Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 931 Ms. M's Insidiousness

The night in London is heavy and damp, like an old velvet cloth soaked with dirty water, weighing heavily on the Thames.

Deep within Whitehall Street, a building with a solemn exterior but a labyrinthine interior is brightly lit.

This is the heart of MI6, codenamed "Vauxhall Cross".

At this moment, behind a heavy oak door on the top floor, the soft sound of raindrops tapping on the glass was blocked out, and the whole world was shut out as well.

Ms. M's office was spacious and cold. Behind her large mahogany desk, she was shrouded in the shadow of her high-backed chair, like a meticulously sculpted stone statue.

Only the antique-style ring on her fingertip occasionally reflected a cold, hard luster under the halo of the desk lamp.

Before her lay a top-secret document that had just been "blown" back from a distant war zone—a few thin pages, yet still carrying the lingering scent of gunpowder and blood.

The report focuses on only one person: Song Heping.

Below the report were several photos taken by a spy satellite in the afternoon in Islamiyah, Syria.

Although the photo wasn't very clear, Ms. M could still make out the silhouette of the figure standing in the yellowish-brown ruins even with her eyes closed.

The report included the following line: Target: Infiltrate the outskirts of Asara town.

Related information: Rescue codename "Cook", one of the former founders of "Musician" defense.

She picked up the report, the paper making a soft, dry rustling sound between her well-maintained fingers.

Every word was like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, stirring up ripples of calculation in the depths of her calm, still heart.

The several large, oil-rich mining areas in the northern part of the Republic of Senegal, the vast land of hundreds of square kilometers that Song Heping firmly controls, which is like a private kingdom, including the ever-expanding armed forces he has built up based on these resources...

These images appeared vividly before her eyes.

The new government in Seine—the president "friend" whom they had personally supported through MI6—has privately expressed strong dissatisfaction and apprehension on more than one occasion.

That money bag, which should have belonged to their "friends" and was a smooth channel for the inflow of British capital, was now occupied by a mercenary leader whom they could not fully control.

The new government's foundation is not yet stable, and it dares not and cannot openly break with them. After all, there are already more than 3,000 elite mercenaries stationed there, and if he wants, he can transfer another 5,000 elites from the nearby Darfur region.

Ms. M never imagined that in less than a year, Song Heping's power in Africa would soar to such a terrifying level.

The civil war in Lebia caused the complete collapse of the armed factions in northern Darfur that had previously relied on Gaddafi's support, and they were all successfully incorporated into Song Heping's forces there.

This alone has increased Song Heping's "Musician" defense capabilities more than tenfold.

During the phone call, Duer complained that the mercenaries were like stones stuffed into his pillow, keeping him awake at night. He wondered if they might one day secretly collude with other forces in Sena and stage another coup.

Ms. M, of course, wouldn't take these clumsy lies seriously; she knew Song Heping's intentions perfectly well.

This man is indeed ambitious, but not the kind who likes to be in the limelight. Rather than saying that he has already gained the benefits he has now and wants to overthrow the current Tours government and establish a new king, that would be a joke.

That Chinese man wasn't foolish enough to completely break ties with both Britain and France.

However, Ms. M could clearly sense Duer's greed and resentment even from the radio signals, despite the distance.

"Once the river is crossed, the bridge is destroyed; once the rabbit is caught, the hunting dog is cooked..."

She silently pondered this ancient Eastern proverb, a cold smile playing on her lips.

"The wisdom of the Chinese people is applicable everywhere."

Song Heping has lost his value as a "bridge" and "chess piece," and has even become a stubborn rock blocking the path of interests.

This is indeed a rock, and for the sake of profit, it must be moved.

And you can't get your hands dirty.

She looked up from the documents and at the man standing ramrod straight in front of the desk.

Hawkins.

Her voice was not loud, but carried a calm and unquestionable air of someone who had long held a superior position, as sharp and direct as a scalpel cutting through skin.

