Chapter 1432 - 1193: Inside the Deep Palace (2)

Song Heping had already anticipated this question from the other side. He calmly replied, "Advisor Ivanov, your question is very crucial. First of all, to get the Americans to cooperate, it's not about pleading, but rather strength and circumstances. I already have a specific plan and will soon make them realize that without our cooperation, their interests in Northern Illiguo will suffer unbearable losses."

He did not reveal the details of "Broken Blade," but the confidence in his tone was undeniable.

"Secondly, regarding loyalty..."

He couldn't help but smile.

"We are a defense company, and I assume your intelligence department has at least ten analyses of me. Do you think I would have issues with loyalty if my interests were not compromised?"

The implication was as clear as rocks revealed by the ebbing tide—if you provide me with reasonable profit and benefits, is loyalty still an issue?

PMC companies are, by nature, commercial entities, with no political stance; money ensures loyalty.

For a major power like Russia, is it really about those few dollars?

That's why Song Heping found it amusing.

The bureaucrats in front of him, after all, were in politics for too long.

It also relates to Russia's current political climate, with a leader from the KGB background who emphasizes "loyalty."

But they forget that standing before them is a defense company boss, not an official or a soldier.

Zhaoyi Valley and others seemed to catch the undertone, and they exchanged glances.

"Lastly, regarding Tehran."

Song Heping's gaze swept across the three of them once more.

"All actions will be coordinated within the framework of Russia-Persia strategic cooperation. We can and will be a new, efficient channel of communication and cooperation between Russia and Iraq. The Americans provide money and guns, while we provide the effort. Ultimately, it benefits our shared geopolitical strategic interests. This is a win-win-win transaction: our 'Liberation Forces' gain critical living space and activity legality; Tehran opens the long-desired land route to the Mediterranean; and Moscow—"

He deliberately slowed his speech, enunciating each word, "will, at the smallest direct cost and risk, play a crucial, potentially transformative piece on the complex Middle Eastern chessboard. This is far more cost-effective than directly engaging in a consumptive confrontation with the Americans."

The conference room fell into a prolonged silence.

The three decision-makers exchanged no words, but their subtle eye contacts and facial muscle movements indicated their internal weighing and struggle.

Petrovich remained expressionless, yet there seemed to be a flash of calculated approval in his eyes.

Advisor Ivanov's fingers stopped tapping, and he slowly removed his glasses, wiping them deliberately. General Kuznetsov pressed his lips tightly, his thick fingers tracing circles unconsciously on the table, his scrutinizing gaze still severe, but the previous skepticism seemed to have slightly faded.

Eventually, President's Foreign Policy Advisor Ivanov slowly put his glasses back on, refocusing his gaze on Song Heping, scrutinizing him.

"Mr. Song."

He spoke slowly, each word seemingly weighed with precision, "You have painted an... intriguing picture. But the Kremlin does not make decisions based on pictures, only on facts and strength."

He stood up, followed by the other two.

The air carried a bit more invisible pressure.

"You have forty-eight hours..."

Ivanov's voice was not loud, but it struck like a hammer.

"To prove the value of what you said. Convince us that 'Liberation Forces' is indeed the indispensable key player you described, capable of breaking the deadlock in Northern Illiguo, and of making the Americans feel real pain."

His gaze was meaningful, "Achieve this, and Mr. Petrovich will keep in touch with you to discuss the next steps."

No explicit 'yes' or 'no,' no thrilling promises.

But it was enough.

Song Heping knew he had earned the right to continue playing the game, gaining admission to the next, more dangerous, and exciting round of gambling.

The Russians chose to observe.

Observation was normal.

But Song Heping detested the efficiency of these Russian bureaucrats.

He met with them yesterday, and met again today.

Everything that needed saying had been said.

Yet these people were still hesitating.

However, putting himself in their shoes, he could understand these politicians.

What gives Song Heping, a defense businessman operating in the shadows, the right?

What gives him the right to make the invincible Uncle Sam bow down?

What gives him the right to have the Kremlin place a strategic bet on him?

Song Heping's response anchored the answer in "strength" and "circumstance," outlining a scenario where the Americans had no choice but to compromise.

But trust is a heavier luxury in the circles of power than an imperial crown.

Ivanov ultimately laid down a cold forty-eight-hour deadline—prove the value, demonstrate strength, then support will follow.

Pressure as vast as a mountain, yet also a staircase.

Just as Song Heping accepted that today might be another wasted trip, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

He took out his phone and opened the message.

There was only a brief sentence—Sulaimaniyah has been taken down.

From the number, it was sent by Jiang Feng.

"Clang!"

A dull and clear metallic knocking sound occurred, which was not an announcement by the guards.

The heavy door of the meeting room unexpectedly swung open from the outside!

Time seemed to freeze instantly.

All eyes shot towards the doorway.

When they saw clearly who had arrived, the faces of several Russian bureaucrats changed dramatically.

Even the usually stern Petrovich's pupils started to contract sharply.

Standing at the doorway was none other than the Russian supreme leader known for his iron fist and unfathomable rule—President Vladimir.

He was dressed in dark casual attire, a slight smile on his lips, but his eyes were steadfast, as he walked into the conference room surrounded by his escorts.

