Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1139 Poisonous Caviar

Langley, CIA headquarters, Director's office.

Simon sat behind his large desk, his fingertips unconsciously tapping on the smooth mahogany surface, producing a dull thud.

Jackson stood ramrod straight in front of him, his slightly evasive gaze betraying his inner embarrassment and anxiety.

"Jackson."

Simon's voice was calm, revealing neither joy nor anger, yet carrying an invisible pressure: "How is the plan to 'clean up' Song Heping progressing? I remember you were very confident before."

Jackson's Adam's apple bobbed, and he forced a reply: "Sir, the target is extremely vigilant. His safe house is heavily guarded, and the personnel inside are rigorously screened. Several potential entry points we've tried to make contact with have all failed. He has independent, reliable sources of food, and our people... haven't found a safe time to strike yet."

He could almost hear his own teeth grinding together, and this powerless report humiliated him.

Simon leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his stomach, and gave an expression of understanding mixed with slight disappointment: “Song Heping… he is indeed a formidable opponent. Cunning, suspicious, and luck always seems to be on his side. Vincent fell into his hands, and so did Commander Kelly…”

He paused at the opportune moment and gave Jackson a meaningful look.

At the mention of Kelly, Jackson's pupils constricted sharply, and a fleeting look of barely suppressed anger and hatred crossed his face.

Kelly was his mentor.

Song Heping turned Kelly into a vegetable, and this grudge is etched into his heart.

"Sir!"

Jackson's voice suddenly rose, filled with an almost obsessive determination, "Please give me a little more time! I promise you, I will find a way, I will take down that guy, for Commander Kelly, and for the honor of our operations unit! I will not let you down!"

Simon sneered inwardly, but on the surface, he wore an approving and reassuring expression: "I know your determination, Jackson. I also believe in your abilities. It's just that Song Heping... sigh, we must admit, he has caused us too much trouble. Dealing with him requires patience, and even more so... opportunity."

At this moment, there was a gentle knock on the office door.

"Come in."

Simon raised his voice.

An analyst in a suit with a serious expression strode in, carrying a folder. He first nodded to Simon and Jackson, then said quickly, "Sir, we have just received a high-value intelligence report from our intelligence network in Damascus, Syria. After preliminary analysis, we believe this could be an excellent opportunity to target Song Heping."

"Oh?"

Simon raised an eyebrow, leaned forward slightly, and displayed just the right amount of curiosity. "What intelligence?"

The analyst opened the folder: "We've monitored that Song will host President Hafez at his safe house tomorrow night. Ostensibly, it's to discuss the war in the north and express gratitude for the previous awards, but in reality, it's to discuss how to deal with the war in the north. The safe house's kitchen has prepared a list of needs, which includes a variety of scarce ingredients, most notably—he needs a large quantity of top-quality Russian caviar."

Jackson's eyes lit up instantly, and his breathing became a little heavy.

The analyst continued, "Russian caviar is extremely scarce in Damascus under the current sanctions. Legitimate channels are almost completely cut off, and it mainly circulates on the black market, where it is expensive and its sources are complex. According to our information, the 'chef' Yevgeny himself has a particular fondness for Russian cuisine and enjoys cooking, especially caviar, a fact confirmed multiple times in past intelligence reports. Previously, their food supply had fixed and tightly controlled channels, making it difficult for us to intervene. However, this time, due to the high-profile nature of the banquet and the tight schedule, the kitchen seems impatient for established channels and has begun searching for sources through black market connections."

Simon pondered, “It sounds like an opportunity… However, Song Heping is inherently suspicious, especially after the previous incidents. He must be extremely concerned about his own safety, particularly food safety. Even if the caviar came through the black market, wouldn’t he test it before eating it? If he does, our chances of success are almost zero.”

The analyst, clearly prepared, immediately replied, “Sir, that’s the key. We speculate that if our people posed as black market suppliers, proactively contacted the head chef in charge of food procurement in the kitchen, offered him the caviar he desperately needed, and used ‘special discounts’ as bait, the chef would likely be tempted.”

"As long as we control the delivery time well—for example, schedule it for tomorrow afternoon, as close as possible to the start of the banquet—Song Heping will be busy receiving President Hafez, and his attention will inevitably be diverted. He may not have time to personally oversee the safety inspection details of each ingredient. Meanwhile, the kitchen staff, due to time constraints, won't have much time for thorough inspection and may be tempted to simplify procedures. If our 'added ingredient' caviar can be successfully served, the opportunity will arise. Even…"

The analyst paused, lowering his voice.

"If we can take care of Hafiz as well, that would be a huge bonus."

"Perfect!"

Jackson clenched his fists, his face flushed with excitement.

"Time pressure, scarce resources, and that greedy kitchen procurement officer! This is absolutely a golden opportunity! Sir, please entrust this task to me! I will personally command the Damascus team and guarantee its success!"

Simon looked at Jackson's anxious expression and thought to himself.

Song Heping is truly remarkable.

Jackson's reaction was exactly as Song Heping had predicted.

