Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 784 The place where the cone is established
At 3 a.m. London time, in an encrypted video conference room on the fifth basement floor of MI6 headquarters, Ms. M sipped her third cup of black coffee.

The screen was divided into three views—on the left was Deputy Director Pence from the CIA headquarters in Langley, and on the right was Deputy Director Levin from the Mossad headquarters in Tel Aviv.

The three men's faces appeared particularly gloomy under the blue light.

"According to the latest intelligence, Song Heping's actions in Mogadishu have completely changed the PMC landscape in Africa."

Ms. M put down her coffee cup, swiped her finger across the tablet, and brought up a set of satellite images.

"In just one week, his 'Musician' defenses in Africa have grown to over two hundred people. Most are former special forces members from various countries who came specifically because of his reputation, and their equipment is close to that of a regular army. It's fair to say that the mercenary circle in Africa has changed. The defeat of the 'Satan' Legion has made Song Heping's reputation soar, and we've actually done him a huge favor. Now someone has to clean up this mess."

"His growth is too rapid and must be contained, otherwise it will have a huge impact on our plans over there!"

Pence squinted, staring at the familiar Eastern face on the screen.

"He has thwarted several of our operations and caused a huge damage to our reputation. If we don't eliminate him, we will lose our deterrent power in the Sahel region of Africa."

“Not only that,” Levin interjected, his voice thick with an Israeli accent, “our intelligence indicates that he is establishing contact with the Quds Force of the Persian Revolutionary Guard. If these two forces combine…”

“Then it’s no longer a simple matter of armed threat,” Ms. M continued, “but a threat that could affect the geopolitics of the entire Middle East and Africa.”

The conference room fell into a brief silence.

All three knew that Song Heping was no ordinary mercenary leader.

This former PLA special forces member is fluent in five languages ​​and wields considerable influence among South American rebel and drug cartel circles. More troublesome is that he seems to always be able to anticipate the actions of Western intelligence agencies.

“We can no longer tolerate his presence.” Pence tapped his fingers on the table. “The president has authorized ‘extreme measures.’”

Levin leaned forward slightly: "Our Mossad 'Needle' team is in position and ready to cooperate."

Ms. M pulled up a map of Africa, with several red dots flashing in the North Sudan region: "Breaking news, the North Sudanese government is contacting him. They want him to train the army to fight against the rebels in South Sudan and the threat from Libya."

“God,” Pence cursed, “if he establishes a base in Sudan, the entire Northeast Africa will be out of control.”

"Therefore, action must be taken before the contact becomes a formal agreement."

Ms. M said calmly.

“I propose using the SAS’s ‘Dagger’ unit to operate jointly with your Delta Force and Mossad.”

“Location?” Levin asked.

“Here.” Ms. M zoomed in on a coordinate in the Darfur region. “According to reliable intelligence, Song Heping will inspect the border oil fields in three days. We have obtained detailed information about his itinerary.”

Pence broke into his first smile of the night: "Perfect ambush point. Air support is our responsibility."

“Intelligence sharing and real-time monitoring are provided by Mossad,” Levin added.

Ms. M glanced at her colleagues on the screen: "So, 'Operation Hawk Hunt' is officially launched. God bless us."

The images of the three people disappeared from the screen simultaneously, and the conference room fell into darkness again.

Two days ago, in the evening, in an inconspicuous villa on the outskirts of Khartoum, the capital of North Sudan, Song Heping stood by the window, watching the setting sun sink over the Nile River.

More than a week has passed since the operation in Mogadishu.

He has now moved to Khartoum.

The reason was that someone had invited me to come.

His original plan was to establish a foothold in Somalia.

However, establishing territory there required killing. Although Abdul was dead, the warlords and local armed forces in Somalia were already embroiled in a civil war. To gain a foothold there, it would take almost half a year to wipe out and suppress the local armed forces until they submitted to him.

This is no easy task, after all, even the US special forces suffered there back then.

However, just as the fortune teller said back then.

After reaching adulthood, Song Heping will have a stroke of good fortune, achieve great success, and have a limitless future.

Just as Song Heping was racking his brains for a foothold, a secret envoy sent by the North Sudanese government arrived at his door.

"Squad leader, the man has arrived."

Jiang Feng pushed open the door and came in, followed by three Africans dressed in suits.

The man in the lead was in his fifties, with dark skin, and his every move exuded the caution and shrewdness characteristic of politicians.

