Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 964 SAS's Desperate Gamble
Langley, Washington, D.C., CIA headquarters.

Deputy Director Simon stood outside the heavy oak door of Director Vincent's office, took a deep breath, straightened his tie, and tried to make his expression look one of shock, anger, and a hint of loyalty that "thankfully I caught him in time."

He held an encrypted tablet in his hand, on which was the intelligence summary and audio analysis report that had detonated the deep web.

According to the script—a few minutes earlier, he had "accidentally discovered" these materials and "immediately" reported his "major discovery" and "reasonable suspicions" to the director.

He knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Director Vincent's deep voice came through.

Simon pushed open the door and entered.

Vincent sat behind a large desk, his back to the huge bulletproof floor-to-ceiling window, which offered a panoramic view of the Potomac River.

He was toying with an exquisite metal lighter in his hand, his face revealing neither joy nor anger, only his hawk-like eyes sharply scrutinizing Simon as he entered.

"Director."

Simon's voice carried just the right amount of heaviness and a hint of anger. "We're in trouble. A major intelligence leak points to our 'ally,' MI6."

He respectfully placed the tablet in front of Vincent and brought up the key pages and audio clips.

Vincent didn't speak, but listened quietly to the technically processed recording.

When Ms. M's distinctively cold tone intertwined with Song Heping's signature calm voice, discussing details such as how to leak false intelligence to "complement" and mislead the US intelligence agencies...

Vincent's eyes suddenly turned incredibly cold, as if a Siberian chill had swept through the entire office.

With a click, the cap of his lighter popped open, and a pale blue flame danced silently.

Simon held his breath, his heart pounding.

He added fuel to the fire: "Chief, this isn't just betrayal! It proves that the British have been using people on our wanted lists to undermine our interests in Africa! Song Heping's release of these people is clearly an attempt to prevent us from joining forces with the British against him! But this also confirms the British's duplicity! If we continue to cooperate with them in Senegal, wouldn't that be..."

Vincent raised his hand, signaling Simon to shut up.

The office fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the faint hissing sound of a lighter burning.

After a long silence, Vincent finally spoke, his voice low and deep, as if it came from the depths of the earth: "I understand. You handled this matter 'very promptly'."

He emphasized the words "very timely," his gaze sweeping across Simon's face like a knife, as if trying to see through his true thoughts.

Simon's back was instantly soaked with cold sweat.

Vincent picked up the intercom and pressed a button: "Notify the Africa Division and Operations Department that all requests for direct operational support involving the Republic of Sena, whether from London or elsewhere, are frozen. Not a single bullet is to be shed without my written authorization. Intensify intelligence gathering on Sena, especially on British movements; I need to know their every move. Furthermore…"

He paused, a cold glint in his eyes. "Contact our 'friends' in the African Union and the UN Security Council. It's time to give our 'allies' a taste of their own medicine. Since they like to play with fire in the shadows, let's make the fire burn even brighter and illuminate what's hidden beneath their elegant tuxedos."

After hanging up the phone, Vincent looked at the intelligence report on the screen again, his fingers tapping lightly on the table in a slow, yet oppressive rhythm.

"Song Heping... what a clever move to use one tiger to devour another, to shift the blame eastward."

He muttered to himself, a cold smile playing on his lips, "You want us to tear the British apart so you can reap the benefits? Interesting. But you think this will allow you to secure your dominance in Seine? Too naive. Wait until you two mad dogs have fought until you're both badly injured..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but Simon already felt a chill run down his spine.

Song Heping's scheme to sow discord succeeded, but it also led the more experienced and cunning "vulture" director to set his sights even higher on the land of Seine, which was about to be soaked in blood and fire.

The temporary alliance to hinder them will only lead to more dangerous covetousness in the future.

London, MI6 headquarters, "Q" level, Strategic Intelligence Room.

Just a few hours later, the atmosphere in the strategy room had changed from somber to the oppressive calm before a storm.