Everything was unfolding according to the pre-set script.

He pretended to be deep in thought for a moment, tapping his fingers on the table a few times, as if he were making a difficult strategic decision.

"Risks still exist..."

Simon muttered to himself slowly, his gaze sweeping over Jackson and the analyst.

“Song Heping isn’t so easily fooled. But… this opportunity is truly rare. Jackson, since you’re so confident, then you’ll be in full charge. Remember, success is the only option; failure is not an option. This may be our best, and only, chance in the short term.”

"Yes, sir!"

Jackson immediately became incredibly excited, like he'd been injected with adrenaline: "I will never let you down! I'll go set it up right now!"

Watching Jackson and the analyst hurry away, Simon leaned back in his chair and slowly exhaled a breath of stale air. The office fell silent again, leaving him alone.

He walked to the window and looked out at the neatly manicured lawn of Langley headquarters and the lush woods in the distance.

Song Heping...

What exactly do you want to do?
Using herself as bait to lure Jackson into making a move...

Do they want to create public opinion and influence surrounding the assassination?

Just for this?
is that useful?
Or is there a deeper scheme at play?

Simon felt a chill.

He realized that even though he was involved in the plan, he still couldn't see Song Heping's full scheme.

This opponent is far too dangerous.

He now only hopes that this dangerous game will not ultimately backfire on him.

The following day, in Damascus, at a safe house.

The afternoon sun began to slant, casting a golden glow over the war-torn city, but it did nothing to dispel the growing tension inside the safe house.

4:30 p.m.

President Hafez's motorcade, escorted by several armored vehicles, entered the open space outside the security building on time.

Song Heping and the cook personally greeted them at the door. The three shook hands and exchanged pleasantries warmly before entering Song Heping's office together. The heavy door then closed behind them.

No one knows exactly what these three figures, who would determine the fate of northern Syria, were talking about inside the house.

In stark contrast is the kitchen.

The kitchen was bustling with activity, like a pot of water about to boil, but the atmosphere of this busyness was not driven by passion for cooking, but by an anxious wait.

The local chef, a slightly overweight middle-aged man, had fine beads of sweat on his forehead. He was pulling out his phone for the umpteenth time to make a call, his voice low but barely concealing his anger as he growled into the receiver in Arabic:

"Where are we?! Time is running out! The president has already arrived! If the banquet is disrupted because of your delay, neither of us can afford the responsibility!"

The person on the other end of the phone seemed to be trying to reassure and reassure, but the chef's expression grew increasingly grim.

He was tempted by the price, which was far below market value, and the other party's promise of "absolutely genuine products." He bypassed his usual safe but expensive channels and chose this suddenly appearing "efficient supplier."

Now, he felt like a fish caught on a hook, with no choice but to pray that the other party would keep their word.

"what happened?"

A loud and authoritative voice rang out from the kitchen doorway.

The chef was so frightened that he almost dropped his phone.

He turned around hastily and saw the cook, Yevgeny, standing in the doorway with his shiny bald head and a questioning expression on his rugged face. As one of the security leaders here and the actual chef for tonight's banquet, the cook was extremely attentive to the preparations.

"N-nothing, Mr. Yevgeny."

The chef stammered, "The ingredients... the ingredients are basically all ready, and we're preparing them."

"Where's the caviar?"

The cook's eyes flashed like lightning, sweeping directly towards the storage shelves.

"Has the caviar I specifically requested arrived? It's the highlight of tonight; President Hafez and Mr. Song are both looking forward to it."

The chef's back was instantly soaked with cold sweat, but he forced himself to remain calm: "We're here... uh, almost here! The supplier is already on his way. He said it's the last shipment, reserved especially for us, and it's definitely the best quality!"

The chef squinted and stared at the head chef for a few seconds, his gaze seemingly able to penetrate one's heart.

The chef felt like he was suffocating.

Fortunately, the cook didn't investigate further, only grunting, "That's for the best! I'm warning you, if anything goes wrong, or if I find out someone dares to steal a spoonful..."

He patted the pistol at his waist.

"I'll shoot him! Keep a close eye on him, I'll be back in twenty minutes to start preparing the appetizers!"

After saying that, the cook turned and left, the heavy sound of his military boots fading into the distance.

The head chef breathed a long sigh of relief, wiping his forehead, which was covered in sweat.

He picked up his phone again, urging the other person on almost a pleading note.

Time ticked by, and the clock on the wall relentlessly pointed to five in the afternoon.

The dinner is scheduled to start at 6:30 pm, and preparing the top-quality caviar dishes takes time, so time is already very tight.

Just when the chef was about to despair, his phone finally rang.

It's that supplier!

"We're here! We're here! Right at the back door! Someone come quickly to collect the goods!"

"I'll come right away!"

The head chef, disregarding all decorum, practically tumbled and crawled towards the back door.

The back door of the safe house was also heavily guarded.

Several heavily armed guards stopped the deliveryman—a middle-aged man dressed in the clothes of an ordinary local businessman, carrying a silver insulated box.

