Chapter 932 - 869: Feast at Hongmen

"Remember." Before getting off, the chef glanced at the luxury Aurus car with the license plate number 001, and suddenly grabbed his wrist tightly, warning in a low voice.

"If the General asks about the British, just say you've severed ties." There was a hint of undeniable seriousness in his eyes.

"Lady M has no friends in Moscow."

Song Heping's pupils contracted slightly — could it be that even his secret contact with MI6 was known?

He adjusted his tie, showing a professional smile: "I only make friends with money."

This restaurant by the Moscow River only caters to political and business elites, but tonight it was unusually quiet — clearly booked out.

Walking through the corridor laid with Persian carpets, Song Heping noticed plainclothes guards at every corner, their earpiece wires faintly visible, with obvious bulges at the back waist.

The chef pushed open the gilded door, and warm lights and piano music poured out.

As soon as entering the restaurant, the warm air mixed with the aroma of caviar and truffles, and the smell of cigars greeted him.

Under the illumination of crystal chandeliers, a dozen men in military or business suits were toasting and talking, but Song Heping's gaze was immediately drawn to the silhouette by the window — a gray-white crew cut, upright back, and the wristwatch revealed while raising the glass was Swiss "Rolex."

"Ah, our Eastern friend has arrived!" A deep male voice came from the end of the long table.

General Anatoly stood up, dressed in a well-tailored dark blue suit, with a Russian military emblem tie clip on his chest shining with a dark red hue under the lights.

The table was surrounded by five or six men all sitting in a military posture, one glance and it was obvious they were professional soldiers.

Song Heping noticed a gaunt man in a gray suit in the corner who kept his head down during the meal, but his right index finger tapped rhythmically on the table — a typical move of a GRU agent.

"I've long admired you, General." Song Heping greeted in Russian: "I am very honored to meet you here."

This gesture slightly eased the expressions of several officers present.

Anatoly motioned him to sit in the empty seat on the right: "Yevgeny said you speak Russian well, he wasn't exaggerating."

The waiter served steaming red vegetable soup, and the General gently stirred it with a silver spoon.

"I heard you have performed well in the Middle East, Africa, and America? Even the CIA's Secret Action Department and Counterterrorism Center have suffered losses at your hands."

"Just forced to survive."

Song Heping took the napkin handed by the waiter, using the opportunity to observe his surroundings.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the cruise boats on the Moscow River were brightly lit, but the two nearest ones were obviously disguised patrol boats.

The main course was roasted venison with black caviar, finally prompting Anatoly to get to the point: "What do you think of the situation in Siria?"

Song Heping put down his knife and fork: "The opposition has made some progress in the west, but the government army still controls major cities."

He deliberately paused, "However, without external intervention, the current regime might not last six months."

The atmosphere at the table suddenly became quiet.

There was a trace of appreciation in Anatoly's eyes: "Very insightful analysis. This is exactly why we need professionals."

He raised his glass: "'Wagner' Group is expanding its size, we need a commander like you."

"Song, the Minister hopes you can join our family." The chef interjected timely: "Annual salary of 8 million US Dollars, bonus on actions counted separately. You can build your own tactical team, equipped with anything from T-90 to Su-25 at your choice."

The crystal chandelier's light refracted in the red wine, as if a puddle of fresh blood.

Song Heping remembered Russia's conflict of interests with European countries in North Africa.

Their contradictions are very sharp.

The hostility between Russia and European countries is not purely due to the Former Soviet Union, if strictly traced, it can even be rooted in religious orthodoxy disputes.

These contradictions are irreconcilable, as an outsider, getting involved is not a wise move.

He took a sip of wine: "I appreciate the favor, but I currently have a contract."

Anatoly's smile remained, but his fingers were gripping the glass tightly: "A contract? With those who can't even retain their colonies, the British?"

