Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1133 Grasshoppers on a Single Rope

That evening, at Simon's home on the outskirts of Langley.

The curtains were drawn, and only a desk lamp cast a dim, yellowish light on the desk.

Simon, all alone, repeatedly confirmed that the anti-eavesdropping equipment was working properly before using the highest level of encryption satellite phone to dial the number he only knew by heart.

The phone rang for a long time before it was answered.

The background noise seemed to include the sound of helicopter rotors moving from near to far away, and then just disappeared.

"looking for me?"

Song Heping's distinctive voice came through, as concise as ever.

"Listen, time is running out."

Simon spoke very quickly and in a very low voice, almost as if he were whispering.

"Today I convened a high-level meeting specifically to discuss your situation. At the meeting... an assassination plan targeting you was approved. Led by the Operations Department, their proposed method was... poisoning."

He carefully uttered the last two words, then found it ridiculous.

That's right.

He thought Song Heping would also find it ridiculous.

He personally oversaw the planning and execution of his assassination, and then told him...

Perhaps this world is inherently abnormal.

“They will try every means to bribe the people around you. You must be extremely careful about your diet recently, especially after leaving the front lines and entering the so-called ‘safe zone’ in Damascus.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone, a deathly silence, so quiet you could even hear a faint hissing of electricity.

"FUCK! Hahaha!"

A few seconds later, Song Heping's voice came again, tinged with laughter, as if he were listening to news that had nothing to do with him: "Understood. Thank you. When does your operations department plan to make its move?"

"The plan has just been approved, and the acting director of the operations department, Jackson, is in charge. I estimate that they will need time to find candidates, develop detailed plans, and make infiltration arrangements. This will take at least a few days, and they certainly won't act immediately, but you must remain on high alert from now on."

Simon cautioned, "I will inform you of the assassination method and the personnel involved later, but you should still be careful in the meantime."

"Don't worry, the people around me aren't so easily bribed."

Song Heping's voice was relatively calm, but a cold confidence was conveyed through the electrical signal: "But I will be careful. Not a single detail will be overlooked."

He abruptly changed the subject, asking in return, "And you over there? Have you secured your position?"

Simon's instability meant he was missing a crucial source of information.

If he is not safe, then Simon is not safe either.

Simon and himself are now in the same boat.

He has to stay calm.

That's the acting director of the CIA. I went to so much trouble to help him before, and today I'm finally seeing the reward.

"It's only temporary. There are nails under our butts."

Simon gave a wry smile, his voice tinged with weariness: "So absolutely nothing between us can be revealed. Your safety is my safety. You understand..."

"Don't worry, as long as I live, your secret is safe."

Song Heping said calmly, as if stating a simple fact, "Is there anything else? I just got a new update."

"That's all. Be careful. Keep in touch."

Simon hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair as if he were exhausted, only then realizing that his palms were covered in cold sweat.

The feeling of walking a tightrope between two great dangers, while simultaneously deceiving both himself and his enemies, gave him a twisted thrill, but also brought him boundless psychological pressure and mental exhaustion.

……

In a makeshift tent next to the frontline command post in Haibab, Silya.

As soon as Song Heping put down the satellite phone, he scanned the inside of the tent with sharp eyes, as if trying to find any unusual details.

The contents of the phone call just now were rapidly replaying and being analyzed in his mind.

Poisoning...

The methods that the CIA excels at.

He had actually enjoyed the same treatment that Castro had received back then.

good……

Americans really think highly of themselves.

Where will they start?

Food? Water?

drug?

The people around me...

Both seem possible at the moment.

Human nature is unpredictable, especially when faced with enough money or threats, especially in this land where human life is cheap.

As he was deep in thought, the tent flap was suddenly flung open, and the cook Yevgeny's signature bald head peeked in, his face a mixture of excitement and eagerness.

"Song! We've been looking everywhere for you! Great news, fantastic news!"

The cook grinned and practically burst in, clutching a military communicator tightly and waving it around. "Message from Damascus! An urgent summons! It's a top-level order!"

