Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 810 Some are happy and some are sad

A press conference was held at the Presidential Palace in Khartoum, the capital of Sudan.

Defense Minister Abdul Rahim stood behind a podium covered with a dark blue tablecloth, with two huge projected images behind him.

On the left is the radar record of the flight path of the US military drone, and on the right is the infrared image of the SAM-6 missile taking off.

"This is a blatant violation of Sudan's sovereignty!"

Rahim's voice echoed through the hall through the simultaneous interpretation system.

"We call on the international community to condemn this violation of the UN Charter."

The audience was ablaze with flashes and the clicking of camera shutters.

A Reuters reporter raised his hand and asked, "Mr. Minister, there are reports that the drone was shot down by a private military company called 'The Musician,' not the Sudanese government forces. What is your comment on this?"

Rahim remained composed: "The Sudanese government maintains good working relationships with all legally registered security contractors. Importantly, no country has the right to send armed drones into our airspace."

A CNN reporter in the back row suddenly shouted, "The U.S. State Department just issued a statement saying these drones may be carrying out counterterrorism missions. Have you confirmed that the targeted drones are linked to terrorist organizations?"

Rahim's eyes sharpened: "Our intelligence indicates that these drones are targeting a legitimate businessman and his employees' camp. If the United States has any evidence that it's a terrorist base, it should raise it through proper channels. After verification, we will send specialized personnel to coordinate with them and resolve this issue, rather than deploying killer drones."

At the same moment, inside his tent at Atron Oasis, Song Heping turned off the live stream.

He turned to the dozen or so mercenaries inside the tent and raised his coffee cup.

“To victory,” he said briefly.

Everyone raised their glasses in response, and a cheer erupted from inside the tent.

Jiang Feng walked over and handed him a satellite phone.

“A call from the head of North Sudan’s military intelligence department,” he said in a low voice. “He wants to know where we got the SAM-6 systems.”

Song Heping took the phone, a businessman's smile appearing on his face: "Minister, I heard you're interested in the SAM-6 missile system?"

“Mr. Song, we are interested in all weapons that are effective.”

"Well……"

Song Heping revealed a shrewd businessman's smile.

"That stuff is very hard to get. I only managed to find four sets with great difficulty, and even then, it was through special channels. If you really want it, I can help you, but I can't lower the price. Your country's financial situation..."

The words already contained a hidden meaning.

I have the item, but can you afford it?

"Gold mine."

The minister is a straightforward person.

"Two gold mine mining rights in exchange for 10 SAM-6 systems. Do you think this price is reasonable? I believe there is no more favorable price in the world."

His straightforwardness surprised Song Heping.

Mining rights for two gold mines?

Replace 10 SAM-6 systems?

Is this minister out of his mind?
Is there really such a wonderful thing in the world?
"I want to know which two gold mines have the mining rights."

Song Heping immediately became vigilant and more cautious.

"Huvar gold mine and Dalka gold mine."

The minister quickly gave the location name.

Upon hearing these two names, Song Heping sneered inwardly.

I think...

How could such a good thing happen to me?

He meows!
Both gold mines are located in North Darfur, one southwest of the Atron Oasis and the other northwest, in areas where armed forces are intertwined.

To be frank, neither of the two gold mines is under the control of the government forces.

The minister's decision to trade these two gold mines is practically a risk-free business, a way to get something for nothing!

Jiang Feng, who was standing to the side, quickly waved his hand, implying that this condition was unacceptable.

Song Heping remained calm and, after considering the potential benefits, readily agreed: "Okay! Deal."

"That's great! When will you deliver the goods?" the minister immediately asked impatiently.

Song Heping said, "Don't rush, Minister, I also have my conditions."

"Conditions?" The minister's tone immediately turned somber: "What conditions? Mr. Song, don't forget that we've helped you a lot right now."

“I know,” Song Heping said. “I’m not ungrateful, but our transaction must have proper procedures. How about this, I’ll go to Khartoum to meet you within three days. You bring the relevant mining department officials with you, and we’ll get the formalities done. When doing business, contracts are necessary, and we’re a legitimate company.”

Upon hearing Song Heping mention signing the contract, the minister's anxiety subsided.

"No problem! I'll be waiting for you in Khartoum. It's a deal!"

"It's a word."

"Happy cooperation!"

"Happy cooperation!"

After the call ended, Jiang Feng, who was standing nearby, became anxious.

"Old Sergeant, are you crazy?! Let me put aside the fact that those two gold mines weren't under their control to begin with. They've been occupied by other armed groups for years. Why should he trade with us something that doesn't belong to him? Besides, our SAM-6 systems were stolen. Where did we get the supply? Even if we went to Ili to find Yusuf, we might not be able to get them. The Americans are watching us now! After this incident, those things will probably be regulated!"

Jiang Feng's concerns were not unfounded.

Song Heping, however, remained calm and comforted her, saying, "Things will work themselves out in the end. There are always more solutions than problems. I understand what you're saying."

"You knew all along, yet you still agreed? This is definitely a losing proposition!"

"Yes, I also think this deal is taking advantage of us."

Ferrari also raised its own objections.

"The Sudanese government is trying to do business without any investment."

Song Heping looked at all the brothers sitting around him, raised an index finger and pointed in the air: "You can rest assured, this deal won't fail, I have a way."

"any solution?"

Ferrari was very curious.

The goods were hard to obtain, and the gold mine the other party used for the transaction belonged to someone else.

It's a dead end no matter how you look at it.