Deputy Director Hammond's face was ashen as he stared intently at the screenshot of a webpage and an urgent intelligence summary displayed on the tablet in front of him.

On the screen, the title of the deep web forum post stung his eyes like a red-hot branding iron—"The Cracks in the Alliance: A Deal Between Ms. M and Terrorist Leader 'Ghost'?"

The attached audio clip icon below resembles the devil's mockery.

"SIR!"

The intelligence analysis director's voice was filled with unprecedented panic, "The news...the news has been leaked! Anonymous posts have appeared on multiple key nodes of the deep web, containing...containing details of our cooperation with Song Heping behind some of our secret operations in Africa, and...a manipulated recording, but it clearly points to Ms. M!"

"what?!"

Hammond jumped to his feet, knocking over his bone china coffee cup. The brown liquid quickly spread across the expensive wool carpet, like dirty bloodstains.

"Source?! Who did this?! Investigate immediately! Use all resources to block it! Delete it!"

"We're investigating with all our might, sir! But the other side's methods are extremely sophisticated; they used a 'ghost protocol' level of a springboard, making it difficult to pinpoint the source! And..."

The head of analysis's Adam's apple bobbed. "The information is spreading too fast; it's already been obtained by several influential independent investigative journalists and... intelligence brokers we suspect have CIA ties! Deleting it... is probably too late! Worse still, it hints at more undisclosed details!"

"It must be Song Heping!"

Hammond's face darkened.

The previous cooperation with Song Heping was top secret; even within MI6, only high-ranking officials and some executors knew about it.

Anyone who can release these things knows who it is without even investigating!
It seems that the other party has only released a very small portion of the information.

This isn't a sign of things going wrong; it's a warning!
He's threatening me!
Tell the British not to interfere in the Seine issue!
Just then, Hammond's encrypted private line beeped shrilly. He glanced at the caller ID, his pupils contracting sharply—it was Ms. M's line!
He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his surging anger and a barely perceptible fear, and answered the phone.

"Hamond!"

Ms. M's signature cold and authoritative voice rang out, but at that moment, the chill in that voice was enough to freeze the Thames.

There were no titles, no pleasantries, only the extreme tension before a volcanic eruption.

"Did you hear that recording? Top secrets are already flying around like cheap tabloids?! Are you and your department riddled with holes?!"

Hammond's forehead instantly broke out in a cold sweat.

“Madam…we are investigating with all our might! This is clearly Song Heping’s revenge and a divisive tactic! He wants to stop our actions and sow discord between us and…”

"Sowing discord?!"

Ms. M's voice suddenly rose, filled with icy anger.

"He succeeded! Just now, that old fox, CIA Director Vincent, called me personally under the guise of 'concern for the reputation of allies'! His words were full of probing and gloating!"

"Do you know what this means, Hammond?! It means those vultures in Washington will be watching us like the back of their hand! It means every move we make in Sena will be scrutinized under a microscope! It means the Americans will do everything they can to trip us up, and might even secretly support that damn mercenary to wash away their own shame! Your SAS airborne operation? It's a sitting duck now! An international disaster? It already is!"

A jarring sound came from the other end of the phone: something being smashed to pieces.

"I don't care what you do, Hammond! Find the source of the leak! Put out the fire online! Now! Immediately! Also, tell Colonel Blackwood on the SAS that the operations at the base in Africa... are suspended! Until this mess is cleaned up and the Americans don't stab us in the back, stay put! Not a single fly is allowed to fly into Sena without my direct orders!"

The phone was abruptly hung up, leaving only the busy tone buzzing in Hammond's ears like a death knell.

His face turned deathly pale. He slumped back into his chair, staring at the damned post title on the screen, feeling a chilling despair creep up from the soles of his feet.

Song Heping's use of "poison" not only penetrated the core of the operation, but also precisely tore apart the already fragile foundation of trust in Anglo-American intelligence cooperation.

The northern border of the Seine. Between the hills on both sides of the "Rift Valley Corridor," the pocket of death has already opened.