Song Heping noticed that when he walked, his right hand always stayed at the seam of his trousers, never swinging.

This movement looked somewhat comical.

Rumor had it that he had early symptoms of Parkinson's disease.

The outsiders watch the spectacle, the insiders see the technique.

Song Heping, however, knew the reason.

The main reason for the president's stiff arm while walking is because of the muscle memory formed during his training as a KGB agent.

This walking style is known as the "gunslinger gait," originating from agents needing to maintain a defensive posture to deal with sudden situations at any time.

Vladimir's appearance silently announced that there seemed to be a fundamental change in this game.

"Mr. President!"

Petrovich was the first to break free from shock, rising with a tone full of undisguised inquiry.

The other three also immediately stood solemnly.

Vladimir casually waved his hand, his eagle-like gaze sweeping across the crowd, finally locking onto the only Eastern man in the room.

"Looks like I've missed some interesting content?"

His voice was not loud, but carried an innate authority as he walked straight to the main seat.

"Petrovich, don't mind if I join, do you?"

The words were a question, but the action was already dominant.

Petrovich quickly yielded: "Your presence is our honor, Mr. President."

Vladimir took a seat, crossing his hands on the table, his gaze piercing towards Song Heping: "Mr. Song Heping, I've heard much about you. Your 'dance' in Africa, your 'performance' in the Middle East, and especially the recent 'spectacular play' in Northern Illigo have tripled the coffee consumption of my analysts."

Song Heping slightly bowed, his posture like a pine, neither humble nor arrogant: "Thank you, Mr. President, for your praise. Our 'Musician' Defense Company is merely trying to survive in wartime. It's an unexpected honor to be noticed by the Kremlin."

His words were humble, but his gaze was clear and sharp, without any fear.

"Unexpected?"

Vladimir's lips curled into a barely noticeable arc.

"For someone who can make the world's top three intelligence agencies stumble, I'm afraid 'unexpected' isn't in their dictionary. Also, your bold conception of using a trilateral cooperation to pry open U.S. strategic points… astounding."

He changed the subject, his gaze sweeping across Petrovich and the others: "I've just intercepted the highest priority report from the Northern Illigo front and our intelligence network. In the past few dozen minutes of your conversation, a decisive move has occurred in the Northwest board."

Petrovich and the others' expressions suddenly became grim.

Song Heping remained as calm as ever.

Because he knew, the "Broken Blade" operation was successful.

The upcoming negotiations seem promising.

Vladimir stared at Song Heping and said slowly: "The 1515 Armed, entrenched at the border, seemed to have been injected with crazy hormones and are throwing everything into a fierce attack on the southern Kurdish Control Zone. The scale and intensity are unprecedented. The Kurdish people's front line is on the verge of collapse."

Zhaoyi Valley couldn't help but exclaim: "1515 Armed? At this timing…"

"The best is yet to come…"

Vladimir interrupted him, continuing: "The US Army stationed in Northern Illigo and the Gulf hastily took to the air, launching a saturation bombing of the 1515's attack formations, temporarily stabilizing the battle line. It seems the world's police have 'successfully' fulfilled their duty once again."

Zhaoyi Valley scoffed: "Duty? They're merely maintaining their shaky proxy and that ridiculous regional balance!"

"Balance?"

Vladimir glanced at Zhaoyi Valley, then his gaze returned to Song Heping's face, carrying scrutiny with a subtle hint of admiration.

"General Zhaoyi Valley, balance has already been broken. Right when U.S. fighter jets roared and everyone's attention was drawn to the main battlefield. Mr. Song's 'Liberation Forces' teamed up with Abu You Brigade for a lightning-fast assault, completely taking control of… Sulaimaniyah Town."

"Sulaimaniyah?!"

Advisor Ivanov exclaimed, his usual calmness vanished.

Petrovich also abruptly looked up, his eyes filled with incredulous shock.

Sulaimaniyah!

It's not an ordinary town!

It's the transportation heart of the Northern Kurdish Control Zone, the junction of several major supply arteries, the throat through which the US Army maintains a northern presence!

Controlling Sulaimaniyah is tantamount to choking the lifeline of the Kurdish people and their backing US Army!

Vladimir slowly added: "Intelligence confirms, the 'Liberation Forces' moved with thunderous speed, and the resistance from the Sulaimaniya Kurdish Armed was minuscule. Now, not only have they occupied the town, they've also expanded the Control Zone by threefold, constructed solid defensive positions within the area, and completely severed all main roads running through the town. Now, the land supply routes to the crucial northern Kurdish Control Zone are declared cut."

Dead silence.

A deep, oppressive silence enveloped the entire room.

Everyone had now come to their senses.

The frenzied attack of the 1515 Armed became the "Easterly wind" cleverly leveraged by Song Heping!

The real killer move lies in the backstab piercing straight at the heart—capturing Sulaimaniyah!

Feign one way, strike another! Sneak through the shadows!

This move, precise, ruthless, veritable artistry!

In Petrovich's mind echoed Song Heping's earlier words "let them suffer losses they cannot afford."

This isn't prophecy, it's the reality that has already happened!

This guy…

Is phenomenal!