Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1104 The Turtle Hiding in its Shell
Without any hesitation, Song Heping immediately picked up another encrypted phone and connected to a signal pointing to the other side of the distant continent—Africa.

A secluded private security training camp in the Republic of Senegal, Africa.

The scorching sun baked the earth, and the air was filled with the smell of dust and sweat.

The hunter had just unscrewed his water bottle and taken a sip when the encrypted satellite phone rang on a specific frequency. His expression hardened, he gestured to his teaching assistant beside him, and quickly walked towards the quiet shade of a tree.

"boss."

The hunter's voice was deep and steady.

"There's an urgent mission that requires you to go. The target is a smuggler in Narendra, Goa, the Kingdom of White Elephant. He's blocking the way and needs to be eliminated."

Song Heping's voice was flat and emotionless as he gave the order, "You go personally and have the most capable people handle this. I'll provide you with the target information. This matter requires absolute secrecy. Once completed, leave swiftly and without a trace."

“Understood. Mission priority?” the hunter asked.

"Sir. Set off as soon as possible."

Song Heping added, "The target is currently on high alert, so the methods must be swift and decisive, and the plan must be meticulous."

"Received. I will set off immediately with my men."

There are no unnecessary questions, only absolute obedience and execution.

As a hunter with a sniper background, he never hesitates to do things properly.

Twenty-four hours later, the hunter appeared at the international airport with two top snipers he had personally trained.

They looked no different from ordinary business travelers or tourists on vacation together.

The hunter used the alias "Mark," and his identification indicated he was a manager at a Singaporean travel consulting company.

He was wearing sunglasses, a slightly flashy casual shirt, and carrying a backpack that looked like it was full of travel brochures and sunscreen. He had the expression of a slightly tired businessman on his face.

The two snipers he selected were a man codenamed "Violinist," who was thin, taciturn, and carried a backpack containing a professional camera and a telephoto lens, posing as a photography enthusiast; and a man codenamed "Drummer," who was slightly burly but always had a simple, honest smile on his face, wearing a T-shirt with cartoon patterns, like an ordinary young man out having fun.

Their passports indicated they were from Malaysia and South Korea, respectively.

These passports came from the technical department of the "Musician" company, and each one has genuine entry and exit records and corresponding visas, sufficient to pass routine checks.

After a long flight, the flight landed smoothly at Dapolin Airport in Goa.

The humid sea breeze, carrying the aroma of curry and spices, swept over us. All around us, tourists from all over the world thronged, their brightly colored saris and beach shorts creating a joyful sea of ​​color.

The three of them passed through customs smoothly with the flow of people. The official casually glanced at their passports and hotel reservations, and after seeing the green bills tucked inside, he lazily stamped their passports and let them pass, his eyes already drawn to the scantily clad female tourists in the queue behind him.

They stayed at a medium-sized resort hotel located in the coastal area.

This location was chosen because it attracts a large number of tourists with high mobility, making it less likely to draw attention, and it is not far from the area where Zayed regularly operates.

The hunter and drummer shared a standard room, while the violinist had a separate room, so they could support each other if necessary.

The check-in process was quick and easy, and the front desk staff had standard smiles, but their attention was clearly not on these few seemingly ordinary Asian tourists.

Upon entering the room, the hunter's first action was to draw the curtains, leaving only a slit, and then quickly scan the entire room with a professional device the size of a matchbox to confirm there were no eavesdropping or hidden cameras. The drummer, meanwhile, tacitly checked the door locks and windows.

This is the standard procedure for a professional military officer wherever they go.

For the first two days, they really acted like ordinary tourists.

The hunter changed into beach shorts and flip-flops, put on a straw hat and sunglasses, and strolled around the streets with a tourist map in hand. Occasionally, he would enter a coffee shop and sit for half a day, but his eyes were keenly scanning the surrounding streets, traffic cameras and possible sniping positions.

The violinist, carrying a camera, mingled among various scenic spots, his telephoto lens seemingly aimed at the scenery and architecture, but actually measuring distances and angles.

The drummer was on the beach, playing beach volleyball with a few European backpackers. Beneath his good-natured smile, he memorized the routines of the beach patrol police and the locations of nearby security posts.

