Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1180 The Pentagon's Vicious Plot

Ground, the Gobi Desert, on the way to the border of Iligor.

"There are still 90 kilometers to the border! The road conditions are extremely poor, and I estimate that it will take longer to cross the border than I expected."

The lead driver, "Shadow," glanced at the navigation screen; his voice was intermittent due to the constant bumps.

The armed pickup truck bounced wildly across the bumpy Gobi Desert, each jolt making the people inside feel as if their internal organs had shifted.

Petrovsky did not answer; most of his attention was focused on the dusky sky outside the car window.

Although the US fighter jets had withdrawn, his unease did not lessen at all.

Years of special operations experience taught him that the enemy would not give up easily, especially an adversary like the United States.

Losing the option of direct air strikes means they are likely to resort to other, more insidious methods.

The convoy resembled several wounded hyenas, leaving long trails of dust across the desolate land.

Inside the carriage, no one spoke; only the roar of the engine, the noise of tires crushing stones, and the whistling of the wind rushing into the carriage could be heard.

The medic "Angel" knelt on the bumpy back of the truck, using her own body to cushion the fall of the unconscious "Frost".

His hands never left the wound on "Frost's" abdomen; the gauze was already soaked with blood, and a sticky, warm sensation kept coming through his gloves.

Every few tens of seconds, he would lean down and feel Frost's faint breathing, while pressing his fingers on the artery in Frost's neck to monitor the increasingly weak heartbeat.

"Your blood pressure continues to drop; surgery is necessary as soon as possible!"

On the channel, the "angel's" voice was filled with barely suppressed anxiety.

Petrovsky turned his gaze from the window and pressed the microphone: "Attention everyone, we're safe for now. We must speed things up! 'Frost' needs urgent medical attention! Repeat, speed up!"

Langley, Virginia, USA: Briefing room at CIA headquarters.

An encrypted video conference is underway. The screen is divided into several sections, displaying the positions of the Pentagon's Joint Chiefs of Staff Office, the National Security Council (NSC), and Simon, the CIA's Deputy Director of Operations.

A staff officer of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, bearing the epaulettes of a three-star lieutenant general, broke the silence: "Gentlemen, the outcome of the operation at Latamila is clear. We lost our target, we lost our chemical weapons depot, and the Russian Aerospace Forces flexed their muscles in front of us and successfully drove away our aircraft. This is a double failure on both a strategic and tactical level."

He manipulated the terminal in front of him, and a file was retrieved and shared on the screens of all the attendees.

In the upper left corner of the file is a front-facing photo of Song Heping, with the English label next to it reading "Ghost".

"However, it wasn't all for naught."

The lieutenant general's aide continued, "We have confirmed that the high-value target 'Ghost' is with the Russian SSO team. They are currently attempting to cross the border back to northwestern Iligo in several light vehicles. I believe we still have a window of opportunity, a chance to recover some of the losses and respond strongly to Moscow."

Simon's heart skipped a beat; he could almost guess what he was about to hear.

"The target, 'Ghost,' has a deep-seated grudge against Bakdadi, the leader of the 1515 armed group entrenched in northwestern Ilig and the Syrian border region. Reliable intelligence indicates that Bakdadi has suffered heavy losses at the hands of 'Ghost' on several occasions, including personnel losses and the theft of supplies. He himself was also nearly killed by Song Heping in a raid."

The lieutenant general's aide remained calm, saying, "This deep-seated hatred is a strategic asset that can be utilized."

He proposed the core plan: "The CIA will coordinate, through established and verifiable third-party channels, to provide Bakhdadi with intelligence on the specific routes, personnel, and equipment of 'Ghost' and his team. At the same time, $50 million will be provided as payment for his mobilization of forces to intercept and eliminate Song Heping and the SSO team in the border region."

The briefing room was deathly silent, with only the faint hum of the equipment running.

Simon knew he had to speak. He adjusted his posture, adopting a cautious, professional expression. "General," he said, "the potential risks of this plan need to be assessed. Any transaction with a globally wanted terrorist leader like Bakdadi, if exposed, would be a fatal blow to our nation's reputation and counter-terrorism strategy. The 1515 militia is extremely unpredictable; we cannot guarantee that our investment of funds and intelligence will achieve the desired results, and it might even backfire." His words were well-reasoned and supported by evidence.

Actually, he was worried that Song Heping would die.

The two are definitely allies when it comes to interests.

Before he could finish speaking, the National Security Advisor, seated at the head of the table, interrupted him: “Simon, the risks are manageable. The CIA has extensive experience and reliable channels for handling these kinds of ‘asymmetric’ operations. What I want is results—to completely eliminate ‘Spectre,’ cripple that Russian team, and send a clear signal to the Kremlin. As for the process, I trust you have the ability to ensure it’s clean and untraceable. This must be carried out.”

A chill ran through Simon.

He knew perfectly well that any further opposition from him would be futile and might even backfire.

The person on the screen is the National Security Advisor. Anyone who can reach that position is a cunning old fox.
Even the slightest emotional outburst in his presence could arouse suspicion.

He suppressed all his personal emotions, his facial expression returning to its usual calm: "Understood, sir. The CIA will initiate procedures immediately to ensure the mission is completed successfully."

1515 Armed Command Center, a small town near the border with Iligor in Seria.

Bakdadi, his head wrapped in a black turban, sat beside a simple cot, listening to his confidant's whispered report.

His fingers unconsciously traced the twisted, grotesque scar above his brow bone, a mark left from a confrontation years ago that nearly cost him his life.

“Emir, the message from the ‘caravan’ and the first payment have been confirmed. Twenty-five million US dollars, in cryptocurrency, and the account is clean.”

A trusted aide handed Bakdadi a tablet computer, the screen displaying the balance of his encrypted wallet and a recently decrypted intelligence document.

Bakdadi's rough fingers slid across the screen and opened the file.

On the first page, Song Heping's photo, with its sharp features and hawk-like eyes, instantly filled his entire field of vision.

Time seemed to freeze at this moment.

Bakdadi's breathing suddenly became heavy, his pupils contracted sharply, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the tablet.

Past humiliations and hatred surged forth uncontrollably like molten lava.

"It's him……"

Bakdadi's voice was hoarse and deep, filled with an indescribable rage and a morbid excitement. "This guy actually came all the way to Celia... and even landed on my territory!"

He abruptly raised his head, his eyes filled with malice: "Tell the 'caravan' we've done this deal! Have them send over the detailed route and schedule! Immediately issue my orders to mobilize all our brothers in the northwest of Iligo who are capable of fighting, and bring heavy machine guns, rocket launchers, and mortars! Load all the pickup trucks that can be driven with ammunition! I want to use the blood of the 'Ghost' on the border to commemorate our fallen warriors! I want everyone to see the consequences of offending the warriors of Allah!"

"Yes, Emil!"

The trusted confidant loudly accepted the order, turned around, and rushed out of the room.

Only Bakdadi remained in the room.

He stared intently at Song Heping's photo on the screen, a twisted and cruel smile spreading across his face, revealing yellowed teeth, his deep voice like a curse:

"This time, let's see how you escape from my grasp..."

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)