Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 851 Internal Review
Just half an hour after Song Heping left, several bright car headlights tore through the night, illuminating the refinery gates.

The six agents of the last CIA rapid response team deployed in Yemen jumped out of the armored vehicle, took up their weapons, and spread out in tactical formation to establish a perimeter in the shortest possible time.

The world beneath the night-vision goggles glowed with an eerie green light. Agent Hansen, the team leader, crouched down, his fingertips brushing against the still-wet bloodstains on the ground.

"My God!"

He heard his teammates' exclamations through his earpiece.

Hansen looked up, and the sight in the distance made this tough guy, who had experienced the Iligo War, feel a nausea in his stomach—Jasper's body was nailed to a wooden crate in a kneeling position, with the letters "CIA" carved into his chest with a dagger; several other members of the Watchers' squad lay scattered around him.

On the surrounding ground, the spent cartridges looked like scattered copper coins under the moonlight, shimmering with an eerie glow.

This shows how intense the fighting was before.

"Simon spotted! In an open area of ​​the factory grounds!"

The medical officer's voice brought Hansen back to his senses.

He strode across the devastated battlefield and saw Simon sitting slumped against a rusty, abandoned oil pipe in the factory area. His bulletproof vest was riddled with bullet holes, his face was covered in dark, congealed blood, and the wound on his left shoulder was hastily bandaged with first-aid kit bandages, with slightly blackened blood seeping through.

"The operation failed."

Simon weakly gripped Hansen's arm, his nails digging almost into his flesh. "Song and the Persian special forces...join forces."

Hansen noticed his superior's dilated pupils and immediately signaled to the medical officer to administer an adrenaline injection.

As the needle pierced the vein, Simon suddenly widened his eyes, his face contorted in a horrifying grimace: "Moradi Jasper said 'Moradi' before he died."

72 hours later, at Langley headquarters.

Counterterrorism Chief Wright pinned the photos from the scene one by one to the case board.

The former Marine Corps major, with his sharply defined jawline, is now circling a photograph in red pen—it's Jasper's gunshot wound to the temple, a typical execution-style takedown.

“Ballistic analysis shows that the bullet that killed Jasper came from his own sidearm.” Wright tapped the projection screen. “But interestingly, the only fingerprints on the gun are Song Heping’s.”

Quiet murmurs broke out in the conference room.

Chief Vincent sat in the shadows, cigar smoke obscuring his expression: "Simon's injury report?"

"Three bullets hit the bulletproof vest, causing severe bruising and two fractured ribs."

Wright switched the slides to show Simon's X-ray.

"The shoulder wound was a penetrating wound, but it didn't reach the bone. The forensic doctor confirmed that all the wounds came from an AK-series rifle, matching the shell casings found at the scene."

"It's too clean."

After a moment of silence, Vincent suddenly spoke.

The meeting room fell silent instantly, and everyone looked at the director.

"If Song Heping wanted to silence everyone, he wouldn't have left any survivors; if he wanted to leave any survivors, he wouldn't have left just one."

Vincent's cigar butt flickered in the darkness.

"Simon's escape story is even more exciting than 'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer'."

Fine beads of sweat appeared on the back of Wright's neck. He knew perfectly well what the chief was implying—the distribution of bloodstains at the scene indicated that Simon had moved at least twenty meters after being shot, which did not fit the "feigning death to escape" explanation.

But all the evidence strangely supports Simon's testimony.

The injuries Jasper sustained during his torture, the manner of his execution, and the footprints of the mysterious squad that appeared in the woods outside the factory all corroborate the reason for the failure described in Simon's report—they were ambushed and killed from behind.

Regarding Moradi

Wright cautiously changed the subject.

"Our intelligence agents in Berlin have confirmed that the Revolutionary Guard is indeed monitoring his mistress in Munich."

Vincent stood up, casting a shadow over half the conference room.

His face was terribly gloomy, darker than the clouds in the sky outside.

"Initiate 'Operation Nightingale Evacuation.' Moradi must be brought out within forty-eight hours. We absolutely cannot allow him to fall into Afanti's hands. He knows too much, especially most of our informants within the Revolutionary Guard, who have all had contact with him."

