Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 897 Control
The interior of the presidential palace is breathtakingly luxurious: Venetian crystal chandeliers refract the morning light into rainbows, the marble floors are so shiny they reflect light like mirrors, and every three meters on the walls hangs a portrait of Noel—from the "passionate youth" who launched the coup to the image of the "absolute leader," resembling a morbid exhibition of personality cult.

Seine is a poor country.

In a country so poor, the fact that the presidential palace is so luxurious and extravagant gives a glimpse into the extent of Noel's corruption.

"A narcissistic and extravagant pervert."

Collins squeezed out the comment through gritted teeth: "No wonder his people are rebelling."

The door to the communications room at the end of the second-floor corridor was ajar, and the distinctive static noise of a radio could be heard coming from inside.

Through the crack in the door, he saw two technicians in air force uniforms sweating profusely as they adjusted the equipment, one of them speaking rapidly into a microphone in French.

Collins turned around and made a gesture to the Ferrari to surround it.

Ferrari nodded and took the tranquilizer syringe from his tactical belt.

The two of them walked in confidently through the door.

After all, they were wearing government military uniforms and bearing officer ranks.

The two people in the communications room turned around and saw Collins and Ferrari, and were immediately dumbfounded.

The two people in front of me were strangers; I had never seen them before.

"You are……"

The communications officer with the higher rank stood up and tried to inquire about the identities of the two men.

After all, these are extraordinary times, and it's possible that other troops were temporarily mobilized to strengthen security at the Presidential Palace.

Before he could react, Collins was already in front of him, smiled at him, and waved his hand sharply.

A syringe was inserted directly into his neck.

Collins pushed hard.

The anesthetic was quickly absorbed into the communications officer's body.

Ferrari didn't waste any words. He stepped forward and stabbed another communications officer in the neck, who had just turned around to try and figure out what was going on. Then he covered the man's mouth tightly and forced him into a chair.

Three seconds later, the two technicians collapsed to the ground like puppets with broken strings.

Collins quickly checked the communication equipment, pulled all the fuses on the main control panel, then drew a silenced pistol and fired the entire magazine at the communication devices until they emitted sparks and smoke.

"The communications room is under control. Boss, what's the situation on your end?"

"I've reached the third floor."

Song Heping walked briskly down the corridor on the third floor. According to the architectural plan, the presidential bedroom was at the end.

As he turned a corner adorned with ivory inlays, he bumped into three presidential guard soldiers.

These carefully selected guards wore crisp black uniforms with gold badges pinned to their chests.

"Stop! You—" The captain in charge suddenly narrowed his eyes as he recognized the subtle color difference on Song Heping's armband.

There was no room for hesitation.

Song Heping suddenly raised the muzzle of his AK74U and fired three shots. The first two bullets accurately pierced the foreheads of the captain and sergeant, but the third shot missed—the surviving guard had rolled behind the Roman column and simultaneously pressed the alarm button.

The piercing electronic alarm immediately blared throughout the entire building, and the emergency lights turned the corridor blood red.

"We've been exposed!" Song Heping roared into his headset. "Everyone, execute Plan B! Jiang Feng, you immediately meet up with Collins and go to the tarmac to take control of the aircraft!"

"You think you can manage on your own?!"

"can!"

He charged at the guard and, just as the guard raised his gun, smashed it into the guard's temple with the butt of his rifle. The sound of bones shattering was drowned out by a new explosion.

More footsteps came from all directions, and bullets began to poke a series of holes in the famous painting behind him.

On the third-floor corridor, four fully armed guards had set up a temporary defensive line.

They hid behind antique furniture with gold trim, the laser sights of their FN SCAR rifles drawing deadly red lines through the smoke.

Song Heping tore an M84 flashbang from his tactical vest, flicked the safety off with his thumb, and threw it at the enemy. After a flash of light and a deafening 170-decibel explosion, he rushed into the thick smoke and finished off the temporarily blinded sentry with two short bursts of fire.

The other two men took cover behind a thick oak wine cabinet and returned fire. 7.62mm bullets grazed Song Heping's ears and exploded into paint flowers on the oil painting behind him.

He rolled behind a marble pillar, the hot bullet casings clanging under his feet.

While quickly changing the magazine, Song Heping noticed that the web of his right hand was cracked from the impact—he had used all his strength to hit the butt of the rifle.

The situation is getting out of control; the planned covert infiltration has turned into a full-scale attack.

Suddenly, a series of deafening explosions erupted from the west, followed by Collins's scream into his headset: "Palapway secured! Repeat, tarmac secured! Get the fuck up here!"

Taking advantage of the moment when the guards' attention was diverted, Song Heping fired a precise shot that pierced through the wine cabinet, sending the guards behind him sprawling to the ground.

Just as the other man was about to retreat, he shot him in the femoral artery, and blood immediately seeped into a large dark stain on the carpet.

"Noel!" Song Heping kicked open the carved wooden door of the presidential suite, shards of the lock flying everywhere. "The game is over!"

Inside the suite, President Noël of the Republic of Seine was pointing a gold-plated Walther PPK at his temple.

The dictator, who had ruled the country for fifteen years, was now only wearing a silk nightgown, his gray hair disheveled like a bird's nest, and his bloodshot eyes flashing with the despair of a trapped beast.

"Don't come any closer!" Noel screamed, backing away, his pistol trembling violently. "I'll kill myself! You'll get nothing!"

Song Heping calmly raised his AK74U assault rifle, the red dot sight locking onto Noel's wrist: "You can try, see if my bullet is faster, or your trigger finger is faster."

At this critical moment, the bathroom door of the suite was suddenly kicked open.

A young woman in a silk nightgown rushed out and stood in front of Noel. She was barefoot, and her chestnut curly hair was disheveled and scattered around her pale face.

"Don't shoot!" she cried, spreading her arms wide, the diamond bracelet on her wrist shimmering in the morning light. "Please! He's my father!"

Song Heping's pupils contracted slightly—this was Noel's 22-year-old daughter, Isabel, who hadn't been mentioned in the intelligence report as being in the presidential palace.

Collins's voice came through the headset, broken and intermittent: "The guards are gathering at least thirty men. We can't hold out much longer."

Song Heping's gun remained motionless as he stared into Noel's terrified eyes: "Put down your gun and come with me. I guarantee your daughter's safety."

Noel's lips trembled, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

bah—

Song Heping fired a shot directly into Isabel's leg.

"what--"

The girl screamed in agony.

"Do not--"

Noel also cried out in surprise.

"Don't hurt her!"

"Put the gun down!"

Song Heping raised the muzzle of his gun slightly and aimed it at Isabel's forehead.

Of course, he knew he might not be able to pull the trigger in the end.

It's gambling now.

It is said that Noel doted on his only daughter.

Benedict——

Finally, the gilded pistol fell onto the priceless Persian carpet with a dull thud.

"I'll listen to you..."

Noel lowered his head.

“A wise choice.” Song Heping stepped forward, his iron grip tightening around Noel’s collar. “Now, we’re going to the helipad. If you want to live, order your guards to lay down their weapons.”

(End of this chapter)