Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 812 Undercurrent
Khartoum, the private villa of the head of military intelligence.

Director Rahim stood on the balcony, gazing at the night view of the Nile River.

In the living room behind them, a white man was sipping black tea.

"Song Heping agreed to the deal?"

The white man asked in English with an Oxford accent.

Rahim turned around, his face full of wariness: "Why are you British suddenly so concerned about Song Heping?"

The man chuckled and set down his bone china teacup: "We are interested in anyone who can uphold the interests of the Commonwealth."

He raised his hand to adjust his tie clip.

"Especially in our former colonial territories."

He took a document from his briefcase: "This is the information we have on Song Heping. He not only has a PLA military background, but also very close ties to South American drug lords and anti-government armed groups."

Rahim glanced at the document and scoffed, "The Americans say he supports terrorism, and Israel accuses him of murdering a Mossad agent. Everyone wants Song Heping dead, but he's still alive and well."

He paused, a wary glint in his eyes, and asked, "What? Are you MI6 planning to cooperate with the Americans to take him down? Let me remind you, Mr. Weber, Song Heping is one of ours now. The president is counting on him to help us fight for control in North Darfur."

Rahim tapped rhythmically on the balcony railing, the night breeze from the Nile carrying a damp scent.

He turned and walked back to the living room, the light from the crystal chandelier casting dappled reflections on Weber's gold-rimmed glasses.

Weber smiled slightly, with the composure he had honed in the Oxford Union.

"Mr. Director, the influence of the British Empire has never truly left the Nile."

He took a sip of black tea.

"But the American actions in the Sahel in recent years have threatened the interests of the Commonwealth. Some of their actions in Africa have actually been substantially undermining our influence, and if it weren't for the alliance between our two countries, we probably would have broken off relations long ago."

A complex emotion flashed in Rahim's eyes.

He himself was trained at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst and knew better than anyone the deep-rooted British influence in Sudan.

Those families who once served in the colonial government still control Sudan's economic lifeline.

"So you've set your sights on Song Heping?" Rahim sneered. "An arms dealer wanted by Interpol, a criminal listed as a terrorist leader by the US and the UN?"

Weber put down his teacup, the porcelain clinking together with a crisp sound.

"You've forgotten one thing: he's also a ruthless character who caused the CIA, Mossad, and even us to suffer heavy losses."

He corrected, "Washington is now offering a $3000 million bounty for his head, second only to Bin Laden. But that's not our war, it's the American war. Africa doesn't need them to fight terrorism; if anyone should fight terrorism, it's us."

Rahim said, "If we cooperate with him and the relationship is exposed, what will become of the British reputation? That would be a fatal crisis."

Weber made no attempt to hide his intentions: "That's why I need your cooperation. Do you understand what I mean?"

Rahim stood up and walked towards the liquor cabinet.

He needs time to think.

He poured two glasses of Scotch whisky, handing one to Webber. "Song Heping is indeed very valuable."

He carefully chose his words.

"But he's not anyone's pawn. From what I know of him, he's not someone you can easily control."

“Of course not.” Weber took the glass, the amber liquid shimmering under the light. “But he needs friends, especially friends like MI6.”

The Englishman took an encrypted USB drive from his suit pocket and pushed it in front of Rahim.

"Seventy-two hours ago, we intercepted a satellite communication at our intelligence post in South Sudan. Former CIA Deputy Director Pence met with a man codenamed 'Shepherd' in Juba."

Rahim frowned.

He knew Pence's name all too well—the loser who had just resigned for violating Sudanese airspace.

Who is the shepherd?

“We are still confirming that this person has a very mysterious background,” Weber admitted. “But six hours after the meeting, he is going to North Darfur to meet with Hakim and Makul.”

Rahim's wine glass stopped in mid-air.

Hakim's "Justice and Equality" and Makur's "Liberation Front" are the two most brutal armed factions in Darfur, and they have a blood feud with each other.

The only things that could bring these two people together are astronomical rewards and power.

