Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 779 Information Exchange
Saga turned to look at his loyal but dim-witted subordinate, feeling a mixture of disappointment and frustration. He snapped, "Hal, where's your brain?! Did the mosquitoes here suck it all out?!"

He poked his temple with his finger, cursing, "Don't you think about it? If we had taken them down and handed them over to Abdul, we might have gotten a reward, but what about the weapons?! Do you think Abdul would give them to us? Do you know how hard it is to get weapons these days? Most of the brothers' guns only have one magazine left. If things continue like this, even if we're given a new territory, we won't be able to hold it. What's the point?!"

"what……"

Hal opened his mouth so wide he couldn't close it.

"I didn't think that far ahead..."

"So you can't be the boss! Hal!" Saga cursed, but his tone softened.

After all, he really liked Hal.

This guy may be a bit stupid, but he's absolutely loyal.

"Why can't we get his weapons first, then sell him to Abdul for a good price?! That way we'll have territory and weapons, wouldn't that be the best of both worlds?!"

"Boss Gao!"

Hal immediately gave a thumbs-up and tapped it several times.

"With my intelligence, I can't even come close to yours."

"Um……"

Saga was pleased to hear this and finally smiled.

"Don't worry, didn't they say they're going to Mogadishu on the 15th? Then take them with us. We'll get the weapons on the 10th, then we'll tip off Abdul and set up a trap in Mogadishu for them to come, and then... hehe!"

At this point, he couldn't help but chuckle wickedly.

Just as Saga was listening to his subordinates' flattery and feeling lightheaded, dreaming of a win-win situation, on the way back to Ethiopia, Nura couldn't wait to question Song Heping: "Why did you agree to give him weapons on the 10th? And equipment for 500 people at once, don't you think there's a problem?"

"What is the problem?"

With his hands gripping the steering wheel, Song Heping asked nonchalantly, "Does he think taking these weapons will bankrupt me?"

Indeed, Song Heping is not short of money now.

They also have no shortage of weapons.

He's been a prominent figure in the mercenary and arms industries for many years.

He has connections, resources, and supply chains.

The weapons and ammunition for a mere five hundred people are nothing to Song Heping right now.

"What problem? He's lying to you! Didn't you notice anything unusual about him? I think when he went out to discuss things with his subordinates before, it wasn't to persuade them to cooperate with us, but rather to brew some kind of sinister plot!"

"You mean he'll sell us out?" Song Heping asked.

“Of course!” Nura answered very firmly, “Now I think he’s going to sell us to Abdullah. We can’t go to Mogadishu, or something bad will happen!”

Song Heping said, "Didn't you introduce this person? You even told me he was reliable. I only got on this pirate ship because I trusted you."

"you--"

Nura wanted to get angry, but found herself unable to do so.

After all, he was the one who arranged this.

"Okay, I admit I'm eager for revenge, but now I'd like to ask you to cancel the plan and not go to Mogadishu on the 15th."

"We went through so much trouble and spent so much money to transport the weapons to Africa, and now you're telling me to cancel?"

Song Heping sneered, "You just want to go to a hotel with a girl, and I've already taken my clothes off before you tell me I'm on my period and can't do 'that'? What am I supposed to think?"

Nura's pretty face suddenly turned red.

You should know that she is an extremely conservative person.

Song Heping told her some dirty jokes, which left her momentarily at a loss for words, unsure of how to respond.

In particular, what Song Heping said made a lot of sense.

The die is cast; there's no going back. This night is destined to be anything but peaceful.

Just as Song Heping left Somalia and Saga stood on the balcony of an abandoned hospital, dreaming of expanding his territory, far away in Morocco, Captain Coleman sat quietly in a corner of a seaside café, smoking a cigarette with two cups of black coffee in front of him.

He was reading a newspaper, a cigarette butt resting on the edge of the ashtray, wisps of white smoke rising from it.

jingle--

The bell at the door rang.

Someone came in.

A white man wearing casual shorts and a brightly colored, flashy shirt, who looked like a tourist, walked in.

Looking around the quiet coffee shop, there were only two old men drinking coffee in the corner. The owner, who was also the waiter, was dozing off at the counter, drooling onto the table.

He saw Coleman.

Coleman's gaze also reached him over the top edge of the newspaper.

The man dressed as a tourist gave a meaningful smile, then went straight to sit down opposite the captain.

"I've already ordered your coffee."

Coleman pushed the cup of black coffee towards him.

The disheveled blond man didn't stand on ceremony. He picked up the glass and drank, taking a sip before stopping. He said softly, "So, what's the matter with issuing an emergency contact order so late? Are your people all that diligent? How much is the fieldwork allowance for working overtime at night?"

"I don't know how much the subsidy is, but..."

Captain Coleman carefully folded the newspaper, aligning every seam like a perfectionist.

When the newspaper was put back on the table, Coleman's gaze was as piercing as a spotlight as he stared intently at the person in front of him, and he said with no small amount of pride, "Tonight we got hold of the guy on your department's wanted list who's second only to Bin Laden in terms of bounty."

This sentence struck the blond, messy-haired man on the other side of the river like a bullet.

He stopped drinking his coffee as if struck by a magic acupuncture point, his mind racing as he tried to decipher the final answer, wondering if Coleman was talking about the same person he was thinking of.

"Song?"

His previously drowsy eyes suddenly lit up with a sharp light, and he became instantly energetic.

You mean him?

"BINGO! You're right! There's a prize!"

Coleman was very pleased with himself and pointed to the coffee in front of him.

"I'll pay this time, consider it a reward."

The blond man with the messy hair immediately lost interest in his coffee, put the cup back on the table, and said with a serious expression, "Are you sure you didn't make a mistake?"

The implication was clear: if the CIA can't get it, why should the MI6?!

“It’s absolutely true. The head of their company’s intelligence department, do you remember who it is?” Coleman threw out the bait.

"Henry! He's someone from your old intelligence unit!"

The man with the messy hair had flames shooting from his eyes.

"He's in your hands? That's impossible; he should be in Ethiopia!"

"No, he is indeed in our hands."

Coleman clasped his hands together, interlacing his fingers.

“Bridge, don’t doubt my professionalism.”

He shrugged.

"Come on, name a price that interests me."

(End of this chapter)