Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 869 Hongmen Banquet

“Remember this.” Before getting out of the car, the cook glanced at the Aurus luxury sedan with the license plate number 001, then suddenly grabbed his wrist tightly and warned him in a low voice.

"If the general asks about the British, just say you've lost contact with them." His eyes revealed an undeniable seriousness.

"Ms. M doesn't have many friends in Moscow."

Song Heping's pupils contracted slightly—could it be that even his secret contact with MI6 had been discovered?
He straightened his tie and gave a professional smile: "I only make friends with money."

This restaurant, located on the banks of the Moscow River, which usually caters only to political and business elites, was unusually quiet tonight—it had clearly been booked out.

As Song Heping walked through the corridor covered with Persian carpets, he noticed plainclothes guards standing at every corner. Their earpieces were faintly visible, and they had noticeable bulges in their lower backs.

The cook pushed open the gilded door, and warm lights and piano music poured out.

Upon entering the restaurant, the warm air, carrying the aromas of caviar and truffles, along with the smell of cigars, greets you.

Under the glow of the crystal chandelier, a dozen men in military uniforms or suits were chatting and raising their glasses, but Song Heping’s gaze was immediately drawn to the figure by the window—a gray-white crew cut, a straight back, and a Swiss Rolex wristwatch visible when the right hand raised its glass.

"Ah, our friends from the East have arrived!" A deep baritone voice came from the end of the long table.

General Anatoly stood up, wearing a well-tailored dark blue suit, and the tie with the Russian military insignia on his chest gleamed a dark red under the light.

There were five or six men sitting at the table, all maintaining a military posture, clearly professional soldiers.

Song Heping noticed a thin man in a gray suit in the corner who kept his head down while eating, but his right index finger was rhythmically tapping the table—a typical action of a GRU agent.

"I have long admired your name, General." Song Heping greeted him in Russian, "It is an honor to meet you here."

This gesture eased the tension on the faces of the officers present.

Anatoly gestured for him to sit in the empty seat on his right: "Yevgeny said your Russian is very good, and it seems he wasn't exaggerating."

The waiter brought over a steaming bowl of borscht, which the general stirred gently with a silver spoon.

"I heard you did very well in the Middle East, Africa and the Americas? Even the CIA's covert operations and counterterrorism center suffered heavy losses because of you."

"It's just a matter of being forced to survive."

Song Heping took the napkin handed to him by the waiter and used the opportunity to observe his surroundings.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the cruise ships on the Moscow River were brightly lit, but the two closest ones were clearly disguised patrol boats.

When the main course was roasted venison with black caviar, Anatoli finally got to the point: "What's your opinion on the situation in Celia?"

Song Heping put down his knife and fork: "The opposition has made some progress in the west, but the government forces still control the major cities."

He paused deliberately, "However, without external intervention, the current regime may not last more than six months."

The atmosphere at the dining table suddenly became quiet.

A hint of appreciation flashed in Anatoly's eyes: "A very insightful analysis. That's exactly why we need professionals."

He raised his glass: "'Wagner' Group is expanding, and we need commanders like you."

“Song, the minister would love for you to join our family.” The cook interjected at the opportune moment: “Annual salary of $8 million, plus operational bonuses. You can build your own tactical unit, equipped with anything from T-90s to Su-25s.”

The light from the crystal chandelier refracted in the red wine, resembling a pool of blood.

Song Heping recalled that Russia was experiencing conflicts of interest with European countries in North Africa.

The conflict between them was very sharp.

The hostility between Russia and European countries did not originate solely from the former Soviet Union; if traced strictly, it can even be traced back to the struggle over religious orthodoxy.

This conflict is irreconcilable, and it would be unwise for an outsider to get involved.

He took a sip of his drink: "Thank you for your kindness, but I am currently under contract."

Anatoly's smile remained, but his fingers gripped his wine glass tightly: "A contract? With those British who can't even protect their own colonies?"

