Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 860 Dual-Line Operation
Persia, inside the Revolutionary Guard camp.

Song Heping stared at the message sent by the chef on his phone screen.

Everything seemed to be proceeding according to plan.

This time, in order to rescue Ferrari, every possible network of connections was mobilized.

His gaze returned to Henry, who was sitting to the side staring at the computer screen: "How's the situation at the airport?"

Henry's fingers tapped rapidly on the keyboard, and the surveillance footage kept switching on the screen.

Each shot contained at least two CIA agents, disguised as travelers, cleaners, or even airport security personnel, but their overly deliberate body language and frequent earpiece contact gave them away.

"You know what, my former employer's intelligence network is pretty good. They even have people in the Romanian aviation management system."

He pointed to the screen.

"Without these intelligence resources, it would be very difficult to fight the CIA this time."

Song Heping said, "Let's look at the Turkish Airlines counter."

Henry did not answer immediately, but instead zoomed in on the Turkish Airlines check-in counter.

A man in a dark trench coat sat in a chair in the waiting area, pretending to read a newspaper, but his eyes would scan the entrance every thirty seconds.

“It’s even more chaotic,” he finally said, his voice low. “The CIA has deployed at least twenty people to ambush at various entrances and exits, with the Romanian Secret Service assisting.”

He gave a dismissive snort.

"They really thought you'd take that Turkish Airlines flight to Bucharest."

Song Heping remained silent, staring intently at the screen, and didn't speak for a long time.

Suddenly, he turned around, took out his satellite phone, and called Ms. M.

"M, I need you to do me another favor."

“I’ve already helped you a lot,” Ms. M said. “Remember, I have my limits.”

Song Heping sneered, "We're in the same boat now."

Ms. M paused for a moment and then said, "Go ahead and speak."

Song Heping said, "If I were to release another recording on that internal intelligence line that the CIA is monitoring, disguised as a record of your surveillance of my conversations with the Oasis camp through your Sudanese insider, as before..."

"What content?" Ms. M's voice was full of vigilance.

Song Heping said, "I will state my specific flight number and arrival time in the recording."

"Are you crazy?" Ms. M exclaimed in surprise. "You're planning to use yourself as bait?"

Song Heping said, "No, it can't be called bait. Don't ask me why. Anyway, the CIA has planted a mole inside you to monitor this line, so we'll use it to release intelligence. Besides, this isn't fake intelligence; it's real."

This completely silenced Ms. M.

Even a seasoned intelligence veteran like her couldn't immediately figure out what Song Heping was thinking.

Knowing full well that Bucharest airport is teeming with CIA and Romanian secret service personnel, how dare he openly ask someone to release his exact itinerary?

Want to have a gunfight at the airport?
Creating chaos?
Or are they trying to lure Ferrari away from its prey and send someone to rescue it?

But in any case, this is a dead end.

It's tantamount to sending someone to their death.

"Can you tell me why?" Ms. M asked curiously. "Or are you just spreading false information to me?"

Song Heping said, "I'm telling you very seriously, I really will take that flight to get there."

Ms. M was completely speechless.

"Ok."

She said, "Good luck."

Song Heping immediately turned to Henry and said, "We'll have a call later. The CIA thinks you're still in Sudan. Prepare the recording according to the script I gave you, and then send it to Webber so he can send it back to MI6 headquarters through that monitored line."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Song Heping's decision differed from his previous plan.

This left Henry completely baffled. "Okay, do it right away."

“Okay.” Henry shrugged. “Who told you to be the boss?”

After doing all this, Song Heping picked up the satellite phone again.

About ten seconds later, Simon's phone vibrated in the United States...

Bucharest safe house, 6 a.m.

Wright stared at the monitoring screen on his computer, the liquid in his coffee cup long since cooled.

There was a swelling under his right eye—an injury he sustained last night when Ferrari headbutted him because he got too close during the interrogation.

The target was probably its nose. Luckily, the Ferrari was already exhausted from the ordeal, otherwise its nose might have been broken.

The airport surveillance footage on the screen was eerily calm, with nothing unusual, which was precisely what made him uneasy.

"Recheck all entry records!" he suddenly yelled into the communicator, his voice particularly jarring in the cramped safe room. "Especially private jets! It's possible Song's claim of taking a Turkish flight is false! He's spreading misinformation!"

"Yes!"

His subordinates immediately connected to the airport team's channel and sent out Wright's orders.

After putting down the communicator, Wright walked to the window and rubbed his throbbing temples.

The east was beginning to lighten, and the city was starting to awaken, but his thoughts were becoming increasingly chaotic.

He was initially certain that Song Heping would come directly to rescue Ferrari—all intelligence pointed to that.

That cunning Chinese mercenary leader was known for his loyalty to his comrades.

But now, he is beginning to doubt his own judgment.

perhaps……

That cunning fellow is up to his tricks again...

"Sir!"

A young agent rushed in, holding a document in his hand.

"Latest intelligence from London: MI6 has confirmed that Song Heping did indeed board that Turkish Airlines flight, but..."

The agent hesitated for a moment, then continued, "But we also overheard that MI6 intelligence analysts suspect this might be a smokescreen. It's impossible to be so clear about even one's flight number and arrival time; this doesn't conform to the principles of covert operations."

Wright whirled around and grabbed the briefing, the document cracking in his hands. "What does this mean?"

"MI6 analysis suggests that Song Heping may have deliberately leaked his itinerary and actually taken a different route."

The agent handed over another photo.

"Their surveillance footage at Istanbul Airport revealed that a man resembling Song Heping boarded a flight bound for a private airport in Krolassi."

Wright grabbed the photo and quickly scanned every detail with his eyes.

The person in the photo is wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, but judging from the width of his shoulders and the way he walks, he does look a lot like Song Heping.

"That cunning bastard is indeed trying to mislead us!"

He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his stomach—an important lesson he learned in his career: when things seem too easy, it usually means you're walking into someone else's trap.

The agent asked, "So what should we do next?"

Wright immediately went to the electronic map, his gaze quickly landing on the location of Crowace City.

It's a small city, east of Bucharest, near Bulgaria.

Just as he was pondering why Song Heping had suddenly changed course to Croatia, an agent in front of a computer turned around and shouted, "Sir! The Russians in Moldova are making a move! Their GRU team has started moving towards the Black Sea ports!"

Wright hurriedly asked, "The Black Sea?!"

A thought flashed through his mind.

All the clues seem to be connected.

(End of this chapter)