Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 831 Departure
An hour later, the conference room in the underground command center of the gold mine was filled with smoke.

The African map hanging on the wall was densely marked with thumbtacks of various colors, and empty coffee cups and half-eaten field ration packaging were scattered on the table.

"That's too risky."

Jiang Feng was the first to object: "You're going to pass through several countries to get there. Do you think the CIA won't be able to track you down?"

Song Heping stood in front of the map and drew a winding route with a red marker: "So we don't take the land route, we go directly out to sea from Sudan."

"It sounds as simple as a vacation plan."

Klein joked, "It's all just talk. Don't forget, you're now in the top five on the CIA's bounty list."

Song Heping laughed and said, "Wasn't it second? How come the ranking has dropped?"

"Don't joke around at a time like this."

Henry cautioned, "Persia is not a safe place. They are in chaos internally, and the pro-American faction has considerable influence. If you go there, the news will likely reach CIA headquarters very quickly, and leaving won't be easy. Right now, you're in North Darfur, so it's harder for the CIA to take action against you. If you leave here, they will chase after you like hyenas on the savanna."

Ferrari, who had been sitting silently in the corner, suddenly spoke up: "Even if you successfully reach Persia and meet Afanti, why would he help you?"

Song Heping's lips curled into a cold smile: "Because I have what he wants."

He pulled a small USB drive from his pocket and placed it on the table: "This contains the data and structural diagrams of the Raven drone we obtained. Do you think the Persians might be interested?"

The conference room fell into a brief silence.

Although Song Heping's words sounded reasonable, everyone knew how risky this decision was, and they also understood that if the transportation problem wasn't solved, their entire layout in Africa could collapse.

Without stable arms smuggling channels, expanding one's mercenary force sounds like a pipe dream.

When do we depart?

Ferrari finally asked, his tone now more pragmatic.

“Within three days,” Song Heping said. “I need time to arrange things at the gold mine and to inform the Sudanese government, so they don’t think I’m going to abscond.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jiang Feng said firmly.

"Two Chinese people traveling together?" Song Heping shook his head. "That's too conspicuous. This time, I'll go with Nura and Antonov. They're relatively familiar with this area, which will help us avoid many dangers."

The atmosphere in the meeting room immediately became heavy.

Everyone understood the meaning behind Song Heping's words—Nura and Antonov were the least senior members of the team.

Song Heping was intentionally protecting core members.

“No.” Ferrari suddenly stood up. “I think I should go. I’m more familiar with the black market transactions across the Persian Gulf, and…”

He looked directly into Song Heping's eyes.

"If something happens to you, no one can keep this business afloat."

Their eyes met in mid-air, and finally Song Heping said, "Are you sure you can convince Afanti?"

This rhetorical question left Ferrari speechless.

"That's settled then, meeting adjourned."

After the meeting, Song Heping went alone to the sand dunes on the outskirts of the mining area.

The night sky was dotted with stars, and the occasional howl of a hyena could be heard in the distance.

He lit a cigarette, but his thoughts drifted back to the rainforests of Mexico and the deserts of Iligo, with all sorts of thrilling and exciting experiences flashing through his mind.

I thought I would eventually settle down and build an international defense company.

I didn’t expect that man proposes, God disposes.

Sometimes, fate is beyond one's control.

After going around in circles, I am now about to embark on a path that may be even more dangerous.

"Old squad leader," Jiang Feng's voice came from behind, "Ferrari asked me to bring you something."

Song Heping turned around and saw Jiang Feng holding a small black box.

"The latest model satellite phone."

Jiang Feng handed the box over.

Song Heping said in surprise, "I have a satellite phone now."

Jiang Feng said, "It's different. Ferrari said it's a communication channel leased by a shell company he registered overseas. It's a commercial satellite from a European company, and it cost a lot of money. The original intention was to build an encrypted channel for our own use to ensure confidentiality. Now that you're going to Persia, it's perfect for you to use it first." Song Heping took the box, feeling its heavy weight.

This is no ordinary communication device; it's his lifeline, given to him by his team.

“Tell him I’ll bring back two bottles of genuine Persian saffron,” Song Heping tried to lighten his tone. “I’ve heard it’s more expensive than gold.”

Jiang Feng smiled, but the smile quickly vanished: "Be careful, old squad leader. Things aren't like they used to be. The CIA, Mossad, DGSE—all intelligence agencies are eyeing Africa, that lucrative prize. The CIA, in particular, has created a special task force to deal with you; you're getting almost the same treatment as Brother Deng."

Song Heping nodded, his gaze once again fixed on the boundless desert.

He thought of Simon.

Simon sent him a message about the task force and informed him that he had been promoted to deputy leader.

However, this message gave Song Heping a strange feeling.

For a moment, he couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong.

If you can’t figure it out, then don’t think about it for now.

The most pressing issue I face now is to resolve the problem of arms smuggling routes from the Middle East to here.

He already had a plan in mind.

But he wanted to meet Afanti in person, and he also needed Yusuf and Samir to be present at the same time.

This will be a secret arms smuggling route built in the Middle East to confront the CIA in the future. The protection provided by the former US military command in Iraq is no longer available. Without the privileges granted by the military, he can only rely on the "friends" in the local military and government departments in Iligo that he helped when he was in Iligo.

But not all of these people are reliable.

The only one I can trust is probably Yusuf.

After all, his interests are too intertwined with his own, and Yusuf's family and children now live in Europe.

He also knew what the consequences of betraying himself would be.

all.

He will give everything to stand by.

The night wind grew stronger, whipping up fine sand that lashed against Song Heping's face like countless tiny warnings.

He turned and walked toward the lights in the mine, already planning the "ghost route" to Persia.

Three days later, at an old, abandoned dock in Port Sudan.

At four in the morning, the sea breeze, carrying a salty smell, slapped against Song Heping's face.

He stood beside the rusty containers, gazing at the old cargo ship named "Blue Agate" in the distance.

With its paint peeling off and deck piled high with haphazard cargo, the ship looked like any smuggling vessel commonly found along the Red Sea coast.

Is the captain reliable?

Song Heping asked in a low voice, his gaze never leaving the ship.

Standing beside him, Nura tightened her headscarf, a sly smile spreading across her face. "Hassan owes me three lives. The first in Mogadishu, the second in the Gulf of Aden, and the third..."

She paused, then said, "Never mind, the third story isn't really suitable to tell now."

Song Heping's lips curled up slightly.

This Bedouin woman had only been with the team for three months, but she had already proven her worth—she knew every capable smuggler in the area, and it seemed that everyone owed her a favor.

"Have all the luggage been checked?" He turned to Antonov on the other side.

The former air force officer patted the waterproof bag at his feet: "Weapons, ammunition, medicine—all sealed up. Hassan promised to hide them in a hidden compartment in the engine compartment."

A low whistle came from afar.

A short, stocky man stood by the gangway and waved to them.

“It’s time.” Nura picked up her backpack. “Don’t call me by my name after we board. I’m Aisha, the cook now.”

Song Heping nodded and pulled his baseball cap down even lower.

He glanced around the dark dock one last time before following the two men toward the gangway.

(End of this chapter)