Meanwhile, they received detailed information about Narendra from Zayed using encrypted devices, and carefully gathered supplementary information and cross-verified it using sophisticated jump-board software in a public network environment. On the third day, the real reconnaissance began. They rented an inconspicuous local white sedan and began to observe Narendra's corporate headquarters—an eight-story glass-walled building in a relatively bustling business district—and his mansion in an affluent area—a seaside villa with high walls, electric fences, and numerous cameras from a distance.

The situation is as Zayed described, or even more serious.

Narendra clearly knew he was engaged in a life-or-death struggle with Zayed, and security measures were extremely tight.

His daily routine was extremely regular, almost to the point of being rigid—at 10:15 a.m., the motorcade departed from the mansion to the company; at 6:00 p.m., the motorcade returned from the company to the mansion.

In addition, he has almost never made a public appearance recently, and all entertainment and social activities have been canceled.

The biggest problem lies with his convoy.

Each trip is accompanied by six identical black Mercedes-Benz S-Class sedans, forming a mobile steel fortress.

These vehicles have all undergone professional armor modifications, with their bodies and windows capable of withstanding fire from small arms and even 12.7mm rifles.

When the convoy departed and arrived, it drove directly into the underground parking garage, and the roller shutters quickly closed, making it impossible for outsiders to tell which car Narendra was actually sitting in.

The convoy was also escorted by two Toyota Land Cruisers carrying at least eight armed bodyguards.

The three hunters took turns driving and used different vehicles at different locations for four consecutive days of tracking and observation, but they found nothing.

The inability to determine the vehicle the target was traveling in rendered long-range sniping meaningless; although the convoy's route was fixed, it was all in busy urban areas, moving at high speeds and heavily guarded, posing an extremely high risk of roadside bomb attacks or forced interception, and could easily cause a large number of civilian casualties, drawing serious attention from relevant departments, which completely violated the principle of "secrecy".

"Boss, the 'turtling' tactic was very successful."

On the seventh night, in his hotel room, the violinist reported in a very low voice that he was wiping a camera lens, his tone as calm as ever.

"The vehicle has a very high level of ballistic protection. Based on the vague data provided by Zayed and our observations and calculations, even a .50 caliber Barrett M82 would be extremely difficult to effectively penetrate at long range using standard ammunition. Unless specialized armor-piercing incendiary rounds are used, or the engine compartment or tires are shot at very close range, but that would increase our exposure risk exponentially."

He paused, then added, "Furthermore, we still can't confirm exactly which car the target uses each day."

The drummer, doing push-ups nearby, added steadily, "Force our way into the underground parking garage or the company? Too risky. The enemy bodyguards are numerous, their firepower is unknown, and we're unfamiliar with the area. Once a firefight breaks out, it won't be over quickly, and local police and Narendra's reinforcements will arrive soon. This doesn't meet the boss's requirements for 'secrecy' and 'rapid evacuation.'"

The hunter stood in the shadows of the balcony, his brow furrowed as he gazed at the silhouette of the Narendra Company building in the distance, its few lights still shining in the night.

Time ticked by, and Song Heping was still waiting for the outcome in the secret Persian camp.

He couldn't wait indefinitely.

But Narendra protected himself like an iron barrel, almost impenetrable.

Even for a seasoned veteran like himself, he was momentarily at a loss, like a cheetah catching a tortoise, unable to find a way to bite into its hard shell.

He took a deep breath of the humid, stuffy air, turned around, went back to his room, and took out the encrypted satellite phone.

It's time to ask the boss for help.

It's not about seeking a direct solution, but rather about needing some.
inspiration.

He believed in Song Heping's strategic mind, which always had the ability to discern the situation and find unconventional breakthroughs.

The call connected quickly, and the hunter succinctly reported the current predicament: the target's movements were extremely regular but heavily guarded; the convoy had many vehicles, making it impossible to determine the target's location; the vehicles were highly bulletproof; and the feasibility of attacking the target on the road using assault rifles or other light weapons was extremely low.

"Boss..."

The hunter's tone revealed a hint of barely perceptible anxiety.

"The target's shell is too hard; conventional methods won't work quickly. I need a new approach, or... a spark of inspiration. I think you can give me a hint, right?"

He posed the difficult question to Song Heping, who was far away in the eye of the storm in Iligo.

　Asking for a monthly ticket!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)