He gestured the waiter to clear the plates, then looked at Song Heping's face, speaking in a cold tone: "Whatever they offer you, we double it, Song, this is the opportunity we give you, think about the situation in Romania, if it weren't for us, what would have become of your friends? Fighting against the CIA with just a mercenary company is unwise, you need a backing."

The GRU agents in the corner cast cold gazes upon here.

Song Heping felt cold sweat seep from his back, this was a naked threat.

He put down the wine glass, deliberately letting it clatter against the table: "General, I am very grateful for everything you have done for me and my friends, but I am a businessman, what matters to me is integrity, and I do hope to cooperate with former friends."

Saying that, he looked toward the chef, implying something.

"Please allow me to complete the previous contract, this is the rule, if I lack integrity, would you be willing to cooperate with such a capricious, faithless villain? Would you trust partnering with me?"

Song Heping's words silenced everyone.

Ten seconds of suffocating silence ensued.

Suddenly Anatoly laughed loudly: "Well said! Business is business, it requires integrity, mercenaries must have integrity."

He clapped his hands, and the waiter served dessert, "But think about my proposal, given the current situation, I estimate Siria is just the beginning."

He lowered his voice, "We have a layout in North Africa as well, and you need to establish yourself in North Africa, cooperating with us is the smartest choice."

Song Heping pretended to be interested and leaned forward: "Specifically?"

"I have an urgent meeting now, we'll discuss in detail next time." Anatoly stood up after wiping his mouth, "In three days, Yevgeny will arrange a plane for you tomorrow to conduct on-site inspection in Damascus, you go and see our military base over there and the domestic situation in Siria before making a judgment, okay?"

This was clearly a final ultimatum.

Song Heping got up and shook hands with him: "No problem."

"Don't worry, Yevgeny will ensure your safety."

As Anatoly said this, he looked at the chef.

The chef squeezed a constipated smile and nodded: "Yes, I will."

On the return journey, Yevgeny remained silent.

It was not until under the apartment building that he said: "Anatoly doesn't like being refused, so if you don't plan to follow me to Siria this time, it's better to prepare early."

It was apparent the chef's words held deeper meaning.

"I know."

Song Heping already understood his implications.

"I'll make arrangements."

Returning to the apartment, Song Heping immediately dialed Ferrari's encrypted line: "Arrive at my apartment in thirty minutes, bring the equipment."

He opened the hidden compartment in the wardrobe, retrieved the spare passport, and said to Ferrari on the phone: "We should leave Moscow."

Half an hour later, just as Ferrari rushed through the door with a bread roll shouting, Song Heping had already marked three escape routes on the map.

"The Russians want us to go to Siria."

He pointed at the intelligence just sent by Henry on the screen.

"But we can't go this time, what they need is cannon fodder, I don't want to lead everyone to Siria as cannon fodder, currently Western intelligence departments and military are supporting the opposition, it can be foreseen that the war within Siria domestically will be very brutal, we should go back to Africa and seize the opportunity to establish a foothold in Darfur."

Ferrari whistled: "So we're making a run for it?"

Song Heping asked: "Your sister left Russia, right?"

Ferrari nodded: "Yes, the chef arranged for him to go to Sudan."

"So it's just the two of us left, which makes things easier." Song Heping pointed at the map: "In the early morning, we climb to the next building's rooftop, then leave here to the suburban train station, take a freight train to Saint Petersburg, from there fly to Cairo, then transit to Darfur."

Speaking, he walked to the bedside, lifted a corner to peek outside.

Outside the window, a black car without a license plate was parked quietly at the corner of the street.

Song Heping pulled the curtains: "Ferrari, this time we're making a bold bet, if caught, the chef likely can't protect us either."

"You don't like cooperating with Russians?" Ferrari asked.

Song Heping laughed: "I have no bias against Russians, but based on the current situation, I would rather cooperate with M for our interests, as for Siria, wait until after completing Nase's operation, it's not wise to go to Siria now."