The SAM-6's radar was warming up in silence, the MiG-23s were loading ammunition and preparing in the hangar, and countless gun muzzles and booby traps lay dormant under the starlight.

Song Heping stood in the command post, watching the numbers representing time on the electronic sand table jump by little, his eyes as cold as iron.

The British were temporarily pinned down by the intelligence they had leaked, while the Americans were temporarily sown apart.

But this is just a brief respite before the storm.

He knew that both London's fury and Washington's sinister scheming would eventually turn into an even more violent storm.

He picked up the communicator, his voice clearly carrying across all the ambush positions: "Attention all units, although the 'guest's' itinerary has been postponed, the banquet has not been canceled. Maintain maximum alert and await my orders. Remember, we don't want to repel them, we want to break their backbone!"

The darkness before dawn grows ever deeper.

The air was no longer filled with the smell of gunpowder and dust, but also with the invisible, and even more deadly, stench of international political intrigue.

The real battle is yet to come.

In London, the Thames flowed with a heavy, leaden gray hue in the twilight.

Deep within the cold, impersonal MI6 headquarters building, the air in the "Q" level strategic intelligence room seemed to solidify into a tangible form.

The huge screen on the wall was silently playing clips from several international news channels.

The screen switched between screenshots from the deep web, blurry audio waveforms, and commentators' seemingly profound but actually inflammatory analyses. Words like "leak," "trust crisis," and "rift in the special relationship between Britain and the United States" gnawed at his nerves like venomous snakes.

The coffee stain that had been spilled on the carpet had long since dried, leaving an ugly, dark brown mark, much like the brand of shame that lingered in his heart at that moment.

"The source... still cannot be located?"

Hammond's voice was hoarse, with a slight, almost imperceptible tremor.

Overnight, he seemed to have aged ten years.

He tried his best, but it seems that the information leak is now unstoppable.

But this seems to be expected.

The Americans have obtained intelligence, and they will use the media to make a big fuss about it.

Even though they are supposed allies, the UK and the US are not a monolithic bloc when it comes to their interests in Africa; in fact, they may even have conflicts in some areas.

The intelligence analysis director's face appeared deathly pale in the dim light of the screen.

"The other side's technical level is extremely high, sir. A 'ghost protocol' level of jump network, as smooth as mercury, leaving an exceptionally clean trace. Our network counterattack force attempted to trace the source but encountered multiple layers of interference and traps, and there are even indications that... the other side counter-intruded into two of our peripheral nodes as a warning."

He swallowed hard.

"What's even more troublesome is the dissemination. Several independent investigative journalists known for uncovering government scandals have obtained more detailed 'information packages,' the contents of which are... more damaging than what's been published on the deep web, directly pointing to the 'collateral damage' and human rights issues we caused to the Lumar faction during our cooperation with Song in Seine. Several intelligence brokers with CIA ties are also fueling the fire, and fragmented 'evidence' is rapidly fermenting within certain circles."

"Eye of the storm..."

Hammond muttered to himself, his fingers unconsciously tapping on the cold tabletop.

Ms. M's furious, almost out-of-control roar still echoed in his ears.

Vincent, that old fox, made a "concerned" phone call, which was nothing short of a blatant insult and threat.

The US freezing aid is the first step, what's next?

To criticize at the United Nations?

Spreading intelligence detrimental to Britain in Africa?
even……

They secretly gave Song Heping a blood transfusion, making that mercenary a tool for them to wash away their shame?
Every possibility sent chills down his spine...

The heavy oak door was suddenly pushed open silently.

A figure wearing a crisp SAS camouflage uniform, with the prominent rank of colonel on his shoulder straps, strode in.

Colonel Blackwood, codenamed "Bulldog," was the SAS commander in charge of this operation.

He was burly, with a very short buzz cut, a faint scar on his cheek, and eyes as sharp as a hawk's.

