Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 854 Interrogation
3 hours later.

The night winds of the Persian Plateau, carrying grains of sand, lashed against the bulletproof glass of the Revolutionary Guard base.

In the ventilation ducts of interrogation room number 7 in section B on the third basement level, the smell of rust mixed with the odor of old bloodstains lingered in the air.

Song Heping unbuttoned the second button of his collar, and the sound of his military boots stepping on the permeable floor tiles was particularly clear in the enclosed space.

He reached out and adjusted the spotlight in the corner, so that the blinding light shone directly on the blond man in the interrogation chair.

It's visually jarring and can cause a mental blank, making the person being interrogated more easily guided and obedient.

The man's right finger joints were an unnatural bluish-purple, with a strange, crystal-clear swelling, an injury caused three hours earlier when he tried to break free of his restraints and had his finger bones crushed by the guards with the butts of their rifles.

"James Watson, or John Smith?"

Song Heping opened the plastic cover of the file, and the sound of the paper rubbing together was like the hissing sound of a venomous snake flicking its tongue.

"CIA Special Operations Group, Alpha Team, specializing in 'wet work'."

He deliberately emphasized the American accent when he said the last word, his fingertip tracing a photograph in the file—a picture of James in Kandahar, Afghanistan, with a group of armed men without any military insignia, and corpses piled up in the background.

The blond man suddenly coughed violently, and blood splattered from his throat onto the rusted rivets on the armrests of the interrogation chair.

"Who the hell are you?"

He lifted his swollen eyelids, and Song Heping's figure was reflected in his icy blue irises: around thirty years old, Asian face, an old scar on his left eyebrow, and no markings on his body.

Clearly, this is not a member of the Revolutionary Guard.

Song Heping reached out and slowly opened the metal toolbox next to him; the sound of the metal opening and closing was particularly crisp in the silence.

Finally, he took a hammer and several nails from the toolbox and gently pressed the tip of one of the nails above the fracture in James' right hand.

"I imagine you haven't been back to Langley in a long time."

Amidst the swirling smoke, his English carried a strange rhythm.

"Didn't they give you the latest list of wanted KB members?"

"You are Song..."

James's handcuffed ankle twitched violently, the chains scraping against the ground with a piercing screeching sound.

He clearly recognized the man in front of him.

Song Heping suddenly pressed the nail down gently.

The nail quickly pierced the swollen area, and blood flowed out.

"Actually, I really dislike communicating with people this way, but I have to admit it's always so effective."

"Ah—FUCK! FUCK!"

James started screaming and his whole body began to tremble.

The ventilation fan on the ceiling of the interrogation room suddenly spun faster, cutting the shadows of the two men into pieces.

Once the nail had driven into his flesh, Song Heping picked up a hammer and smashed it in hard.

"Ow—"

James's eyeballs bulged out an inch, as if they were about to pop out of their sockets and fall to the ground.

A few minutes later.

Song Heping took two steps back and looked at James.

This guy fainted from the pain.

He picked up a vial of adrenaline from the side, injected it directly into him, and then poured a basin of cold water over his head.

James finally woke up.

Seeing Song Heping standing in front of him, he began to tremble again.

However, he clenched his teeth so tightly that they clicked, and didn't utter a single word.

"You're definitely a tough guy. The CIA and special forces have trained you very well. You must have received counter-interrogation training, right?"

Song Heping released his grip and took a half step back, drawing a Beretta 92FS pistol from his waist and skillfully removing the magazine to show the other party—the bottom of each of the fifteen Parabellum bullets was engraved with a cross groove.

Do you know what this means?

His reloading movements were fluid and effortless.

“Each bullet will create a cavity three centimeters in diameter inside your body. But don’t worry, I won’t use this thing right now. After all, it would be easy to kill you. I need you to talk, I need the information in your head.” With that, he slowly turned around and walked to the side, turning on the recording device on the table.

After the rustling sound subsided, James's own voice came through the speaker.

Song Heping said, "I've also received anti-interrogation training, but I know the limits of the human body. You can't withstand it, James. I have at least twenty ways to make you say the list alive."

James's voice came through the recording.

When the message "Execute the cleanup procedure" appeared, Song Heping noticed that the blood vessels in the other person's temple throbbed violently three times.

He turned off the recording and walked behind the interrogation chair. His calloused fingertips slid slowly along the back of the prisoner's neck, then suddenly applied force at the third cervical vertebra.

"Ah!" James's scream hit the concrete wall and bounced back in an eerie echo.

Song Heping leaned down and whispered in his ear, his voice as gentle as soothing a child from a nightmare: "Actually, Moradi was quite loyal to you. Before he was captured by the Revolutionary Guard, he swallowed a miniature film."

He took out a sealed bag, inside which organs and tissues soaked in preservative solution were faintly visible with a silvery sheen.

"Want to know what the Revolutionary Guard's autopsy doctors found?"

When Song Heping showed the list that was mostly corroded by stomach acid, James' pupils dilated instantly and then contracted sharply.

"I need you to name some of the corrupted people on the list. You must know exactly who we're here to eliminate."

James was drenched in sweat.

He knew he couldn't avoid this problem anymore.

You can't say you don't know.

Because I came here to eliminate these informants and prevent future troubles.

Those removed from the list must be CIA informants infiltrated into the Revolutionary Guard.

Once Song Heping gets his hands on it, he'll have the list of moles and irrefutable evidence.

He clenched his teeth, suppressing the waves of pain that surged through him, and remained silent.

Song Heping nodded at him, which was a form of praise for his patience.

"Not bad, he's a real man."

He turned around and pressed the call button on the desktop: "Come in."

Roll, roll, roll——

A few seconds later, a sound came from the iron door of the interrogation room.

Amidst the creaking of hydraulic pressure as the iron gate opened, two soldiers wearing gas masks pushed in a rusty piece of equipment; the creaking of the gears sounded like a millstone from hell.

“Do you know what this is?” Song Heping stroked the peeling red star emblem on the machine’s surface. “A masterpiece from the KGB’s Fourth Directorate in 1959. They called it ‘Fountain of Truth.’”

He deliberately said the last word in Russian.

"The principle is to stimulate the amygdala and hippocampus with 128 sets of electrodes, inducing a surreal near-death experience in the subject."

Before he could finish speaking, James suddenly slammed his head against the back of the chair, but was instead struck in the abdomen by a soldier who was prepared.

"I hope you're tough enough not to care about this thing."

As the first set of electrodes was placed on his temples, Song Heping turned the control knob to position "3". James's muscles tensed instantly, and the four bolts securing the interrogation chair groaned under the strain.

The electroencephalogram on the monitor screen was pulsating wildly, mixed with the stench of incontinence that filled the air.

"what--"

James screamed hysterically again.

Stop, stop!

As Song Heping pushed the knob to the "5" position, James's pleading, punctuated scream finally rang out.

He bit his tongue, leaving two bloody holes.

Song Heping turned off the power and whispered in Persian to the soldiers to prepare for the injection of adrenaline.

“Ajax... Radim…”

James finally broke down and shouted out six names, including the deputy chief of staff of the Revolutionary Guard's liaison office in Damascus.

(End of this chapter)