Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 818 Provocation and Bribery

Ten minutes later, on the dirt road leading to North Darfur.

Klein adjusted his fake beard in front of the SUV's rearview mirror.

His face was sculpted with special cosmetics to resemble a shepherd, and he wore the same cloudy corneal contact lens over his left eye.

In the back seat, Song Heping was giving instructions to all his men via radio.

“Remember, you are now guards hired by the ‘Shepherds,’ and I am the leader.”

Song Heping said in fluent Arabic, "Your background is that of mercenaries from EO Company. You don't need to say much. Just follow your usual VIP escort training and be a qualified bodyguard."

"I understand, boss."

"If it wasn't the boss, what did he say?"

"Understood, boss!"

"Hmm, that's more like it."

The convoy kicked up dust as it drove toward Hakim's armed group-controlled territory.

Just before entering the control zone, the convoy stopped. Collins got out of the vehicle with a mercenary, threw out a "Raven" drone, and then quickly returned to the vehicle.

The convoy continued onward, heading towards the abandoned outpost where they would meet.

The meeting point for Hakim was located near a former government military outpost.

Since the Sudanese civil war, government forces have withdrawn from the war-torn region, leaving some troops stationed there, while many outposts have been abandoned.

This area is now occupied by Hakim's "Justice and Peace" armed group, and the gold mine is located about 45 kilometers southwest of this outpost. It is the gateway to Hakim's territory and a heavily fortified area of ​​the armed group.

The meeting place was obviously requested by Hakim, since entering Hakim's controlled area from this location involves passing through a sandy mountain area, which is a good place for an ambush and makes it easier for Hakim's men to control the situation on the ground.

Twenty minutes later.

Drone images show that at least 30 militants are lying in ambush on the hillside surrounding the abandoned outpost, but all outside the agreed neutral zone.

Klein, disguised as the "shepherd," touched the Glock 19 pistol hidden under his robe, recalling the "shepherd's" plea at the end of the interrogation.

In this battlefield without rules, morality is a luxury; survival is the only thing that matters.

Tonight's meeting was supposed to be arranged, but no one can predict how Hakim will react. If it ends badly, a gunfight might actually break out.

In the rearview mirror, Song Heping was checking the magazine.

He noticed Klein looking at him and encouraged him, "Don't worry, we're talking as we agreed before. The goal is to provoke a war between him and Markull. Stay calm. We're talking to them on behalf of the Americans, so there won't be any conflict if we don't provoke them. Remember, money and weapons are easy to negotiate, and they only care about money and weapons."

“Hmm, I’ve got it.” Klein suddenly asked curiously, “Boss, why don’t you pretend to be the ’shepherd’ yourself?”

“I am an Easterner. Although Hakim has never seen a ‘shepherd,’ he will be even more suspicious if I impersonate him.”

"Oh……"

Klein nodded silently.

"That makes sense..."

"We've arrived at the outpost."

The driver reminded him in a low voice.

Klein took a deep breath and put on the Shepherd's signature gold teeth.

It's time for the performance.

The earthen-yellow walls of the abandoned outpost gleamed strangely white under the moonlight.

Klein counted the bullet holes in the wall through the car window—seventeen, perhaps more. These scars left by war silently testified to the cruelty of this land.

"Remember to slow down your breathing."

Song Heping whispered a reminder from the back seat.

“Hakim is a cunning old fox; he’ll test you, and he’ll detect the slightest tension.”

Klein nodded slightly, his fingers unconsciously stroking the Glock 19 hidden under his robe.

The air conditioning in the car was already on full blast, but his back was still soaked with sweat.

Although he was a veteran who had been through countless battles, this was the first time he had ever impersonated someone else.

This is a delicate task, not a face-to-face battle; the slightest mistake could cause the entire plan to fail.

Moreover, this is someone else's territory.

Once exposed, it will be a life-or-death struggle with severe consequences.

The convoy stopped in the open space in front of the outpost.