He paused as he walked towards the door: "Wright, go to the hospital yourself and ask Simon again—why is he the only one alive?"

A few hours later.

Walter Reed Medical Center - Intensive Care Unit.

Simon counted the drops of medicine dripping from the IV tube. When the thirty-seventh drop came in, the ward door was pushed open. Wright stood against the light, holding a voice recorder and a document.

It was exactly as he had imagined.

He was the only survivor and had to undergo an internal investigation.

This is a common practice and a necessary procedure for the CIA after an operation fails.

"Good news, the director has approved your First Class Medal of Valor."

Wright dragged a chair over and sat down, tossing the file folder onto the bed. "Bad news," he said, "the internal audit committee wants you to explain page seven of this operations log."

Simon's fingertips were slightly cool.

He recognized the file folder—it was Jasper's combat logbook, which should have been reduced to ashes at the oil refinery.

Turning to the seventh page, his pupils suddenly contracted: it detailed the process by which Jasper privately negotiated with Campbell to secretly mobilize the "Satan" Legion, and the signature in the approval column was none other than Simon's name.

"Handwriting experts are baffled."

Wright bent down to adjust Simon's IV drip rate.

"You say Jasper acted without authorization, but the signature is indeed yours."

He suddenly pressed down on the back of Simon's hand, which was receiving an IV drip.

"Unless... someone can perfectly imitate your signature?"

Simon felt a stinging pain as the needle shifted inside his vein.

Wright's gaze reminded him of the days in Afghanistan interrogating Taliban prisoners—that cruel patience of a cat playing with a mouse.

“He was the person in charge of the operation, and he had me sign many documents. I trusted him completely, but he treated me differently…”

At this point, he deliberately coughed twice.

“Ahem—Wright, you know Jasper's character. He's always been prejudiced against me. He's blocked my many correct suggestions. This time, he contacted Campbell without permission to mobilize the 'Satan' mercenaries. He probably knew it was against department regulations and had already planned how to shift the blame if things went wrong. He wants me to take the fall. You should know he's an excellent agent; getting my autograph would be a piece of cake for him. As for this autograph, I'm sorry…”

He shook his head: "I really forgot when I signed it, maybe I never even signed it. I can't explain it. You should report the truth to the investigation committee. I am innocent and have a clear conscience."

Wright stared at Simon for a long time, as if trying to find the slightest flaw in his face.

but.

Simon's expression looked pained, and otherwise aggrieved.

Wright suddenly laughed.

He released his grip and took a tablet from his briefcase: "Take a look at this."

The screen displayed a satellite thermal image of the oil refinery, with timestamps showing it occurred two hours before the engagement. "Don't worry too much," the image said. "The thermal data indicates you were indeed ambushed by a mysterious, suddenly appearing squad, which led to your defeat."

Simon's hospital gown was soaked with cold sweat.

He didn't expect that headquarters would use military satellite data.

Fortunately, he killed Jasper in the woods.

otherwise……

"However, the director has one more question he'd like me to ask you personally."

Wright said meaningfully, "Why are you the only one still alive? This isn't like Song Heping's style."

Simon had anticipated this question, and his face once again contorted with pain and rage: "He's humiliating me! FUCK! He could have killed me, but he didn't. Look what he did to Jasper, carving words into his body! He's humiliating me, humiliating our department!"

He became more and more excited as he spoke, fully immersed in the role.

The heart rate monitor screen next to me started to show an unstable curve and beeped a warning sound.

The nurse immediately appeared at the ward door, rushed over nervously to check the equipment, and only after confirming that there was no malfunction did she say to Wright, "The patient is very agitated."

The implication is that we shouldn't provoke this guy, or someone will die.

“OK!” Wright reassured Simon, “This is a routine inquiry as usual. Everything will be recorded and handed over to the experts on the review team for review. Don’t worry, you won’t be wronged. Simon, we’re all glad you came back alive.”

As he spoke, Wright reached out and gently patted Simon's uninjured arm, saying, "Take care of your injury, we're waiting for you to return to your post."

Simon's tense nerves relaxed slightly—meaning his story was temporarily accepted.

(End of this chapter)