial artist).

"It seems you're not telling the truth."

Song Heping smiled and gently pushed the tip of the knife forward slightly.

"Ah! No! No! I'll talk! I'll talk!"

Feeling the stinging pain in his eyelids, the stalker completely broke down.

"Not the CIA! No! It's...it's Mr. Narendra! Mr. Narendra sent me!"

Narendra?

who is it?

Song Heping frowned deeply.

The name was unfamiliar and completely outside his intelligence network.

It wasn't the CIA, nor any of the international intelligence agencies he envisioned.
"Who is he? Why is he tailing me?"

“No, he’s not spying on you!” the spy said, trembling. “He’s spying on Zayed! Not you!”

"Who is Narendra? Why is he spying on Zayed?"

Song Heping did not move the knife away, and continued to press for answers.

“Narendra…he is…he is another man in Goa…doing ‘big business’…” The stalker stammered, his words tumbling out in fear, but he managed to organize his thoughts under the threat of a knife. “He and Zayed…are mortal enemies! They’re always fighting over business…ports, shipping, and…and the kind of ‘goods’ you’re talking about…Mr. Narendra wants to know who Zayed has been in contact with lately, what new developments he’s making…He’s had me follow Zayed, to record who he meets and where he meets…it’s been like this for several days now…”

That's it!

Song Heping understood instantly.

Business competition in the underworld, a drama of thieves eating thieves.

"Collecting patterns of movement? What's the purpose?"

Song Heping pressed for confirmation of the worst-case scenario.

The stalker's eyes flickered, as if he was hesitant to speak.

Without hesitation, Song Heping slashed downwards with the tip of his knife, easily cutting open the other man's clothes and leaving a shallow bloodstain on his skin.

"Ah!! I'll talk! I'll talk!"

The intense pain and the threat of death completely shattered the stalker's mental defenses. "Mr. Narendra... he... he's been waiting for this opportunity for a long time! He doesn't want to compete with Zayed anymore... he... he wants Zayed dead! He had me follow him to figure out his habits, and then arrange for an assassin... to find an opportunity to strike!"

It was indeed for assassination!

Song Heping's heart sank.

He had unwittingly become involved in a life-or-death struggle between two Indian smuggling bosses.

If Zayed is killed, the channel that I have worked so hard to find will be cut off!

The thought lingered in his mind for less than ten seconds, and then, a bold idea flashed through Song Heping's mind like lightning.

　It's almost the end of the month, please vote for me with your monthly tickets!!!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)