Six armed pickup trucks spread out in a fan shape, with the heavy machine guns on them intentionally or unintentionally aimed at the outpost.

Song Heping's men quickly got out of the car, the EO company logo on their tactical vests standing out prominently in the sunlight.

They stood in defensive formation, their movements clean and efficient, perfectly embodying the qualities of professional mercenaries.

"Show time."

Klein took a deep breath and opened the car door.

A cold wind swept across the wilderness, carrying sand grains, and he instinctively raised his hand to shield his face. Then he remembered that the "shepherd" wouldn't do that—the intelligence report mentioned that he liked the desert's fierce winds with fine sand, like "the angry breath of God."

The gate to the outpost slowly opened.

Eight fully armed soldiers stepped forward first, their automatic rifles pointed diagonally at the ground, their fingers pressed firmly against the triggers.

Then appeared a tall figure wearing a white robe—Hakim Al-Fadil himself.

He was even more robust than in the photos, with a scar running from the corner of his right eye to his chin amidst his thick black beard, resembling a ferocious centipede.

This guy doesn't look like a good person at all; his cruelty is written all over his face.

In war-torn regions of Africa, such people are highly sought after and have a large market.

"May God bless you, my friend."

Hakim spread his arms wide, his voice booming like a bell, but his hawk-like eyes coldly scrutinized Klein, as if trying to see through him like an X-ray scanner.

Klein forced himself to put on the Shepherd's signature crooked smile, his gold braces gleaming in the sunlight.

"May Allah bless you, Chief Hakim."

He responded in a deliberately hoarse voice, mimicking the tone of the arms dealer in the interrogation recording.

"The desert winds have finally blew us to the same oasis."

Hakim suddenly asked in English, "How are the cherry blossoms in Washington this year?"

This is the first trap.

Klein's heart skipped a beat, but he remained outwardly calm.

Song Heping's briefing mentioned that the real "shepherd" did indeed spend two weeks in Washington last spring.

"I prefer the oak trees in autumn."

Klein calmly replied, "Especially those trees behind the Lincoln Memorial."

Then he added, "I brought back a gift from there, would you like to see it?"

This is the opening statement of the meeting.

"Let's see what the gift is."

Hakim said coldly.

Klein took out the dagger, raised his hands, and indicated that he meant no harm.

Hakim also raised his right hand to signal his men not to act rashly.

May the Lord protect you and keep you safe.

Klein handed over the dagger.

Hakim took it and examined the scriptures on the silver handle in the moonlight.

"Hahahaha!" A hint of surprise flashed in Hakim's eyes, then he burst into laughter.

He took two steps forward and suddenly reached out and grabbed Klein's fake beard—a move so quick that it made the surrounding mercenaries tense up.

All the mercenaries behind Klein immediately raised their guns and aimed them at Hakim.

"It's okay! I'm fine!"

Klein felt a stinging sensation on his skin where the glue had been applied, but he merely raised an eyebrow and immediately gestured for his men to remain calm.

"Put down your guns."

Song Heping also issued the order.

The mercenaries lowered their gun barrels.

Everyone's tense nerves relaxed a little.

“Sorry, it’s an old habit.” Hakim released his grip, saying meaningfully, “These days, even my own uncle might come to see me wearing a fake beard.”

He pointed inside the outpost and said, "Please follow me."

After saying that, he took the lead and walked ahead.

Song Heping and Klein exchanged a glance.

Both of them secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

It seems the local warlord has finally opened the first door of trust.

The interior of the outpost was converted into a makeshift meeting room.

A long table covered with green velvet occupied the center, surrounded by twelve armed guards.

Klein noticed that their fingers never left the trigger guard.

Song Heping pretended to check for safety, and while patting Klein on the shoulder, whispered a reminder: "Don't touch the water glass."

A barely audible reminder came through the earphones from Song Heping.

There might be something in the water.

In Africa, the drugs used are often hallucinogens derived from narcotics.