“I have a brilliant plan,” Song Heping said confidently. “You’ll understand once I announce it.” It was a rainy day in Washington, D.C., at 12:30 p.m.

As Pence Vincent walked out of the Langley headquarters carrying a cardboard box, it began to rain.

The cardboard box contained small items he had accumulated over his fifteen-year career: photos of his wife and children, a medal for outstanding service awarded by the president, and his beloved Swiss Army knife.

The guard at the gate gave him one last salute. Pence gave a weak nod in response, then walked toward the parking lot.

His driver was no longer waiting there—the personnel department had revoked all his privileges half an hour earlier.

The phone vibrated.

It was a text message from Jasper:
"They took all the hard drives. Half the Special Operations team is suspended pending investigation. Good luck, sir."

Pence put his phone back in his pocket, letting the rain soak his suit.

He recalled the fateful meeting seven days earlier, when they discussed how to eliminate Song Heping without anyone noticing.

Now, that damned Chinese man is not only alive, but he has also made the CIA pay a heavy price.

A black Chevrolet Suburban slowly pulled up in front of him.

The car window rolled down, revealing the serious face of Senator Richard Morris, a member of the Senate Intelligence Committee.

“Get in the car, Vincent,” Morris said. “The committee needs to know the whole story.”

Pence gave a wry smile and opened the car door.

He knew that weeks or even months of hearings, investigations, and media scrutiny awaited him.

And all of this stemmed from the man who set a perfect trap in the desert.

Rainwater slid down the car window, blurring the outside world. Just like his career, the once clear and distinct boundaries have now become blurred and indistinct.

Just then, his phone vibrated again.

Take it out and take a look.

That was a message from Campbell—

“Pence, we need to meet and talk tonight.”

……

Nighttime, Georgetown Private Club, Washington, D.C.

Pence stood in the private elevator, watching the numbers jump from 1 to 5.

The elevator's interior walls were made of polished mahogany, reflecting his haggard face.

After a 23-year career in intelligence, he ended up being kicked out of the company.

The elevator door slid open silently.

Two bodyguards stood by the carved oak door at the end of the corridor; the bulging muscles beneath their suits betrayed their profession. As Pence approached, one of them reached out to stop him.

"Mr. Vincent, please cooperate with the security check."

Pence raised his arms expressionlessly.

The bodyguard scanned his entire body with a detector and checked his briefcase. After confirming his safety, another bodyguard pressed his earpiece, whispered a few words, and then pushed open the heavy oak door.

“Mr. Campbell is waiting for you.”

The room was dimly lit.

The artificial fire in the fireplace flickered, casting shifting shadows on the Persian carpet.

Behind an 18th-century antique desk, Campbell was sipping whiskey from a crystal glass, his silver-grey hair meticulously combed back, and his blue eyes like two blocks of ice that would never melt.

“Pence.” Campbell didn’t stand up, but simply gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit.”

As Pence sat down, he noticed a copy of The Washington Post on his desk. The front page featured a photo of him being surrounded by reporters on the White House steps, with the headline "CIA Deputy Administrator Resigns Over Drone Scandal."

“What would you like to drink?” Campbell asked. “I have a 1945 Glenfiddich.”

“Whatever.” Pence’s voice was hoarse.

Campbell poured a two-finger-high amount of amber liquid and pushed it over. Pence drank it down in one gulp; the alcohol burned his throat, but it couldn't warm his cold heart.

“You know why I’m looking for you,” Campbell said bluntly.

Pence swirled the empty glass: "For Song Heping."

“We know about that Chinese man; we've always had a common enemy.” Campbell’s voice was eerily calm. “Let me tell you, the ‘Elders’ Council’ is very unhappy about your dismissal.”

"What can I do if I'm unhappy? Will you offer me a new job?"

Pence's fingers tapped unconsciously on the table. He knew what the "Elders" were—a shadow power network comprised of military-industrial complex giants, oil tycoons, and retired intelligence officials, whose influence permeated every corner of Washington.

“I’m just an ordinary citizen now,” Pence said with a wry smile. “The Special Operations Service is undergoing a major purge; my men have been suspended pending investigation.”

Campbell took a brown paper bag from the drawer and pushed it in front of Pence: "Take a look at this."

Pence opened the paper bag, which contained more than a dozen satellite photos.

The latest photo, taken six hours ago, shows Song Heping's camp at Atron Oasis being expanded, with several trucks carrying anti-aircraft missiles clearly visible at the edge of the photo.

“The Sudanese government has granted him official contractor status,” Campbell said. “Now he legally owns air defense systems and may even be training their army.”

Pence flipped to the next photo and his breath hitched—a candid shot of Song Heping meeting with the North Sudanese Defense Minister at a hotel in Khartoum.

What are they talking about?

“Our intelligence indicates that Song Heping is selling arms to Sudan,” Campbell pointed to a photo, “including the SAM-6 system that shot down our drone.”

Pence suddenly realized Campbell's real purpose in seeking him out.

This was not a visit of comfort, but an interview—a test to see if he still had any use.

“You want to get rid of Song Heping,” Pence said, looking directly into Campbell’s eyes, “but the White House is unlikely to approve any official action right now.”

Campbell flashed his first smile of the night: "So we need...unconventional solutions."

The firewood in the fireplace was crackling.

Pence felt a strange excitement, much like he had felt years ago when he first got involved in black operations.

Being kicked out of the CIA doesn't mean he lost all his leverage.

“I have a plan.”

Pence leaned forward.

"But it requires the resource support of the 'Elders' Council.'"

(End of this chapter)