Behind him followed a middle-aged man with gray hair, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and possessing a refined yet shrewd demeanor—Hopkins, Director-General of the Department of African Affairs at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Hammond.

Blackwood's voice was deep and powerful: "All personnel and equipment for the airborne operation are at the highest level of readiness. The weather window for the target area north of the Seine will be optimal in 48 hours. My men are all on standby at their bases in Africa, itching to get going, not waiting to see the news headlines!"

He pulled out a chair and sat down with the crispness of a soldier, looking directly at Hammond. "Tell me, will this damn media storm turn my lads into sitting ducks on the range?"

Director Hopkins sat down slowly, took out a handkerchief to wipe his glasses, and spoke in a calm but undeniably authoritative tone: "The Foreign Office is under unprecedented pressure. The Prime Minister's Office has questioned us three times this morning. The wording of the State Department's 'concern' note is unusually strong, the likes of which are rare in the last decade. The representative of the African Union's rotating chair just summoned our ambassador to the African Union, implying that this 'leaked intelligence' has seriously damaged Britain's image of commitment to peace and the rule of law on the African continent."

He paused, his gaze behind his glasses sharpening. "We are losing the moral high ground, Hammond. Every minute of delay is providing our adversaries with ammunition, weakening the legitimacy of our operations and international support. The Lumar faction's strongholds on the northern outskirts of Seine are being gradually eroded by the ISIS government forces. Time is not on our side."

Hammond felt a throbbing sensation in his temples.

Blackwood's anxiety was like a flame, Hopkins' pressure was like an iceberg, and he was caught in the middle, being repeatedly roasted and squeezed.

He suddenly stood up and walked to the huge electronic map.

The region representing the Republic of Seine is highlighted, especially the vast "Rift Corridor" area in the north, where resources are densely marked with symbols.

"pause?"

Hammond's voice suddenly rose, hoarse with the sound of being driven to the brink of despair. He turned abruptly, his gaze like a quenched knife, slashing across Blackwood and Hopkins' faces.

“That old bald eagle Vincent is hoping we'll pause! That bastard Song Heping pulled this stunt just to make us back down! Do you know what will happen if we back down?”

He pressed his finger hard against Sena's location on the electronic map, his fingertip almost piercing through the screen.

"The Americans will pounce like sharks smelling blood! They will support proxies and use any means necessary to control this resource! Our core interests in Africa, built up over many years, will be swallowed up by them! Completely wiped out!"

His chest heaved violently, his gaze sweeping over the crowd with an almost desperate madness: "As for the leak? It's a disgrace! But disgrace can only be washed away by victory! By the complete annihilation of Song Heping and his ragtag army! Nail him to the pillar of shame as a 'terrorist,' and those recordings will be nothing more than the delirium of a madman on his deathbed! International public opinion? Once we seize control of the situation in Seine, restore order and 'security' to Seine, and add a few carefully crafted 'humanitarian aid' shots, public opinion will naturally shift! History is always written by the victors!"

Colonel Blackwood's taut jawline relaxed slightly, and a bloodthirsty flame ignited in his eyes—the kind of desire for battle and absolute belief in victory that a professional soldier possesses.

Director Hopkins remained silent for a moment, tapping his fingers lightly on the table as he weighed the political risks against the enormous benefits.

Finally, he spoke slowly, his voice regaining its usual calm: "The risks are extremely high, but... the strategic interests are even greater. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs will activate its highest-level crisis communication plan to fully mitigate the negative impact. But the action..."

He looked at Blackwood and said, enunciating each word clearly, "It must succeed. And it must be fast! It must be swift and decisive! We must not give any external forces any time or pretext to interfere!"

"Then do it!"

Blackwood stood up abruptly.

"Operation 'Iron Hammer', to be executed according to the highest intensity contingency plan! Objective: Eliminate 'Ghost,' dismantle its armed forces, ensure that the Lumar armed forces break free from the encirclement of the ISIS government forces within 72 hours and advance on Butare, and capture the capital Butare within a week!"

(End of this chapter)