Warlords had a habit of using medicine.

Song Heping had to be on guard.

If Klein is poisoned, it might expose the truth.

Hakim sat down in the main seat and gestured for Klein to sit on his right.

"I heard you have a beautiful Moroccan lover in Tripoli?"

He asked casually, while gesturing for a servant to bring him some mint tea.

The second trap.

The shepherd had a chaotic private life, but he never kept a mistress in North Africa.

Klein chuckled, revealing his gold teeth. "You must be mistaken. A Moroccan woman? I'd much rather have a French girl as a mistress."

The shepherd did indeed have a secret lover in France.

And he also has an illegitimate daughter.

In their line of work, life and death are unpredictable.

Settling down in Paris was the safest option the "shepherd" could think of.

Hakim doesn't seem stupid either.

He was wary of these "Americans" who had suddenly presented him with such a generous gift.

There is no free lunch.

There's a reason why Hakim was able to survive in North Darfur for so long and even raise a force to occupy a large area of ​​territory.

He had done his homework before the meeting, at least.

The servant placed a teacup in front of Klein.

Beneath the floating mint leaves on the water's surface, fine white powder can be faintly seen.

Klein pretended not to notice and simply pushed the cup away with his hand: "During Ramadan, I only drink water after sunset; it's out of respect for Allah."

—This is a temporary solution provided by Song Heping, and today happens to be an important day for YSL.

Hakim's expression softened for the first time.

He waved his hand, and the servant immediately removed the teacup.

"It seems my men got the intelligence wrong."

He stared into Klein's cloudy left eye. "Your eyes."

“Damn sandstorm,” Klein cursed.

This is the preset background story.

"Last month at the Chadian border, the doctor said it would take six months to recover."

The meeting room suddenly fell silent.

Hakim pulled an ivory-inlaid dagger from the inner pocket of his robe and began to slowly peel the apple.

The sizzling sound of the knife slicing through the fruit flesh was particularly jarring in the silence.

“Tell me,” he suddenly said, handing the peeled apple to Klein.

"Why did the Americans choose me instead of Markul? That guy controls more gold mines."

Here comes the key question.

Klein took the apple but didn't eat it; instead, he placed it on the table. He leaned back in his chair, adopting the typical arrogance of a shepherd: "Markul just had dinner with MI6 last week. Where do you think he got those anti-tank weapons he uses to attack government forces?"

The news exploded in the room like a bomb.

Hakim's dagger plunged into the table, the hilt vibrating and humming.

“Lies!” he roared. “The British promised not to intervene in the Darfur conflict!”

Klein had been waiting for this moment.

He snapped his fingers, and Song Heping immediately opened the titanium alloy case he was carrying.

Bundles of hundred-dollar bills were neatly arranged, with a satellite photo on top showing Markul shaking hands with several white men in some secluded camp.

"A deposit of five million, plus enough individual weapons to equip two battalions, 200 RPGs, 1000 rockets, and 20 80mm mortars."

Klein lowered his voice.

"The White House wants chaos, while Marcourt wants stability—because he needs the British mining license."

He paused deliberately, looking at the bulging veins on Hakim's forehead.

"But you can own the whole of North Darfur, including those new veins the British have discovered."

Hakim picked up the photo and examined it closely, his breathing becoming increasingly heavy.

Klein knew he had taken the bait—the photo, synthesized by MI6 using technical means, was perfect, down to the smallest detail of the tribal tattoo on Markul's wrist.

What do Americans want in return?

Hakim finally spoke, his voice filled with suppressed excitement.

Klein grinned like a jackal: "The weapons I promised will arrive within three months. We don't want the British to control this place, so you must send troops to wipe out Macur and create chaos here."

He leaned forward.

"When CNN reports 'fight reignites in North Darfur, British and UN peacekeeping forces unable to stabilize the situation,' our special forces will be able to legitimately move in."

(End of this chapter)