Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 832 Encounter with the US Fleet

At the same time, in the underground conference room of the US Embassy in Cairo, Egypt.

This is the temporary command center for the "Dragon Hunt" special operation team.

After all, the target was Song Heping, and Song Heping was in Africa.

There is no better place to set up the task force's office than here.

Although the basement had air conditioning and ventilation, the indoor air was still slightly stuffy.

Jasper slammed a stack of photos on the conference table. The blurry figure in the photos was Song Heping, who had left the gold mine five hours earlier.

"Someone spotted Song Heping in Sawajin, a port city in northeastern Sudan. I suspect he's on the run."

Jasper's voice sounded like sandpaper rubbing.

"Run?" Where to?
The six members of the "Watchmen" team exchanged glances in the conference room.

This team, a mix of CIA special operations groups and Delta Force, was specifically formed to hunt down Song Heping.

Why would he take that risk?

The team leader, Maurice, frowned. "In North Darfur, he has the tacit protection of the Sudanese government and his own armed forces. Get out of there."

“Because of arms.” Jasper interrupted him. “We cut off his supply chain, and he needed new channels. That worked.”

As he spoke, he glanced to his left, seemingly unintentionally.

Simon was sitting there.

The idea came from Simon.

At the time, I was still skeptical and wondered what Simon's motives were for offering help.

Now it seems that everything is as Simon predicted.

Although Song Heping has businesses all over the world, he also has his own roots in South America.

However, his source of weapons is currently very limited, namely Iligo.

By increasing surveillance of smuggling channels in Iligo, Song Heping's arms smuggling operations can be shut down.

In that case, Song Heping would definitely leave Africa for Persia.

Based on previous intelligence analysis, he had certain connections with the Persians.

If it were me, I would also consider starting with the Persians.

With the help of the Persians, it is possible to establish new smuggling channels.

Of course, even the Americans themselves wouldn't be able to cut off the Persians' arms smuggling routes if they did that, because for many years, the Persians have been using their secret channels to export arms to pro-Persian armed groups throughout the Middle East.

Forcing Song Heping out of Sudan was itself a huge opportunity.

The possibility of killing Song Heping is now increasing.

For a moment, Jasper wondered if he was being petty and judging others by his own standards.

Perhaps as a colleague, Simon wasn't as despicable or as self-loathing as he thought.

He turned and pointed to the Persian Gulf on the map: "Nasreddin is one of the few who can offer him help."

Morris whistled. "So he's going to make a deal with the Persians? That's insane."

“Crazy, but reasonable,” Jasper sneered. “The Persian Revolutionary Guard will pay an exorbitant price for data from the Raven drones.”

He surveyed the crowd: "The president has signed the authorization for covert operations. Find him, kill him, at all costs."

After the meeting, Jasper stayed behind alone.

He dialed an encrypted number.

“Mr. Campbell, it’s me.”

His voice suddenly became respectful: "Yes, he has already set off. No, the Watchers are just a decoy. Yes, Team A can move out. The President is completely unaware. Understood. Leave no survivors."

After hanging up the phone, Jasper took a photo from the drawer—a surveillance screenshot of Song Heping when he was in Mexico.

He lit a corner of the photo with a lighter and watched the flames slowly engulf the young and resolute face.

"You can't escape this time, Song."

While he was burning the photos in the conference room, Simon quietly shrank back from the side of the door, a sinister smile appearing on his lips.

Somewhere in the Red Sea.

The sunrise turned the seawater blood red.

Song Heping stood on the aft deck of the cargo ship, pretending to smoke, but actually observing the surrounding sea.

They have been sailing for 4 hours and are currently within Sudanese territorial waters, where they are relatively safe.

"The captain said we would enter international waters in about 10 nautical miles."

Antonov came over and handed him a cup of coffee that was as strong as asphalt.

"It's starting to get dangerous there."

Song Heping took the coffee, took a sip, and almost spat it out: "What is this?"

This coffee has a strange taste, like menthol oil sprinkled on the tongue, it's very stimulating.

"The captain's private stash."

Antonov grinned. "He says it's called 'Siren's Tears,' and it can keep you awake for 48 hours."

"I'm more worried that it might send me straight to meet the siren 48 hours later."

Song Heping put down his cup.

"What about the radar situation? Did you ask him? Are we being watched by the Coast Guard or something?"

“No, Captain Hassan is an old hand; he knows where to avoid danger. The radar screen is clean right now. But Hassan said the US Navy has recently increased patrols in the Bab el-Mandeb Strait, and he's worried that's where the real danger lies.”

"Then let's take route B."

Song Heping nodded.

Plan B was to bypass the Bab el-Mandeb Strait and take a longer but more covert route—first sailing east to the Gulf of Oman, and then from there heading north into the Persian Gulf.

This route will take four more days, but it will avoid the main patrol areas of the US military.

Where is Nura?

"In the kitchen. She's preparing a stew that's said to make sailors never want to go home."

Antonov made a face: "I tried it, and now I really don't miss home anymore, I just want to find a good doctor."

Just as Song Heping was about to respond, the ship's alarm suddenly went off.

Hassan's gruff voice boomed from the loudspeaker: "Attention! 10 nautical miles to starboard, American warship! All personnel to position!"

Song Heping and Antonov rushed to the driver's cab.

Through the dirty window, they saw a small black dot rapidly approaching on the distant horizon.

"It's an Arleigh Burke-class destroyer."

Hassan, with a cigar in his mouth, said, "They just signaled for us to stop for inspection."

Song Heping's temples throbbed.

This is too fast; they haven't even left Sudanese territorial waters yet.

