Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 814 Only Eternal Benefits

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Song.”

Weber answered calmly while shrugging his shoulders.

But Song Heping noticed that his pupils were dilated—a typical sign of lying.

His right hand instinctively reached for the tie clip, where the miniature camera was located.

Song Heping picked up a red thumbtack and pinned it to the Eldi Plateau on the map: "Let me guess. The Americans have been making too many moves in Africa these past few years, stealing the cake from you French and British."

His finger drew a line on the map.

"Niger's uranium mines, South Sudan's oil fields, and now they're eyeing Darfur."

He looked at Weber, a cold smile playing on his lips.

"And you MI6 found that rather than engaging in direct conflict and damaging your long-standing traditional alliance, it's better to find a 'troublemaker' like me to cause trouble for the Americans, right?"

Weber's lips twitched almost imperceptibly.

In truth, he was deeply shaken.

Now, he seemed to understand why the CIA, Mossad, and even MI6, which had intervened to try and eliminate Song Heping, had backfired.

This person is so smart!
He admired his boss, Ms. M, even more for her foresight.

In the last joint operation, MI6 ostensibly agreed to provide resources, but did not deploy any agents.

This also gives MI6 room to maneuver now.

It was around that time that Ms. M began to have designs on Song Heping.

This collaboration was also at Ms. M's instruction.

Song Heping knew that his guess had hit the bullseye.

Outside the tent, a desert fox let out a mournful cry, as if providing background music for this game of strategy.

"Mr. Song, you have a very rich imagination."

Weber adjusted his tie, and the miniature camera was pointed directly at Song Heping's face.

This action was too deliberate; it was almost a blatant provocation.

Song Heping also noticed it.

However, such details seem completely unimportant at crucial moments of "cooperation".

MI6 agents never miss any opportunity to gather intelligence.

If I expose the other party now and seize his miniature camera, I can certainly leave MI6 with no room to study me.

But doing so would not only ruin the "cooperation," but also put Rahim in an awkward position.

He still needs to establish himself in Darfur, and without the support of the North Sudanese regime, he seems to have less legitimacy.

This is about saving face.

You should give it.

"However, even if your guess is somewhat true, what's wrong with that? The enemy of my enemy."

Before Weber could finish speaking, Song Heping interrupted him.

"Just temporary friends."

Song Heping sneered, stood up, and his tall figure cast a long shadow inside the tent, directly enveloping Weber.

Instead of saying "the enemy of my enemy is my friend," he chose to define "temporary friend."

This is the most truthful answer.

"The problem is, Mr. Weber, why should I believe that the intelligence you provided isn't a trap?"

Weber took a black USB drive from his suit pocket and placed it on the map, his fingers trembling slightly—a sign of an adrenaline rush.

"Here are the 'Shepherd's' communication records from the past three months, as well as the personnel files of the elite team from EO Company that Pence hired. They will accompany the 'Wrangler' to North Darfur to meet with Hakim. The length of time is enough to show that we have been wary of this 'Wrangler' for a long time and have been monitoring him. This person is a pawn of the American 'Presbyterian Church' here. You also provoked the 'Presbyterian Church' before, and now it's not just the CIA that's going to deal with you, but also the 'Presbyterian Church'. Verifying this shouldn't be difficult for you. Just take a look and you'll know I'm not lying. It's very difficult to fake intelligence spanning this long period."

Song Heping did not touch the USB drive.

He stared into Weber's eyes, and the air between them seemed to freeze.

The emergency light hanging from the top of the tent cast dancing shadows on Weber's lenses.

Weber looked up at Song Heping. In the backlight, he couldn't see the other man's face clearly, making him seem even more unfathomable.

Outside the tent, the footsteps of the guards in the camp came and went, creating an invisible pressure.

“Let me be frank,” Song Heping finally spoke, his voice low and cold: “You British want to use me against the Americans, but you don’t want to get your hands dirty. So you’re providing me with intelligence through Director Rahim, that way even if things go wrong, London can claim it has nothing to do with MI6.”

Rahim's breathing became rapid, and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.

It's embarrassing to be seen through and exposed.

Song Heping could almost hear his heart pounding—this military intelligence chief clearly hadn't expected to become a pawn in the great power game.

Weber smiled, a flawless smile honed in the Oxford Union: "Mr. Song, you are even more astute than described in the files."

He admitted, unconsciously adjusting his cuff with his right hand.

"However, cooperation is inherently about mutual benefit. You need intelligence, and we need balance."

“Balance.” Song Heping chewed on the word, his gaze turning to the map.

He noted that Weber used “balance” instead of “interests”—a euphemism commonly used in British diplomacy.

Do you know what I'm planning to do?

He wanted to test the agent in front of him.

Because I refuse to cooperate with that idiot.

If you want to collaborate, you must choose smart people.

Otherwise, you won't even know how you died.