"Go and make arrangements immediately to leak the entire contents of this report, especially the exact location of Song Heping and the intelligence on the rescue target 'Cook,' through our 'black gloves' in the Middle East, to our 'old friend' Bakhdadi in the Deir ez-Zor region, as quickly and discreetly as possible."

The room fell into a deathly silence for a moment.

The air seemed to freeze, and only the gentle breeze from the air conditioner sounded exceptionally clear.

Intelligence chief Hawkins, a seasoned agent with meticulously combed hair and a face as rigid as granite, tensed up almost imperceptibly.

The muscles in his face seemed to stiffen, and a look of extreme shock and disbelief flashed across his deep-set eyes.

Leaked to the 1515 armed group?

At this critical juncture when the whole world is fighting terrorism?
Putting aside Song Heping's previous cooperative relationship with M16, doing this is tantamount to stabbing someone in the back. Just the fact that even the slightest leak of this matter would be fatal damage to the image of British intelligence and the British government.

Even its traditional allies are likely to turn against it.

The risks involved are comparable to those of a nuclear bomb.

“Ma'am?”

Hawkins' voice was slightly hoarse, though he himself was unaware of it, as he tried to maintain a calm demeanor.

"Please allow me to confirm...you mean, leaking Song Heping's real-time location and intentions to...the 1515 organization?"

"Yes."

Ms. M's answer was without the slightest hesitation, as concise as issuing a routine instruction.

She even leaned back slightly, shifting to a more comfortable position, her gaze sharp as a hawk's, piercing through the dim light of the office and fixing on Hawkins' face.

“Director Hawkins, your hearing is fine.” Hawkins felt a tightness in his throat, a chill running down his spine, a mixture of professional vigilance and moral shock.

He took a deep breath, trying to clarify the logic behind the order: "Ma'am, forgive my bluntness. Song Heping's team and we, at least within the framework of our interests in the Republic of Seine, remain substantial partners. During the recent coup in Seine, we worked closely together to overthrow the old regime and install a government that aligned with our interests. At this time…is revealing his whereabouts to ISIS…is that too much…"

He carefully considered his words and ultimately chose a more professional expression.

"...Will this affect the hard-won mutual trust between us and the current new government in Senegal, and have we considered the unpredictable negative impact that a leak would have on MI6's reputation in international operations?"

"reputation?"

Ms. M repeated the word softly, as if she had heard a funny joke. She reached for the crystal whiskey glass on the table, which contained a small amount of amber liquid; the ice cubes clinked against the glass.

She gently swirled the wine in her glass, her gaze fixed on the flowing luster, her tone calm and even, yet every word was like an ice pick.

"Hawkins, tell me, what department are we?"

“MI6, Ma’am,” Hawkins replied immediately.

"What are our responsibilities?" Ms. M pressed, her eyes piercing.

“To safeguard Great Britain’s national security and overseas interests, Ma’am.” Hawkins’ voice resumed its standard, stereotypical answer.

"very good."

Ms. M picked up the crystal glass on the table, took a sip of the whiskey inside, and felt a slight warmth as the spicy liquid slid down her throat, but it did nothing to melt the icy coldness in her eyes.

"Then tell me, is a 'partner' who holds considerable military power in the northern part of the Republic of Seine, effectively controls invaluable strategic resources, and outwardly obeys but inwardly opposes the new government that supported his rise to power, a guarantee or... a hidden danger? Or even a threat to Britain's national security and overseas interests?"

Hawkins remained silent.

He couldn't refute it. As the intelligence chief, he knew better than anyone the new Sena government's private apprehension and dissatisfaction with Song Heping, as well as the conflicting reports about the distribution of profits in the mining area.

He just didn't expect that Ms. M would be willing to assist the 1515 armed group, an extremist organization that is universally condemned, in order to eliminate Song Heping.

"The new government needs stability, complete control of the situation, and, more importantly, it needs to deliver on its promises to our capital."

