Chapter 1934 - 1421: Baghdad's Deadly Game_2

"What are you planning to do with the 'Spring Blade' and the 'Stinger'?"

Simon asked the key question.

These two are truly sensitive technologies, especially the "Spring Blade" 300 model - this small loitering munition drone is essentially a drone missile operated by a single soldier, and if it falls into the hands of terrorist organizations, the consequences would be unimaginable.

"Don't worry, even if I don't sell these things, I can keep them for my own use," Song Heping said, "At least I'm not the KB member you're worried about, right? Besides, I've already contacted a buyer. It's said that the people in Ukraine are very interested in this stuff; recently, they've been having unpleasant dealings with Da Mao in eastern Ukraine."

Simon was weighing his options.

Song Heping could hear the slight breathing on the other end of the phone and another golf swing in the distance.

For someone like Simon, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, though he can't interfere directly with the Pentagon's personnel appointments, submitting reports to the White House or engaging in direct negotiations with Pentagon higher-ups to let them handle the matter is not difficult at all.

Once consensus is reached, it would be easy for those senior generals to make Walker disappear.

An internal physical examination and a psychological evaluation report could make a forty-six-year-old major retire due to "severe post-traumatic stress disorder."

His umbrella of protection would also be easy to handle; the Pentagon is full of factions, and reassigning a few people from influential positions is a commonplace affair in the bureaucratic system.

The real difficulty lies in those sensitive pieces of equipment.

If Song Heping can truly deal with them, and sell them to a country like Ukraine, which the US is secretly supporting, then this matter could turn from a scandal into an achievement.

After all, those politicians in the White House and Congress Hill have always wanted to provide Ukraine with lethal weapons but are wary of Moscow's reaction. This "unofficial channel" transfer neatly resolves the political dilemma.

"What if Walker becomes desperate?" Simon asked, a reasonable question.

"Then let him jump," Song Heping's voice grew cold, "Simon, I have not only got dirt on Walker."

The sound of glass breaking came from the other end.

Simon had smashed something, perhaps a wine glass.

He was well aware of what Song Heping meant by "not only."

What followed was an extended silence, only the sound of heavy breathing coming through the receiver.

"Song, are you threatening me?" Simon's voice was brimming with suppressed anger.

"No, Chief, I'm just stating the facts," Song Heping's tone remained calm, "We're partners. You help me, I help you. Mutual benefits, win-win cooperation."

He slightly leaned forward, "Besides, I've received intelligence that Walker has mobilized an assassination team intending to act against me in the next few days, making it look like an 'accident.' This matter, I don't think I need to handle it myself, right? After all, if something 'accidental' happens to me, you'll also be 'accidentally' affected. We're on the same boat."

This clearly suggested that Simon should help handle the assassination threat against him.

Having the CIA protect a PMC?

FCUK!

Simon felt that Song Heping was treating him like an errand boy, which made him very displeased.

The silence on the other end lasted for almost half a minute like death.

Eventually, Simon controlled his emotions.

When he spoke again, his voice had returned to that bureaucratic calm:

"I will consult with the President and communicate with the Pentagon. If things go smoothly, Walker will receive orders within seven days to return to Washington to 'report.' Within half a month, he will 'voluntarily' apply for early retirement due to 'health reasons.' Swift will take over his position and be fully responsible for the equipment transfer. That's the best I can do."

"That's enough," Song Heping said.

"But remember, Song," Simon's voice was as icy as a viper, "Don't always threaten me with my dirt!"

"You as well, Chief."

Song Heping finished speaking and hung up the phone. The call duration was two minutes and forty-seven seconds long.

He looked out the window; the streets of Baghdad were filled with dust, and a US Army patrol convoy consisting of three Hummers and an MRAP vehicle roared past, kicking up even more dust.

In the corner of the ruins, several children under the age of ten were collecting recyclable garbage.

Copper wire, aluminum foil, plastic bottles, anything that could be exchanged for money.

One of the boys looked up at the armored vehicle passing by, his eyes showing neither curiosity nor awe, just numb indifference.

The coming week would decide the fate of many individuals.

And Song Heping had already arranged all his pieces.

As Song Heping's armored SUV headed towards the safe house, Simon was standing in front of a panoramic window at a country golf club far away in the United States.

The whiskey glass in his hand was already empty, leaving only a melting ice ball.

"Damn Boss Dong!"

He cursed softly, his voice so low only he could hear it.

Most contractors and intelligence dealers are either greedy for money, seeking power, or yearning for recognition.

Song Heping was different; he seemed to want nothing and yet everything.

More terrifyingly, he was too clever, too organized, and knew exactly how to survive and thrive in this game.

Deadly, in the past when he tangled with him, he was caught by him...

SHIT!

Simon cursed silently while walking to the bar, signaling the bartender to pour another glass of Macallan 25.

The amber liquid flowed into the crystal glass, exuding aromas of caramel and oak. He picked up the glass but didn't drink; he just watched the whiskey tears slide down the glass wall.

The matters Song Heping mentioned, it seemed he had no choice but to handle them.

Sipping the whiskey, the spicy liquid slid down his throat, bringing a momentary burning sensation.

He needed to think, think calmly.

Walker was a fool, greedy and reckless, destined to be eradicated sooner or later.

But Song Heping's method of dealing was even more brutal.

Directly intercepting the equipment and openly laying all the cards on the table.

This was an insinuation – in Illiguo, he was also a player at the table.

More troublesome was the information Song Heping revealed at the end.

Before hanging up, Song Heping seemed to casually mention that Walker had contacted a privately armed group codenamed 'Frost Raven' to initiate an assassination operation against him.

If Walker did send assassins for Song Heping and Song Heping died, all that blackmail material on him would automatically be exposed.

This was Song Heping's insurance mechanism and the most vicious form of binding.

If something happened to Song Heping, he'd be buried along as well.

"FUCK."

Simon cursed under his breath.

Then he pulled out his encrypted phone, input a long string of passwords, and dialed a number.

The ringtone rang only once before being picked up.

"This is 'Night Watcher,'" said a voice on the other end, devoid of any emotion.

"'Grey Eagle', I need you to activate 'Sentry' protocol," Simon said, "Target: A privately operated group codenamed 'Frost Raven', believed to consist of former Special Forces personnel, possibly entering or preparing to enter Illiguo for an assassination against contractor Song Heping. Task: Comprehensive surveillance, assess threat level, prepare intervention directive. Authorization code: Hades-7-Alpha-Obsidian."

"Received, authorization code verified," the other end replied, "The 'Sentry' protocol is now active. Do you require real-time reports?"

"Hourly encrypted briefings, any abnormal activities report immediately," Simon said, "If 'Frost Raven' is confirmed to be implementing hostile actions against our key assets, I need interception options."

"Understood. Do you need preset rules of engagement?"

"Engagement permitted, use all means to protect Song Heping."

"Understood," repeated the other end, "Reports will begin in an hour. Call ends."

The call was disconnected.