Chapter 1180 - 1042: Don't Act Impulsively

"American."

Song Heping's voice gradually became icy.

"They plan to use this summit to trap both you and me."

He tapped on the first document: "This is the draft statement from the U.S. State Department. They're planning to accuse me at the summit as the 'leader of mercenary terrorists,' accusing me of committing 'war crimes' in Sawinu. The goal is to get everyone in the African Union to sanction me, using methods including but not limited to freezing assets, banning entry, and extradition!"

Haftar's eyes sharpened, quickly skimming through the contents on the tablet, his face growing darker.

Song Heping turned to the next document: "This is the CIA's 'Cleanup Operation.' The core is to use sanctions and isolation to cut off all my paths in Africa, forcing me out of there."

He emphasized, "And after that, in a 'more suitable place' – essentially where there's no protection – finish me off! This document particularly stresses the pressure steps on you, the General, and Sudan and Sena, forcing you all to sever ties with me and kick me out. I must say, it's indeed a very vicious tactic."

"Fuck!"

Unable to hold back, Haftar cursed.

Song Heping smiled as he turned to the third report: "And here, ODNI leads, together with CIA and DIA, portraying me as a self-serving 'powder keg' ready to explode Africa at any time. What's more sinister..."

"They insist they have 'solid intelligence' showing I have 'secret connections' with extremist groups in North Africa and the Sahel. This is to ensure no one dares to shelter me!"

Haftar disdainfully said: "That's bullshit! Naked slander! This is just like when they started a war against Illiguo, crafting a random report, declaring you guilty with a mere claim! This despicable tactic has been played by the Americans for so many years without getting bored! Song, haven't you been in Libya battling real terrorists for us? Who is Sayif? He truly began as the leader of an extremist organization, yet the Americans never jumped out to say they wanted to sanction him? They even militarily supported him! Now that this guy is dead, and it's my turn to lead, they jump out to accuse you of being a terrorist? This is damn absurd!"

Song Heping nodded, his tone mocking: "Exactly, General. That's the politicians in Washington, sons of bitches. Compared to them, I'm just a mercenary leader with bloody hands who seems downright pure as a white lotus. They can't swallow the losses in Sawinu, so when Washington's politicians can't play fair, they resort to underhanded politics to retaliate against me. This summit is the stage they've set. Inviting you, they seemingly acknowledge you, but in reality, they want to use this stinking report to force you and the others to publicly cut ties with me in front of all African leaders! If I refuse, they can legitimately provide military aid under the guise of anti-terrorism; if you dare to refuse, the American draft mentions 'countermeasures'—trade cutoffs, financial sanctions, even blockading your crucial port routes!"

"Bang!"

Haftar punched the heavy wooden table, shaking the cups and papers.

"Shameless! Despicable! Fuck their ancestors!"

Haftar roared in furious anger, grabbing the invitation without even looking, "Szz-- Szz--!"

Ripping it to shreds, he slammed it to the ground hard, stomping on it with military boots, as if crushing an enemy's head.

"Want me to go to Addis Ababa to be their puppet? Dream on! They want to force me to sell you out under threat? Not a chance! I won't go to this bullshit summit! Let the Americans go to hell!"

Haftar raged like an enraged lion, pacing back and forth in the office, breathing heavily.

Torn paper scraps stuck to his boot sole.

Song Heping quietly waited for him to vent.

For someone who values honor, being used as a pawn feels worse than being shot.

"General."

Song Heping's voice sounded again, as calm as cold steel, suppressing some of Haftar's fury: "Ranting alone is useless. Tearing that thing may feel good but isn't a smart move."

Haftar stopped, glaring at Song Heping: "Song, what do you mean? You want me to dive into the trap meant for you?"

"Not entirely."

Song Heping said calmly: "If you don't go, it'll play right into their hands. They'd immediately say you're guilty, say you're harboring 'terrorists,' allowing them to increase sanctions, turning the recognition you've just earned into nothing, even turning it into a load of shit! Every wrong accusation would be thrown at those who don't cooperate."

Haftar's brow furrowed, knowing Song Heping was stating facts.

Politics is dirtier than battlefields.

The anger gradually replaced by cold sense of crisis.

"Then... what should I do?"

Haftar's voice dropped, laced with anxiety.

"Time, General, we have one week."

Song Heping walked to the window, slightly opening the curtain to look at the city outside, scorched by sunlight yet teeming with hidden currents.

"One week is enough to do quite a lot. We need to use this week to disrupt their scheme and make their plans fail."

He turned around, eyes like an eagle: "First, you need to calm down immediately. Pretend the tear-up never happened. You must contact the African Union Secretariat right away, express your 'sincere gratitude,' 'glad acceptance,' and assure 'on-time attendance,' pledging your efforts for 'Libya's peace and Africa's stability.' Play your part well, make them feel you're still damn thrilled, unaware of America's dirty trick."

Haftar's eyes flickered, and he nodded.

"Second."

Song Heping continued: "This intelligence was 'accidentally' leaked by the French. Do you know what that means? It means the French don't want the Americans to ride alone, don't want me gone so quickly. They want to use me and my controlled forces to constrain the Americans. Given this, I can turn this to my advantage. What do the French want? It's just oil and leadership in anti-terrorism. We can give them some sweetness, make sure they don't wholeheartedly cooperate with the American script at the summit."

Haftar mused: "The French... Shire just left... he was suggesting future oil cooperation..."

"Finally."

Song Heping intervened: "And it's the most critical. Americans want to force me out of Africa, want to cut the roots of 'The Musician's' defense? Then I'll show them how deep my roots are in Africa!"

Saying this, he walked up to Haftar.

"General, on my way here, I saw the street scenes of this city, honestly, I was quite moved, and contemplated a lot. Wait for my message, follow my arrangements, I guarantee those Washington politicians will find their fists hovering aimlessly!"

"I trust you, Mr. Song."

Haftar evidently has great confidence in Song Heping.

"Whatever you say, I will do! If the Americans keep jabbering, I'll directly appoint you as a high-level government advisor and see what they do!"

"Impulsive, General!"

Song Heping smiled contently.

Haftar's reaction showed it wasn't an act.

This man knows what's right, knows who can truly help him, and who's exploiting him.

The lesson of Sayif is right there: dancing to the Western politician's tune, only leads to a corpse.

"Then I'll wait for your message!"

"Yes, tonight I'll go back to refine my plan and handle some preliminary arrangements. By then, not only you, but also Sudan, Sena, and other countries will act according to my plan. Rest assured, you are not isolated."