The guards followed procedures strictly and conducted an extremely thorough body search, even opening the insulated box to check whether the beautifully packaged jars of caviar inside contained any foreign objects.

The CIA agent, disguised as a supplier, had a pounding heart, but he tried his best to maintain a humble and anxious businessman's expression.

He had undergone repeated training and mental preparation beforehand, knowing that this was the most crucial step.

He was carrying a high-tech, slow-release, highly toxic substance, sealed in a specially made microcapsule, cleverly embedded in the lid of a jar of caviar. It was undetectable unless the jar was completely disassembled.

Once the jar is opened and the caviar is stirred, the specially designed capsules, under pressure, rupture, and the toxins are evenly mixed throughout the entire jar of caviar. They are colorless, odorless, and difficult to detect.

The guards focused their inspections on weapons, explosives, and listening devices. For well-sealed food cans, they scanned the outside with detectors and, after confirming there was no metal or explosive reaction, failed to discover any hidden dangers inside the lids.

"Who is he?"

A guard asked the chef, who had caught up with them, with suspicion.

"It's caviar! It's an ingredient we desperately need! We're counting on this for the dinner!" the chef hurriedly explained, his tone urgent.

The guard sized up the agent again, confirming that he looked harmless and that a body search revealed he posed no threat, before waving him away.

The agent, carrying an insulated box, followed the head chef quickly into the kitchen.

Upon entering the kitchen, he immediately opened the box and took out the jars of caviar with Russian labels.

The chef couldn't wait to open one of the jars and tried to scoop out a little to taste, but then he remembered the chef Yevgeny's warning and quickly withdrew his finger, only holding the caviar under his nostrils to sniff it a few times.

After taking a sniff, the chef's eyes lit up immediately—based on his years of experience as a chef, the quality far exceeded his expectations; it was indeed top-notch!
He felt a sense of relief; at least the item was genuine, and he was certain he would make this windfall.

Just then, footsteps sounded again at the kitchen doorway.

The cook returned and prepared to begin his work.

He immediately noticed the open caviar on the table and the unfamiliar "supplier".

"The goods have been delivered?" The cook strode over.

The agent recognized the cook, and his heart jumped into his throat. He quickly lowered his head, not daring to look the cook in the eye.

"It's here! It's here! Mr. Yevgeny, look, it's absolutely top-quality!" The head chef hurriedly handed over the opened can of food as if it were a treasure.

The cook glanced at the caviar, examined its color and size, then smelled it. A satisfied smile spread across his rugged face: "Hmm! Not bad! It's genuine Siberian sturgeon caviar! Good stuff!"

He patted the chef on the shoulder with such force that the chef winced. "You're a good guy!"

Then, the cook suddenly turned his head, his fierce gaze sweeping over everyone in the kitchen, including the "supplier" who had his head down, and roared, "Listen up, all of you! Nobody is allowed to touch this stuff right now! Wait for me to cook it! Anyone who dares to steal a bite, I'll shove their head into a cannon and shoot them out like a cannonball! You hear me!"

After yelling, he told the head chef, "Watch closely! I'm going to double-check the menu, then I'll be right back to get to work!" Only then did he rush off again.

The agent, disguised as a supplier, felt his clothes were almost soaked with cold sweat.

When the cook's oppressive gaze swept over him just now, he almost thought he had been exposed.

Fortunately, everything turned out alright.

He didn't dare linger. He took the thick wad of cash from the chef, bowed and scraped, and quickly said goodbye before leaving.

After exiting the safe house through the back door and walking to a secluded street corner, the agent immediately jumped into a waiting car.

The car started quickly and drove away from the area. Only after it had driven a considerable distance did the agent, his hands trembling, take out the encrypted satellite phone, dial a number, his voice trembling with excitement and lingering fear:
"Report! Goods... Goods have been safely delivered! Received confirmed, no suspicion aroused. Repeat, goods have been delivered!"

On the other end of the phone, Jackson, far away in the Langley command center, suddenly stood up from his seat, clenched his fist, and his face was filled with uncontrollable ecstasy and ferocity.

"Excellent! Excellent! 'Operation Hunt' has entered its final stage! Closely monitor Damascus's movements and report back immediately if there is any news! I want to confirm Song Heping's death with my own eyes!"

Inside the safe house, in the kitchen.

The head chef carefully placed the precious jars of caviar, especially the one that had been "chosen" by the chef, in the most conspicuous spot on the kitchen counter, instructing his staff not to touch it, and then began preparing the other side dishes.

He was calculating how much he could make this time, almost forgetting his previous worries and fears.

Safe house, office
The talks between Song Heping and Hafiz appear to have come to an end.

The cook tiptoed in through the door.

Song Heping looked at him and asked, "Is everything ready?"

The cook said nonchalantly, "Don't worry, Song! Everything is ready, and the goods have arrived."

"very good."

Song Heping smiled, turned to Hafiz and gestured for him to enter, "Mr. President, it seems it's our turn to take the stage."

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)