"Mr. Song, I've long admired your name. I am Hassan Omar, Special Advisor to the President."

Song Heping smiled and shook hands with the three men: "Mr. Omar, your English is much better than my Arabic. Shall we speak in English?" Omar visibly relaxed: "Of course."

After everyone was seated, Jiang Feng quietly left the room.

"Mr. Song, our government greatly appreciates your actions in Mogadishu."

Omar cut to the chase: "The professionalism and strategic vision you've demonstrated are exactly what we need right now."

Song Heping sipped his mint tea calmly: "You have your own army, and the UN peacekeeping forces are present in conflict zones. Why do you need to come to me?"

"Yes, but..."

Omar exchanged a glance with his companion.

"We face threats from both the north and the south. We know that the CIA is behind the South Sudanese rebels, and there's a very complex historical context involved. The Americans want to intervene in our affairs here, but the French are currently in charge. On the surface, they are allies, but in reality, they are using the war to play a game of chess on our land. You've seen the role the peacekeeping forces are playing here—it's not significant. Now, the rebels in the south are constantly attacking our oil fields; and in the north, Colonel Gaddafi's troops have crossed the border three times to attack oil facilities in Darfur. We have no other options..."

Song Heping put down his teacup: "So you need mercenaries? I'm sorry, Mr. Omar, I'm not just a simple mercenary."

“No, we need strategic partners,” Omar corrected. “We would like your company to train three rapid reaction brigades for us, while also providing military advisory services. In return, we can provide you with a permanent base in Darfur and grant you and your core team Sudanese diplomatic passports.”

Song Heping raised his eyebrows slightly.

A diplomatic passport means political asylum and immunity, which is exactly the protection that people like him need most.

“An interesting proposal,” he said slowly, “but if I may be frank, I am now a terrorist on the US and UN lists, and cooperating with me would likely cause a lot of trouble. Political trouble.”

Omar gave a shrewd smile: "That's precisely why we're willing to offer such generous terms. And..."

He lowered his voice. “We know the CIA has listed you as one of the highest threats. You need a country's protection, and we need your military talent. It's a win-win situation. As for the Americans and the UN, well, we can handle them. If they quell the rebels in the South and end the war, I can get rid of you, but what do you think the chances are?”

The room fell silent.

Song Heping got up and walked to the window, gazing at the lights of Khartoum in the distance.

He knew Omar was right—North and South Sudan were actually the result of old and new empires vying for territory and influence in Africa, and everyone knew who was behind it all.

The French knew the Americans were up to something.

The Americans also knew that the French would not compromise.

Everyone used Sudan as a chessboard to play their game, regardless of the fate of the locals.

who cares?
If he could quell the Civil War, he would simply be expelled.

This possibility means that Americans are giving up their pursuit of influence and control here.

Is that possible?

Of course not.

So, there's basically no problem with this.

"The exact location of the base?" he finally asked.

Omar unfolded a military map: "This is an old military base in Darfur, near the Libyan and Chadian borders. The location is concealed, yet easily accessible. There are natural caves underground that can be converted into air-raid shelters and weapons depots. Furthermore, we will provide you with secrecy; you are free to build your own defense zone there without interference. All we require is that you provide training and tactical staff for border operations."

Song Heping studied the map, his mind racing as he calculated the strategic value.

This location is indeed ideal—it allows for rapid response throughout North Sudan, while also providing coverage to Libya, Chad, and the Central African Republic.

“The training contract is for two years, and my company will be fully responsible for the formation and training of three rapid reaction brigades,” Song Heping began to bargain. “The base will be completely autonomous, and the Sudanese military will not interfere in its internal affairs. Diplomatic passports must be issued directly by the president and are irrevocable.”

Omar nodded: "Acceptable. But there's one condition—within three months, you'll need to assist us in recapturing the two main oil fields in the south that have been occupied by the rebels."

Song Heping laughed: "This is the real test, isn't it? They want to see if my team is really as powerful as the legends say."

"With oil revenues accounting for 70% of our GDP, we cannot take risks," Omar frankly admitted.

“Deal.” Song Heping extended his hand. “But I must add one point—all operations must be kept strictly confidential. If the United States discovers that your government is formally cooperating with me…”

“We have our ways,” Omar shook his hand. “The president’s nephew controls the National Intelligence Agency, and all documents go through special channels. To the outside world, your company is just a regular security contractor, providing protection for oil facilities.”

"Um……"

Song Heping nodded slightly: "That sounds interesting."

(End of this chapter)