Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1197 Meeting Place
Langley, USA, CIA headquarters building, inside the director's office.

The night, like thick ink, enveloped this building that symbolizes the global intelligence hub.

Simon didn't turn on the main light; only the antique Tiffany desk lamp on his desk emitted a dim, soft glow, illuminating his face in a half-light, half-shadow.

He had just finished a video call with Brennan, who informed him that the president had agreed to his proposal and that he would be responsible for contacting Russia, Poland, and Song through secret channels.

But the premise is that it must be kept confidential.

This plan will remain top secret from now until the future.

Not a single word can be revealed to the public.

Even if any media outlets speculate about it, it must be denied, and no cooperation with Russia, Poland, and Song must be acknowledged.

Regarding the removal of Song Heping from the list of KB members, it was the CIA that added him back then, so now the CIA can find a reason to remove him. As for the UN, as long as a report is submitted, Song Heping's name can be removed from the list very quickly.

After ending the video call with Brennan, Simon took out the encrypted satellite phone, his fingers lingering on the cold metal buttons for a moment, as if weighing the final pros and cons, before decisively pressing a long, complex string of numbers.

A few short beeps came through the receiver, followed by a long wait. The signal was being routed through several encrypted satellites to evade any potential eavesdropping.

Finally, the call was answered.

The voice on the other end was slightly hoarse, with the howling wind in the background, as if it were in some open and cold place.

“It’s me, Simon.”

"I heard it."

Song Heping's voice was unusually calm, showing no surprise whatsoever, as if he had been waiting for this call all along: "Calling at this hour, do you have any results?"

"Ah."

Simon spoke slowly, making sure every word was clearly conveyed to avoid any ambiguity: "The White House just finished a meeting. It was a heated debate, but in the end... they agreed to the 'limited contact' proposal."

He specifically emphasized the word "limited".

Then he continued, "You need to take immediate action now. As an intermediary, contact your people and those in Moscow. The representatives from each side don't need to be of high rank, but they must be people who can make decisions on the spot."

"Where is the location?"

Song Heping was concise and efficient, as always.

"You can make suggestions, but they must be neutral, safe, and confidential."

Simon outlined three key points: "Ideally, it should be in a third-party country, but in an area where the United States has a certain level of influence. The meeting should be limited to coordinating military operations against the 1515 militants in northwestern Iligo, establishing a temporary demilitarized zone or operational boundary to avoid accidental clashes and direct conflict. There should be no political recognition or long-term agreement involved; that's the bottom line."

Song Heping remained silent for a few seconds on the other end of the phone. Only the sound of the biting wind could be heard through the receiver. He seemed to be thinking, or perhaps observing his surroundings.

"Understood. I'll select locations as soon as possible and get back to you."

"Keep the line open. Be careful."

Simon said one last thing, hung up the phone, then got up and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the sleeping city outside.

The Potomac River in the distance resembles a black ribbon, with occasional car headlights piercing the night like fleeting shooting stars.

A safe house hotel room in Moscow.

It was already past midnight.

Song Heping had just finished his call with Simon and, without any hesitation, immediately switched to another phone and dialed Petrovic's number.

“Mr. Petrovich, it’s me.”

Song Heping briefly introduced himself in fluent Russian.

"Song?"

Petrovich's voice was heavy with sleepiness, and his tongue was slightly rolled, as if he had drunk too much.

"Why are you calling me so late? Is something important?"

"News has arrived from the White House."

Song Heping ignored his teasing and went straight to the point.

"Washington has agreed to the four-way contact. We need to determine the meeting place as soon as possible, and you need to send someone to participate, preferably someone who can make decisions on-site."

"Oh? It seems Uncle Sam has finally set the abacus beads in the right place."

Petrovich whistled, his tone casual but his words sharp: "Any suggestions for a location? It can't be Disneyland, can it?"

“I’m thinking about it.”

Song Heping's gaze fell on the electronic map displayed on the tablet next to him. "We need to find a place where everyone can relax a little, and where we won't easily be targeted by those annoying flies."

"Tbilisi in Georgia? Baku in Azerbaijan? Or... to save trouble... let's just set up camp in your Persian camp."

Petrovich proposed several common options.

“Iriego is too large a target; it would be easy for information to leak out. Georgia and Azerbaijan…”

Song Heping pondered for a moment, "The geographical location is not a problem, but the Americans may not be completely at ease, thinking that it is your or our 'home ground'."

His finger glided across the tablet's smooth screen, passing over city names before finally settling on a single point.

This location is in northern Iligo, but it has its own unique characteristics.

"Erbil, how is it?" he said slowly.

"The capital of the Koldeid Autonomous Region?"

Petrovic's tone became more serious, clearly indicating that he was thinking quickly.

“That place… is interesting. The Americans have considerable influence there, but if the Kolds are concerned about their own lives, they wouldn’t dare to do anything underhanded during the negotiations. For us… the access route is relatively smooth; we can get there by crossing the border from the Persian Plateau. Here’s the arrangement: according to procedure, I need to report to my superiors and then assess the risks. Don’t worry, I will get back to you as soon as possible.”

"ASAP."

After Song Heping finished speaking, he ended the call without saying a single unnecessary word.

Immediately afterwards, he changed his phone again, switched channels, and contacted Afanti.

Communicating with an old friend like Afanti is much simpler and more efficient, much like telegraphic communication.

He conveyed the US's intention to engage in contact in principle, as well as the tentatively selected meeting place—Erbil. Having done all this, the sky outside the window was already turning a pale white, and a new day quietly dawned amidst the smoke and uncertainty.