Ms. M's voice was not loud, but it carried a penetrating power, and every word struck Hawkins' heart.

"Song Heping's existence is the biggest stumbling block. The mining area and base he occupies should have been the wealth of the new government of Sena, a channel for the smooth inflow of our capital. Now? It has become Song's private kingdom. The new government dares not take direct action because of his strength, but comes to us begging for help. But think about it, do you expect MI6 to do the work for this villain?"

She put down her wine glass, leaned forward slightly, and her gaze became even sharper.

"Taking action directly? Regardless of success or failure, it's a worst-case scenario. If we succeed, we'll be branded as 'traitors to our partners,' and what will the new government of Sena think? Will they be next? If we fail..."

She let out a barely audible hum, tinged with a hint of barely perceptible apprehension: "Hawkins, you and I both know what kind of person Song Heping is. The destructive power he unleashes in dire situations is enough to give any intelligence agency a headache. We can't easily put ourselves under his gun unless we're 100% certain."

The office was silent. The spherical ice cubes in the crystal glass were melting little by little, and the water droplets that had condensed on the glass slowly slid down, leaving a thin wet mark on the smooth mahogany table.

Outside the window, it suddenly started raining in London.

The raindrops pounded against the bulletproof glass, like countless cold hands patting it.

Ms. M's voice rang out again, breaking the suffocating silence. It was cold and precise, like a scalpel cutting through flesh: "Using someone else to do the dirty work, Hawkins. That's the best strategy. Let 1515, this blood-stained and infamous knife, take care of this problem for us. They and Song Heping have a blood feud that's irreconcilable."

At this point, she paused, picked up the crystal glass again, and gently raised it towards Hawkins.

"We just... happened to provide a tiny bit of intelligence support. Who would doubt us? Who could prove it? Even if Song Heping dies, the blame will fall solely on Baghdadi. Our MI6 reputation? Unscathed. The new government in Sena will thank us, and those tempting mining interests... will return to the negotiating table, back to our hands. Killing several birds with one stone, why not?"

The last trace of struggle on Hawkins' face vanished completely.

Those minor concerns about morality and cooperation are utterly fragile in the face of the cold logic of national interests.

Ms. M's analysis, like peeling an onion, revealed the cruel truth hidden beneath the guise of "cooperation."

What Sena needs is a compliant ally, not a warlord who might become too powerful to control.

Song Heping's value began to depreciate rapidly from the moment the new government of Seine was established, and now he has become an obstacle that urgently needs to be removed.

By using Bakdadi, not only can a major threat be eliminated, but all political and reputational risks can be perfectly avoided, and even the path can be paved for the subsequent acquisition of greater benefits.

He got it.

I understand completely now.

This was not a spur-of-the-moment betrayal, but a well-thought-out and ruthlessly calculated political purge.

“Ma’am, I understand.”

Hawkins' voice returned to its usual rigidity, even carrying a hint of decisiveness in carrying out a mission: "Target eliminated, risk transferred, profit maximized. I'll get on it immediately. Through the 'Dark River' channel, ensure no trace is left. The intelligence will be delivered to the designated location within an hour."

Ms. M nodded slightly, her face expressionless. She simply leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on the heavy rain outside the window, as if the discussion had not been about a person's life or death, but rather about a trivial asset transfer.

“Go, Hawkins. Clean and efficient.”

"Yes, Ma'am."

Hawkins straightened his back, turned, and walked steadily toward the heavy oak door. His leather shoes made almost no sound on the thick carpet.

He opened the door, and the bright light from the corridor outside briefly flooded in before being shut out again by the heavy door.

In the corridor, the busy figures and hushed conversations of intelligence analysts reached my ears—a world of order and clamor.

Hawkins gently closed the door, shutting out the room filled with the smell of whiskey and cold calculations completely behind him.

He took a deep breath of the air in the corridor, which smelled of disinfectant and paper, and started walking, each step firm and steady.

National interests come above all else; this is a belief ingrained in his very being.

(End of this chapter)