"The Americans want to team up with them against Song Heping?" Weber nodded. "Not only that. They've hired EO's most elite 'Anvil' assault team through the shell company. Eight former special forces veterans, a combat unit specializing in the elimination of high-value targets, are presumably planning a new attack."

The room fell silent.

Rahim walked to the window and gazed at the twinkling lights on the Nile.

Logically speaking, Song Heping was indeed a problem, but his presence in North Darfur allowed the government forces to play a crucial role in fighting the southern rebels.

“Why are you telling me this?” Rahim turned and asked. “MI6 could have contacted Song Heping themselves.”

Weber's smile vanished, replaced by the cold expression typical of an intelligence officer.

"Because the United States remains an important partner of the Commonwealth. We cannot take that risk, and you are the most suitable candidate."

He leaned forward, lowering his voice: "Director, this is not charity. The American expansion in Africa threatens British interests, and it threatens yours as well. They already have a base in Niger, and all they need is a pretext—like 'humanitarian intervention' or 'protecting oil pipelines'—to enter Sudan. And you are people we've cultivated; once they arrive, they'll definitely reshuffle the deck. Will you still be able to guarantee your current position then?"

Rahim's temples throbbed.

Weber was right.

The United States has become increasingly aggressive in its actions in South Sudan in recent years, and Darfur remains Sudan's most vulnerable weakness.

“Assuming I agree to cooperate,” Rahim said slowly, “what can Britain offer?”

Weber's eyes lit up; he knew Rahim was beginning to waver.

"Intelligence sharing, military equipment, and..."

He paused meaningfully, a threatening glint in his eyes: "The City of London's protection of the assets of Sudanese officials."

This is a fatal temptation.

Rahim swirled his glass, weighing the pros and cons.

Cooperating with the British meant offending the Americans, but refusing MI6
His £30 million in London vaults may be frozen tomorrow.

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"From now on, I will provide Song Heping with some useful intelligence through you to ensure he can continue to interfere with the American plans in South Sudan."

Weber looked directly into Rahim's eyes.

"The Americans probably never dreamed their allies would stab them in the back," Rahim sneered. "You British are always so hypocritical."

“That’s called pragmatism, Director.” Weber wasn’t offended: “In this game, we’re all serving our own national interests, just in different ways. Even the Americans can betray us sometimes.”

Rahim asked, "What else do you know about the 'shepherds'?"

Weber's expression turned serious: "Rarely. This codename first appeared in our files last year, linked to a series of attacks on South Sudanese oil fields. But one thing is clear—he's backed by the 'Elders,' and the 'Elders' have a very ambiguous relationship with the CIA."

Rahim nodded.

He was all too familiar with this trick of using "denialist actions" conducted by private military companies or local rebel groups to kill someone with a borrowed knife—in fact, the British themselves were the originators of this trick.

"Does Song Heping know about these things?"

“We don’t know yet,” Weber admitted. “We think it’s best for you to tell him. After all, he’s currently an ‘asylum seeker’ of the Sudanese government.”

Rahim walked to his desk and pressed the intercom button: "Prepare the car, I'm going to Atron Oasis."

Then he turned to Weber: "You're coming too."

"What?" Weber was slightly taken aback, hesitated for a moment, and then said, "My identity."

“Either come with me now, or never get near Song Heping again,” Rahim said firmly. “The choice is yours.”

The British agent hesitated for a moment, then nodded: "I'll go. But my identity must be kept secret."

Twenty minutes later, an inconspicuous Land Rover Defender drove out of the villa area and headed towards Atron Oasis.

In the car, Rahim spoke a few words in Arabic via encrypted satellite phone.

After hanging up, he turned to Weber.

“Song Heping agrees to meet. But I warn you—this man is ten times more dangerous than described in the file, so don’t try your gentlemanly tricks.”

Weber straightened his tie. "Director, we're all professionals. After tonight, Song Heping will have one more option, and the Americans will have one more nightmare. That's the point, isn't it?"

(End of this chapter)