Song Heping rubbed his slightly swollen temples; the intense mental exertion was more tiring than continuous marching.

He was just about to lean back in his chair and take a nap to recharge when there was a rhythmic knocking on the door.

Three long, two short.

A pause, then another long pause.

It's a secret code agreed upon by acquaintances.

When he goes out, Song Heping is always very careful.

A pre-arranged knock on the door can distinguish between a friend and a stranger.

Looking through the specially treated peephole to confirm the identity of the visitor, Song Heping gently unlocked the door.

The person standing outside the door is the "cook".

The latter slipped in like a shadow, gently closing the door behind him with a smooth, silent motion.

"I heard you met the 'boss' today?"

The cook said in a low voice, his eyes giving a meaningful look.

The "boss" he was referring to was the one in the Kremlin.

Song Heping walked over, took out a bottle of locally produced mineral water and handed it to him, then opened one for himself and took a sip: "Just finished working. Your information is always so timely."

"I have someone above me."

The cook took the water, but didn't drink it. He placed it directly on the bedside table next to him and looked at Song Heping with a serious expression.

"What did the boss say? Did he agree?"

“He agreed.” Song Heping laughed. “He’s not stupid. Jiang Feng has already taken over Moremania. It’s clear that unless the Americans send troops back to Iligo, they have no choice but to cooperate with us. Besides, I’ve also brought in you Russians and Persians.”

The cook gave him a thumbs up: "I knew you were a genius! There's nothing you can't do!"

His eyes revealed envy.

“I’ve been with the ‘boss’ for so many years, and to be honest, sometimes I feel like I don’t even have as much trust in you as he does.”

Song Heping noticed the complex look in the cook's eyes.

You can call it envy.

You could call it a longing...

An intense longing...

Suddenly, he seemed to understand the cook more deeply.

The cook had gone to great lengths to get close to Vladimir over the years, even enduring ridicule as a "private chef," and had been treated like a dog for so many years before finally gaining a little trust.

Compared to himself, a complete stranger, it only took him three days to convince his usually cautious "boss"...

The cook's eyes held not only envy, but also longing and disappointment.

Perhaps realizing his lapse in composure, the cook quickly grinned to cover his emotions and changed the subject, asking, "Where is the meeting place?"

"Erbil." Song Heping didn't hide it from him, after all, the matter was related to the cook, so there was no need to conceal it.

"Erbil? That's American territory!"

He lowered his voice even further.

Song Heping nodded and tightened the bottle cap: "It's a preliminary intention, but we still need the other party's final confirmation."

The cook frowned, his deep wrinkles etched like knife cuts: "Have you thought this through? Erbil isn't a place you call the shots, nor is it the Persians. It's not impossible that the Americans could wipe you out along with our people. They've done that before!"

Seeing the worry in the cook's eyes, Song Heping felt a slight ripple in his heart.

He knew that in this dark jungle of great power rivalry, the cook's worries were by no means unfounded.

Betrayal and conspiracy are the norm here; sincerity and trust are luxuries.

He walked to the window, his gaze falling on the street below where pedestrians and vehicles were beginning to move about, and said slowly, "Cook, I understand your concerns. But this time, I think the chances are slim."

"Why? Just because they need you to deal with that bunch of mad dogs from 1515 right now?" The cook's tone was sarcastic.

"That's one aspect."

Song Heping turned around, his eyes calm and firm, and said, “But more importantly, it’s about balance and deterrence. If something happens to me in Erbil, regardless of whether the Americans did it or not, they will undoubtedly be held accountable. At that time, do you think the people behind you, and the Kremlin behind Petrovich, known for its hardline stance, will let it go? Erbil…”

He shook his head: "It will definitely not be the relatively peaceful oasis that is maintained by a delicate balance now. War and turmoil will immediately sweep across the entire Kolde Autonomous Region, and even affect Turkey and the border with Syria. What the Americans want is stability and to eliminate the 1515 militia, not to detonate a bomb that could hurt themselves in a place where they can still exert influence."

He paused, then added, “Besides, I won’t rely on other people’s goodwill for security. I will make arrangements in advance. My men will be stationed in key locations such as the mountains to the north and major transportation routes to the east. If my signal is interrupted, or if I issue a specific warning signal, they have the ability to turn certain key locations in Erbil into hell on earth within half an hour. This is not a bluffing threat; this is real insurance.”

The cook stared at Song Heping for a long time, his cloudy yet sharp eyes seemingly trying to pierce through his appearance and reach his heart, assessing every detail of his words and the determination behind them.

Finally, he slowly exhaled a breath of stale air, his tense shoulders relaxing slightly: "You're always like this, thinking three steps ahead for every one step you take, planning out every possible escape route and counterattack. Since you're so confident... fine..."

He stepped forward and patted Song Heping's arm forcefully.

"You must be careful. Americans are not trustworthy; they are all in it for their own benefit. At the negotiating table, there are no permanent friends, only permanent interests."

Song Heping sensed the chef's deep concern. He nodded and softened his tone, saying, "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

He didn't tell the cook the deeper, more fatal reason—that Simon, the CIA acting director who was personally in charge of the meeting and was about to fly to Erbil, was, in a sense, one of Song Heping's "people."

Their relationship is far more solid and complex than outsiders imagine.

Simon's political life, and even his personal safety, are closely linked to Song Heping.

Simon would never allow anything to happen to him in Erbil; that would be tantamount to suicide.

Of course, this was a top secret that existed only between him and Simon, a trump card that absolutely could not be revealed.

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

　　
　
(End of this chapter)