Weber pushed up his glasses, the gleam in the lenses obscuring his eyes. "Based on your style, I'd guess you'll intercept 'The Shepherd,' then impersonate him to meet with Hakim and Markul separately."

He paused for a moment, then gently licked his dry lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Give them contradictory promises or even some sweeteners, then incite them to fight each other.” Song Heping’s eyebrows rose slightly.

This Englishman not only saw through his plan, but even seemed to appreciate it.

He had to admit that Weber was a rare intelligence—a rarity in the intelligence community.

Most agents rely too much on technological equipment and neglect the most basic psychological warfare.

It seems there are capable people on Old Ying's side.

The title of "century-old troublemaker" is truly well-deserved.

The British are no good at construction.

It causes trouble and sows discord; even Americans on this planet have to call it "master."

"If I did that, the animosity between us and the Americans would only deepen."

Song Heping sat back down and then gently ran his fingers over the barrel of the HK416 assault rifle.

"You're deep enough now. As far as I know, you're second on their assassination list. Do you know who's ahead of you? The infamous Bin Laden."

Weber took a sip of tea, this time without frowning.

He had grown accustomed to the overly sweet tea, or rather, he had learned to mask his discomfort.

"Africa is not America's backyard."

He uttered a remark brimming with hatred.

Song Heping picked up the USB drive and the envelope, and stood up again.

He also picked up the HK416 assault rifle.

Rahim was startled and nearly knocked over his teacup.

Weber remained motionless, only his eyes were slightly narrowed as he tracked Song Heping's every move.

This is the reaction of a highly trained agent—assessing every potential threat.

"Tell Ms. M when you get back."

Song Heping walked straight to a corner of the tent, turned his back to the two men, and said goodbye. His voice dropped as suddenly as the temperature of the desert night.

"I will deal with the 'shepherd,' sabotage this deal, and even get Pence out of business. As for what happens after that, that depends on what kind of 'friendship' London can offer before we discuss our next steps in cooperation."

Weber slowly stood up, smoothing the wrinkles at the hem of his suit, and said, “London’s friendship has always been generous, Mr. Song. Especially to those who can uphold the interests of the Commonwealth.”

"A delicious candy might contain poison."

Without turning his head, Song Heping said, "I won't see you two out. My men will escort you out."

When the tent flap fell again, Song Heping returned to the map and picked up the USB drive, playing with it in his hand.

He didn't need the British's friendship, but their intelligence was indeed valuable.

More importantly, this meeting confirmed his suspicions—the Western camp was not monolithic, and the rifts between them provided fertile ground for people like him to survive.

The pale light of the emergency lights cast flickering shadows on the map as Song Heping forcefully hammered a red thumbtack into the Erdi Plateau.

A hunt is about to begin, but the prey is unaware that it has become the prey.

He picked up his satellite phone and sent a message.

Soon, the phone rang again.

"You should have seen what I promised, old friend."

Before the other party could speak, Song Heping offered an opening remark.

"First of all, congratulations on getting one step closer to the position of deputy director."

"Thank you."

Simon's voice came from the other end.

After dealing with him for so long, this was the first time he had thanked Song Heping.

"Don't thank me too soon," Song Heping said. "Pence isn't dead yet. Do you think you're safe?"

“What do you mean?” Simon asked.

Song Heping said, "Pence is the scapegoat. Do you think his resignation is temporary or permanent?"

“He’s not going to return to the CIA,” Simon said with absolute certainty.

Song Heping said, "Well, you know what's going on inside your company. The question is, what conditions do you need to be promoted to deputy director?"

Simon asked warily, "What do you mean?"

Song Heping laughed and said, "I mean, I'll give you another big gift, okay?"

Simon's breathing was noticeably heavier than before: "What wonderful gift?"

“Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you, at least not right now,” Song Heping said. “You are of too great value to me.”

Simon said, "Hmph, aren't you afraid that if you help me again, I'll come after you after I become the deputy director?"

Song Heping chuckled: "Your predecessor as deputy director thought the same thing, look at what happened to him."

Simon said helplessly, "Tell me, what do you want me to do this time?"

“Pence is currently in Chad, and I need his position,” Song Heping said. “I’m going to get rid of him.”

Simon was shocked: "Are you crazy?! He's a former deputy director, for goodness' sake! Do you know what the consequences would be if you killed someone like him? You want me to die with you?!"

Song Heping calmly said, "Simon, you were quite bold when you were dealing with me, even daring to go against the military, but why are you so timid now? I'm helping you. Think about it again, if I kill Pence, won't the CIA be furious?"

"meeting……"

"Will they order a full-scale manhunt for me?"

"meeting……"

"That's right. In the entire organization, who knows me best right now? If you were the director, who would you choose to replace Pence in the position left behind and relentlessly hunt me down?"

"I...FUCK! Song Heping, you're a madman!"

(End of this chapter)