Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 946 The First Difficult Problem

North Darfur region.

The safe house, converted from an abandoned rubber plantation, was like a giant steamer, where the humid, hot air stagnated and pressed heavily on everyone's lungs.

Outside the window, deep in the dense, impenetrable rainforest, the cicadas' desperate chirping weaves a massive, unsettling web of noise.

Inside, the old electric fan whirred like a tractor, making you feel like it was about to fall apart at any moment.

Sweat trickled down Song Heping's brow bone, falling onto the military map of the Republic of Sena that covered the entire table, wetting a small patch of ink on the edge of the South Kita mining area.

Two days have passed since Song Heping returned from Damascus. To avoid being detected by the British when entering the Republic of Senegal, he took a smuggling ship directly back to Ethiopia, then entered the Republic of Senegal from Ethiopia, and returned to the Darfur region via the same route.

His whereabouts are currently top secret, and even people in his own company don't know he's back.

This is a safe house in the Darfur region, not their newly built training base. It is a remote place, perfect for Song Heping to temporarily hide and "play dead".

Sayina has already been sent away to the Emirate, where Song Heping can easily provide her with a comfortable life.

As the saying goes, money can make the world go round.

There are quite a few international schools in the emirate, but they just cost money.

Problems that can be solved with money are no longer problems for Song Heping.

Financial power is precisely Song Heping's strongest source of confidence at present.

Now he wants more than just money.

When a company develops to a certain stage, money becomes just a number.

Money without the backing of power will ultimately be like water without a source or a tree without roots; it will all come to nothing sooner or later.

The Song Heping of today is different from the Song Heping of a few years ago.

Having a seat at the table of power is what he wants.

The door was pushed open, bringing in an even thicker wave of heat.

Ferrari strode in, the fatigue of the long journey etched into the wrinkles around his eyes; the scorching African sun had tanned him at least two shades darker.

"Song!"

After entering the room, he rushed to the table, grabbed a mineral water bottle, and took a big gulp. After catching his breath, he said, "They're in! The best miners transferred from Darfur, the first batch of five hundred, have all been deployed to the large mines of South Kita, Karuma, and Sanga. 'New miners,' their credentials, work clothes, and tools are all meticulously documented. The mine managers' mouths are tighter than welded iron doors."

"Keep this a secret, avoid leaks, and make sure no one can tell that these are military personnel disguised as miners," Song Heping instructed.

"Don't worry! We've specially 'expanded' the miners' sheds. They're packed like sardine cans, dirty and broken, but that's exactly how it's supposed to be. Tool requisition, down-the-mine logs, daily roll call—all the necessary formalities are followed. The visa officials from the Seine government just came to see it yesterday."

He scoffed, his contempt undisguised.

"When that guy got to the mine, his eyes were glued to the ore scales and machine tracks. I had the mine manager give him an envelope with three thousand dollars in it, and he was grinning from ear to ear! He immediately issued a thousand work permits, and with those permits, our people can enter Sena on time in three days."

How many troops do we have over there now?

"Five thousand."

"Not enough. To be on the safe side, I need seven thousand. By the way, how are the weapon transport arrangements going?"

“No problem. It’s too easy to deal with their mining department and the border guards. We’ll bring it in under the guise of mining equipment, give them some money, and we won’t even need to do any inspections.”

Song Heping's gaze remained fixed on several key nodes in the South Kita mining area on the map, his red marker steadily drawing circles, the force penetrating the paper.

He didn't even raise his head, only letting out a single word from deep in his throat: "Hmm."

He paused, then continued, “We don’t have much time left. If I’m not mistaken, the British are verifying whether I’m dead. If they can’t find a body, it will take at most a month to put me on the list of dead. At that time, MI16 will definitely inform the Tours government, and they will take action against us. In this month, we must strike first.”

"One month..."

Ferrari shrugged, a helpless expression on his face.

Planning a coup within a month is an impossible task for anyone.

Even top intelligence agencies like MI6 or the CIA need at least six months.

Our side is just a defense company, and we have to get all these things done within a month.

It's really quite surreal.

Song Heping's pen finally left Nanjita and slowly moved towards the center of the map—the capital, Butare.

The pen tip hovered above that tiny area representing the core of power.

"What about the rotation schedule for those watchdogs in Duer?"

"Got it!"

Ferrari immediately pulled a deeply creased sheet of printed paper from his bulging briefcase. It was densely covered with times accurate to the minute and unit numbers.

“Every Tuesday and Friday, at 4:00 AM sharp. The western suburban barracks and the presidential palace guard change shifts. The route is fixed, and the escort is the same old thing—two armored vehicles and four beat-up pickup trucks with machine guns mounted, at most a platoon. I guess with the new brigade leader, Touré feels that he has the British backing him up and has military power, so he's become a bit complacent.”

Song Heping took the thin piece of paper that contained the code of time.

His gaze, as precise as a scalpel, sliced ​​through each character, while his brain, working at high speed in silence, deduced countless possible trajectories and the unexpected collapse that could occur in an instant.

He picked up a cold, blue magnetic nail and slammed it onto the spot in the western suburban military camp.

Then, several small black magnetic nails, representing his own forces, were steadily pushed by his fingers along a ghostly route marked with dotted lines, winding out of the South Kitar mining area, and finally stopping on an icon of an abandoned plantation on the western outskirts.

"here."

A red marker drew a sharp cross on the dot representing the abandoned plantation, like a decapitation mark.

"First assembly point. Three thousand men from Nanjita, divided into three groups, will be moved here quietly during the mine's holiday break, under the pretense of 'going to town to buy goods' or 'visiting relatives.' Bring plenty of light weapons and explosives."

He looked up and gazed at the corner of the room.

At this moment, Bai Xiong was sitting there playing cards with Jiang Feng.

Jiang Feng had previously taught him a poker game called Thirteen Cards.

Jiang Feng kept winning, and a thick stack of US dollars piled up in front of him.

The polar bear was unconvinced and emptied his pockets to try and win back his losses.

"The western suburbs are the main direction of attack. You and the Queen will personally lead the team. You have recently taken a lot of territory in Darfur, so I think you are more than capable of handling this kind of military mission."

Jiang Feng and Bai Xiong threw down their playing cards and quickly went to the map.

The polar bear's gaze swept over the route marked by Song Heping and the glaring cross, its jawline tightening as it uttered only one word: "Yes."

"Jiang Feng, bring Collins with you then."

Without looking up, Song Heping said, “All the eyes (surveillance cameras) at the Presidential Palace and along that troop rotation road, their locations, models, how to cut the wires, the timing of the cuts… Also, that buzzing hive (communication center) of the British advisory group, all frequencies, primary and backup, monitor them all without missing a single one.”

Collins, at the other end of the tent, turned around and shouted, "Boss, surveillance cameras and the like are easy to deal with, but the British communication equipment is a different story. It's military grade... I need the equipment."

"What equipment do you need?" Song Heping asked.

Collins scratched his ear, looking troubled: "Something more advanced than them."

"Something more advanced?"

Everyone was stunned.

Those British advisors, the ones in charge of technology, were all intelligence personnel, and they used top-of-the-line equipment. To monitor and hack their channels, it wasn't enough for just one tech-savvy person like Collins; even more advanced equipment was needed.

But who has better jamming and eavesdropping equipment than the British MI6?
(End of this chapter)