It seems the Americans really don't take these African countries seriously; they just barge into other people's territorial waters whenever they want. He's truly witnessed the arrogance of the world's number one navy.

"Can you run?"

Hassan shook his head: "That thing can run 30 quarters, we can only manage 12 at most. And..." He pointed to the sky.

"They must have already sent helicopters."

Sure enough, the roar of rotors could be heard in the distance.

An SH-60 Seahawk helicopter was flying towards them.

"Sokka!"

Antonov's face turned pale.

"Have we been discovered?!"

"Have we hidden everything we brought?" Song Heping asked.

"In the engine compartment, under the floor, there's a hidden compartment; it should be safe there. But..."

Hassan hesitated for a moment, "But if they have a scanner that can penetrate 30 centimeters of steel plate... that would be dangerous..."

Song Heping quickly thought about it.

Finding the weapon meant the entire crew would be arrested, and his identity would be exposed.
“I’ll go to the engine room,” he decided quickly. “Nura continues playing the cook, Antonov, you’re the sailor.”

"You're not going to hide anymore?" Antonov asked worriedly.

Sometimes you can't escape it.

Song Heping had already taken off his coat and pulled a greasy set of work clothes from his bag, putting them on: "Anton, sometimes you really have to believe in fate. If something really happens, we're destined to die in this sea, so there's nothing to worry about. Let's leave everything to God."

The engine compartment was as hot as a hellish foyer.

Song Heping huddled between the two roaring diesel engines, quickly smearing himself with engine oil and grime from head to toe.

He tore the sleeve of his work clothes, revealing an old scar on his arm—it's impossible for a marine engineer who has spent ten years in Africa to have an intact hand.

The sound of the helicopter grew closer, followed by the clanging of metal—the boarding team estimated that they had successfully rappelled down onto the deck.

Song Heping took a deep breath, picked up his tools, and then shoved his body into an inspection tunnel.

The space was so cramped he could barely breathe, and the smell of engine oil burned his lungs. He forced himself to calm down and keep his heart rate below 60 beats per minute—excessive tension would cause him to sweat, and sweat would wash away the oil stains used for his disguise.

Heavy boots and shouts in Arabic came from the deck overhead.

Hassan was negotiating with the American soldiers boarding the ship, his tone both angry and submissive, perfectly portraying the role of an innocent businessman who had been intercepted.

"All crew members, assemble! Immediately!"

A command came from an American-accented English speaker.

Footsteps approached the engine compartment.

Song Heping closed his eyes and imagined himself as part of the ship—a piece of metal, a component, without life, without threat.

The hatch was suddenly pushed open.

"It's fucking hot in here."

A moment later, a young soldier complained.

"Shut up, newbie."

Another, more composed voice answered.

"Check every corner, especially places where people might be hiding."

The beam of the flashlight swept across the gap where Song Heping was hiding.

Song Heping held his breath, keeping his eyelids completely relaxed—people unconsciously tense the muscles around their eyes when they are nervous, which is one of the details that a well-trained agent is most likely to reveal.

"Hey, there's a mechanic here."

The young soldier discovered Song Heping.

Steady footsteps approached.

Song Heping slowly opened his eyes, revealing a bewildered expression as if he had been suddenly awakened.

"Who are you?"

The owner of the calm voice—a naval sergeant—shone a flashlight directly into Song Heping's face.

Song Heping replied in heavily accented Arabic English: "Muhammad Jalalli, engine room work."

He spoke deliberately in a halting manner, while gesturing with his hands to indicate the engine.

"Identification documents."

With trembling hands, Song Heping pulled a crumpled Sudanese identity card from his pocket—one of the fake documents Nura had prepared.

The person in the photo looks about 70% like him, and when covered by oil, they are almost indistinguishable from the real person.

The sergeant carefully checked the documents, then suddenly asked, "What is the operating pressure of the turbocharger?"

This is a trap question.

These dilapidated civilian cargo ships would never have turbochargers.

Song Heping looked puzzled, then pointed to the roaring diesel engine: "Only this one. The old-fashioned one doesn't have a turbine."

The sergeant stared intently at Song Heping.

However, the temperature here is really high.

The two American soldiers were clearly suffering from the heat. They were wearing thick bulletproof vests and combat uniforms, a standard VBSS outfit. Standing here for a minute was no different from standing in a sauna.

When the time was up, the sergeant nodded to Song Heping: "Continue your work."

Then he threw the documents back to Song Heping and hurriedly left.

After the two left, Song Heping remained motionless in the same position.

Sure enough, five minutes later, the hatch was pushed open again. The young soldier peeked out, made sure he was still "working" in the same spot, and then left.

Half an hour later, Hassan's voice came through the pipe: "They're gone."

Song Heping crawled out of his hiding place, his body soaked in engine oil and sweat.

The crisis was temporarily averted, but this encounter confirmed his fears: the information had leaked. The US military wouldn't intercept a seemingly harmless old cargo ship without a reason.

By the time he climbed onto the deck, the sun had already set.

Nura handed him a wet towel, her eyes gleaming with wariness.

"My crew members said that the US military has significantly increased its patrols here these past few days. Previously, they only provided escorts and generally didn't board ships for inspection, but today they even boarded and inspected civilian vessels under the pretext of security."

She whispered, "I suspect the news has been leaked."

"Just as I thought, but I don't think it was anyone on the ship who leaked the information. We were discovered before we left Sudan."

Song Heping paused for a moment while wiping his face.

He gazed at the darkening sea, where a threat lurked more dangerous than American warships.

Nura asked worriedly, "What do we do now? We've only just left Sudanese territorial waters... what happens next..."

(End of this chapter)