Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 820 Heading to Chad
Markul's words almost made Song Heping and Klein burst out laughing.

In this environment, the warlord in front of me, who looks like a chimpanzee, finally managed to utter such a humorous and nonsensical complaint after holding it in for so long, which was indeed full of comedic charm.

"We have it here."

Song Heping suppressed a laugh, took out his laptop from the bag, and placed it on the table.

Then, I skillfully connected the data cable, turned on the computer, entered the system, opened the media player, selected the file, and started playing...

The air inside the tent seemed to freeze as the conversation came through the computer speakers.

"That idiot Markul has no idea of ​​the true value of a gold mine; he doesn't deserve to own it."

Hakim's voice is clearly audible in the recording.

"Once I get my hands on the weapons you sent, I'll be the first to wipe him out. After that, I'll give you half of his gold mine; I know you desperately need those right now."

"He's quite strong, how do I know you can definitely handle him?"

Another man's hoarse voice came through the recording.

"Him? He used to be just a company commander in the government army. Before the war, his troops were stationed near the village of Kobian. When the southern rebels attacked, they fled to North Darfur like a herd of panicked wild antelopes..."

"...Later, when the war between the North and the South reached a stalemate, a power vacuum emerged. He took advantage of this and led his men to kill the Nigerian who had originally contracted the gold mine there, seized the place, and got a gold mine for free. Dealing with him is easier than squashing a fly in a toilet, as long as I have enough weapons... Hahahaha!"

Hakim's unrestrained laughter filled the entire tent.

Makur's face grew increasingly grim.

The recording continued playing, detailing Hakim and the mysterious man's discussion about how to lure Makul into a fake arms deal.

The recording ended, and the tent was deathly silent.

Markul's fingers were already gripping the pistol tightly.

“That’s impossible.”

Markul muttered to himself, but anger was already burning in his eyes.

Song Heping then took out several more photos—high-resolution images of Hakim and the mysterious man raising their glasses in a toast inside the outpost. One of them was a special photo of a military map spread out on the table, which marked the locations of several of Makul's outposts.

"Why are you helping me?"

Markul posed a fundamental question.

Of course, there is no love without a reason, nor is there hatred without a reason.

My knowledge of the two people in front of me is limited to some basic background information.

For example, the one-eyed man in front of you, dressed in an Arab robe, is a well-known arms dealer and intelligence broker in Africa, codenamed "The Shepherd."

The man next to him is a bodyguard from EO Company.

It is said that both of them are currently working for the CIA.

These two people have absolutely no obligation to help me.

As for benefits.

It seems not...

This explains his confusion.

"It's a long story. We really have no business dealings, and we've never even crossed paths before, but..."

Klein's voice slithered into Markul's ears like a venomous snake.

"You should also know that we work for the CIA, and do you know who the man talking to Klein in the recording is?"

Markul's gaze fell on those photos.

Unfortunately.

Hakim's face was clearly visible, but the man sitting opposite him was wearing an Arab robe and his face was covered, so his appearance could not be seen.

"Do I know him?" Markul asked.

Klein said, "He is the leader of the armed group that recently entered your North Darfur. He is of Chinese descent and his name is Song."

"Song?"

A flicker of panic crossed Markul's eyes.

He had heard of this person.

It is said to be very powerful, and it has super-luxurious equipment. It previously shot down an American drone, which caused a great stir.

Armed groups capable of shooting down American drones never existed before Song Heping entered North Darfur.

"That's right. His real name is Song Heping. He's the owner of a defense company. He used to work with the CIA, but they fell out. Now we're hunting him down, and he's escaped here. So now you understand why we're helping you, right?"

Klein seemingly casually answered Markul's question.

"I have no grudge against him, so why would he join forces with Hakim to deal with me?! Besides, Hakim and I had an agreement before: he would do his thing, I would do mine, and we would not interfere with each other!"

"Looks like your gentleman's agreement has expired." Klein shrugged and laughed, his tone full of sarcasm.

Markul suddenly stood up and overturned his chair.

"That treacherous pig! I saved his life before!"

Song Heping remained silent, standing quietly to the side watching the furious warlord, letting the anger fester in Makur's heart.

This is the art of manipulating people's minds—providing enough information and then letting the target draw the "correct" conclusion on their own.

"Five days later at dawn"

Markul suddenly calmed down, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Where will the weapons Hakim is expecting be delivered?

Klein feigned hesitation: "We haven't reached an agreement on this yet; for the time being, we're not allies."

"It is now!"

The veins on Markul's temples were throbbing.

"As long as you help me get through this, after I take down Hakim, I will integrate his forces and then help you eliminate Song Heping!"

The time is right; it's Klein's turn to perform.

“I’m glad you made the right choice, Mr. Markul.” Klein stood up and extended his hand.

"Now that we're allies, I'll support you in eliminating Hakim and Song Heping, and you'll receive my arms support, which will arrive in three days—enough to equip two battalions. Furthermore, I'll provide them with the location and time for the arms deal; what you do then is up to you."