Song Heping quickly suppressed all outward emotions, regaining his usual composure, but his brows furrowed unconsciously: "Summoned? By whom?"

He instinctively felt disgusted and wary of such political occasions detached from the battlefield.

There were no clear enemies or allies there, only a complex web of interests and lies, which was more exhausting than facing enemy machine guns.

"Who else could it be? President Hafez himself!"

The cook took a few steps closer, lowered his voice, and his face was flushed with excitement.

"The offensive of 1515 in the east has been halted, and those mad dogs of the 'Victory Front' in the south have also had their heads chopped off by your single shot, forcing them to retreat in disarray! You, buddy, are now the number one hero who turned the tide! The President will personally honor you in the capital! I heard from my friends up there that you might be awarded the 'Hero of Celia' medal! Good heavens, that's the highest honor in this country, a symbol of immortal military achievements!"

Song Heping didn't say anything, but silently took out a crumpled pack of chewing gum from his pocket, pulled out a stick, threw it into his mouth, and chewed it slowly.

“I have no interest in any awarding ceremony. You know me, Cook. I’m not here to get any damn medals, I don’t care for those things.”

The cook had clearly anticipated this reaction.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice, almost as if whispering: "My old friend, my brother! Listen to me, don't be foolish at this time! Of course I know you don't like this kind of empty formalism, and neither do I! But you have to see clearly, this is not a simple award ceremony!"

He waved his arms vigorously: "President Hafez summoned you personally! What does that mean? It means you can skip all the intermediaries and talk to him directly! Negotiate directly with him! Haven't you always wanted to expand your company's business here? Think about it, the arms trade here and the arms smuggling route to Libanen... As long as President Hafez grants you special privileges, any activities you conduct through Celia in the future will be legal! That's all money! Man, don't be stupid!"

Song Heping squinted at the cook's face, which was flushed with excitement.

He knew that the cook's words made perfect sense.

Coming here is partly to help the cook repay the kindness he received years ago, but another reason is also for business.

The potential benefits and opportunities of establishing direct contact with the supreme ruler of a country far exceed the direct rewards of a successful military operation.

The pros and cons were quickly weighed in my mind.

"When to set off?"

A few seconds later, he made up his mind.

"The special plane will be here in two hours!"

The cook's face instantly lit up with a bright smile again: "I knew you wouldn't miss this! Hurry up and change into a slightly cleaner combat uniform, at least look more presentable. Damn, 'Hero of Celia'! Just thinking about it is awesome! You can brag about this for the rest of your life!"

Two hours later, as the setting sun painted the sky a magnificent blood red.

A dusty-looking Mi-171 transport helicopter, painted with the insignia of the Syrian Air Force, roared to a stop on a cleared area that had been hastily cleared at the Haibab military camp.

The enormous rotors kicked up clouds of dust, making it impossible for people to open their eyes.

Braving the strong winds, Song Heping and the cook Yevgeny bent over, carrying their simple luggage, and rushed quickly towards the helicopter.

The hatch opened, and a fully armed presidential guard soldier reached out and pulled them up.

The helicopter quickly climbed, nimbly turned southwest, and flew towards Damascus.

Beneath my feet, the ravaged town and scorched fields gradually shrank, bathed in the tragic and desolate dark golden light of the setting sun.

Through the narrow porthole, Song Heping silently gazed at this land repeatedly torn apart by war.

The Mi-171's engines roared continuously, filling the cabin with tremendous noise.

It carried Song Heping, flying towards the unknown next destination.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, in the dawn of Langley, Simon left his study, went downstairs to greet his wife who was making breakfast, and then went into the yard to untie the bulldog's leash. Two agents responsible for his security were already waiting at the door.

Simon nodded and smiled at them as a greeting, then led his dog into the park's greenway behind the community.

The invisible thread between the two, woven from secrets, threats, and mutual benefit, remains taut, stretching across continents and oceans, eerily linking their respective fates and calculations.

The undercurrents never cease to surge.

A new game has begun.

　The following chapters are even more exciting, so please continue reading.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)