He gestured for the waiter to remove the plates, then his gaze fell on Song Heping's face, and he said in an icy tone, "Whatever they offered you, we'll double it, Song. This is our chance for you. Think about what would have happened to your friends in Romania if it weren't for us. It's unwise to go against the CIA with just your mercenary company. You need a backer."

The GRU agents in the corner all cast cold, stern glances in this direction.

Song Heping felt a cold sweat break out on his back; this was a blatant threat. He put down his wine glass, deliberately making a sound as the bottom of the glass clinked against the table: "General, I am very grateful for everything you have done for me and my friends, but I am a businessman who values ​​integrity, and I also hope to cooperate with my old friends."

As he spoke, his gaze shifted to the cook, his expression suggestive.

"Please allow me to complete the previous contract first. This is standard practice. If I lack integrity, General, would you be willing to cooperate with a fickle and treacherous person like me? Are you comfortable cooperating with me?"

Song Heping's words silenced everyone.

The suffocating silence lasted for ten seconds.

Anatoly suddenly burst into laughter: "Well said! Business is business; it requires integrity. Mercenaries must be honest."

He clapped his hands, and a waiter brought out dessert. "However, consider my suggestion. Given the current situation, I estimate that Celia is just the beginning."

He lowered his voice, "We also have a presence in North Africa, and if you want to establish a foothold there, cooperating with us is the wisest choice."

Song Heping leaned forward, feigning interest: "Specifically?"

“I have an urgent meeting. We’ll discuss it in detail next time we meet.” Anatoly wiped his mouth and stood up. “Three days from now, Yevgeny will arrange a plane to take you to Damascus for an on-site inspection. You can go there and see our military base and the current situation in Syria before making a judgment.”

This is clearly an ultimatum.

Song Heping stood up and shook hands with him: "No problem."

"Don't worry, Yevgeny will ensure your safety."

Anatoly looked at the cook as he spoke.

The cook forced a constipated smile and nodded: "Yes, I will."

On the return journey, Yevgeny remained silent.

He didn't speak until they reached the apartment building: "Anatole doesn't like being rejected. If you're not planning to come to Celia with me this time, you'd better prepare."

You could tell there was something hidden in the cook's words.

"I know."

Song Heping had already understood what he meant.

"I'll arrange it."

Back in the apartment, Song Heping immediately dialed Ferrari's encrypted line after closing the door: "Get to my apartment within thirty minutes and bring your equipment."

He opened a hidden compartment in the wardrobe, took out a spare passport, and said to Ferrari on the phone, "We should leave Moscow."

Half an hour later, when Ferrari burst into the room shouting with steamed buns in his arms, Song Heping had already marked three evacuation routes on the map.

"The Russians want us to go to Seria."

He pointed to the intelligence that Henry had just sent on the screen.

“But we can’t go this time. They need cannon fodder. I don’t want to lead everyone to Syria as cannon fodder. Currently, Western intelligence agencies and military are supporting the opposition. It is foreseeable that the war in Syria will be very brutal in the near future. We should go back to Africa and take the opportunity to gain a foothold in Darfur.”

Ferrari whistled: "So we're going to make a run for it?"

Song Heping asked, "Your sister left Russia, right?"

Ferrari nodded: "Yes, the cook arranged for him to go to Sudan."

“Then it’s just the two of us left, which makes things easier.” Song Heping pointed to the map and said, “At dawn, we climbed from the rooftop to the rooftop of the building next door, then left here for the suburban train station, took a freight train to St. Petersburg, flew from there to Cairo, and then transferred to Darfur.”

As he spoke, he walked to the bedside and gently lifted a corner to look outside.

Outside the window, a black sedan without license plates was parked quietly on the street corner.

Song Heping drew the curtains and said, "Ferrari, this is a huge gamble for us. If we get caught, even the chef probably can't protect us."

"You don't like working with the Russians?" Ferrari asked.

Song Heping smiled and said, "I have no prejudice against the Russians, but given the current situation, I would rather cooperate with M than it is in our best interest. As for Celia, we'll talk about it after we finish the Nasse operation. Going to Celia now is not a wise choice."

(End of this chapter)