As we left the camp, the east was already beginning to lighten with the first hint of dawn.

As the jeep drove back, Song Heping finally allowed himself to show a hint of fatigue.

Even he found it exhausting to work continuously for more than twenty hours without sleep.

"Now we just have to wait for the two venomous snakes to tear each other apart," Klein commented.

Song Heping rubbed his eyes, then closed them to rest: "Five days from now, Darfur will be two less menaces."

He paused, then added, "However, there's still a menace in Chad, and I need to go there myself."

Klein paused for a moment: "You mean Pence?"

"As long as Qingfu is alive, the troubles of Lu will not end." Song Heping said softly, "I'll rest for a bit, then I'll head to Chad right away. A gentleman takes his revenge in less than ten years."

One day later, at the Chadian border.

The scorching sun beat down on the barren land, and even with the jeep's air conditioning on full blast, the interior remained unbearably hot and stuffy.

Song Heping checked the GPS; they were still 200 kilometers away from N'Djamena.

He chose a little-known smuggling route across the border, avoiding major checkpoints.

This was done to avoid being detected while crossing the border; no one knew the extent to which Pence's intelligence network had infiltrated the area.

Caution is the boat.

"There is an armed patrol 500 meters ahead."

Jiang Feng suddenly warned that six heat sources were approaching them, as shown on his drone's control panel.

Song Heping immediately ordered a turn, but it was too late—two armed pickup trucks had already emerged from behind the sand dunes, their heavy machine guns pointed directly at them.

"Don't use weapons," Song Heping commanded in a low voice. "Execute Plan C."

As the pickup truck approached, seven or eight armed men in mixed military uniforms jumped out and pointed their guns at the jeep.

One of the burly men, wearing a red beret, ordered them to get out of the car in Arabic.

Song Heping slowly raised his hands and shouted in the local dialect, "We are Doctors Without Borders! There are medical supplies in the vehicle!"

This identity was their carefully prepared second layer of disguise—the Jeep's trunk was indeed full of medicines and basic medical equipment, enough to pass a routine inspection.

"Identifications!" the red beret commanded rudely.

Song Heping handed over the forged ID and access documents while secretly observing the armed personnel.

They were well-equipped, but not government troops—they were likely private soldiers from a tribal militia or smuggling ring.

The woman in the red beret flipped through the documents, then suddenly sneered, "A French doctor? Speak some French."

Song Heping fluently recited a medical term in French.

He was no stranger to French.

There are many talented people in the company who are proficient in multiple languages, just like Ferrari.

Besides, even Jiang Feng can speak fluent French, after all, he has lived outside of France.

The man in the red beret seemed unsatisfied and signaled his men to search the vehicle.

Song Heping's heart raced slightly—their weapons were hidden in specially designed compartments, making them difficult to find during a normal search, but not foolproof.

Just as the atmosphere reached its peak of tension, Song Heping suddenly pulled a wad of US dollars from his pocket. "We're in a hurry to report to N'Djamena. Perhaps this will make up for the time we've wasted?"

The magic of money immediately became apparent.

The man in the red beret's expression softened. He took the banknotes, quickly counted them, and stuffed them into his pocket.

"Go on. But don't take the road to the north; the government forces have set up a checkpoint there."

All three breathed a sigh of relief after the jeep was back on the road.

Jiang Feng wiped the sweat from his brow: "That was damn close. That guy almost wanted to dismantle the car for inspection."

Song Heping gazed ahead, looking at the distant scenery, and sighed, "This is what the border regions of Africa are like. Money and lies are more effective than bullets."

White Bear suddenly asked, "Any updates from Pence's side?"

Song Heping nodded: "This is intelligence from Weber. Pence is staying in the presidential suite at the N'Djamena Grand Hotel and goes to the hotel's rooftop gym every afternoon at 3 PM sharp. He's usually accompanied by two bodyguards, and there are many more in the shadows; his security is extremely high."

"The gym," White Bear mused, "is an enclosed space with limited exits, but it's also the place with the tightest security."

“We need a more detailed floor plan,” Jiang Feng said, “and escape routes.”

Song Heping had already considered these things.

“MI6 has an inside man there—one of the hotel staff is one of theirs. He'll provide us with all the information we need.”

The jeep continued its journey across the wasteland, kicking up long plumes of dust.

Song Heping's thoughts had already flown to N'Djamena.

It was an unfamiliar city.

Pence must die. It's not just about revenge, it's about survival—as long as that former CIA deputy director is alive, I'll never be truly safe.

"Once we arrive in N'Djamena, we'll split up," Song Heping instructed. "White Bear will assemble the weapons and equipment, Jiang Feng will scout the area around the hotel, and I'll go meet our inside contact."

The two nodded in acceptance.

The atmosphere inside the car became heavy.

They all knew that assassinating Pence was far more dangerous than instigating two warlords to kill each other.

The security measures surrounding the former CIA deputy director were far from ordinary, and any failure would have drawn retaliation from the entire U.S. intelligence system.

But Song Heping had no other choice.

As he told Klein—there was no other choice.

(End of this chapter)