Chapter 1380
The Threat of Lamont
Chapter 1380 The Threat of Lamont
Before the morning light pierced the eastern horizon of Mosul, the low growls of engines rose and fell, and headlights pierced the fog, casting long beams of light across the sand.
Song Heping stood beside the command vehicle, watching his men set off in batches.
On the surface, this collaboration was a partnership of employment and support, but both sides knew perfectly well that it was nothing more than a stopgap measure.
Major General Duke invited his company to join under the guise of "cooperative counterterrorism," offering a bounty of $2.5 million, with contract terms so generous as to raise suspicions.
After last night's USB flash drive incident, Song Heping sensed a conspiracy.
Having spent many years in Illinois, Song Heping knew all too well the American way of doing things.
Behind the generous remuneration often lies the willingness to do dirty work without getting one's hands dirty.
"Team A, check the communication equipment."
He pressed the headset button and began testing the communication.
Starting today, Milos will lead twenty small teams scattered like beans near the town of Badi on the Silja border, monitoring multiple key transportation routes and providing peripheral support for Delta's operation to capture prisoners in Badi.
By sending their own people to surveillance positions, it's clear that Lamont and Duke don't want to interfere with their core operations themselves.
"Team A received, all channels are open."
"Team B, nighttime identification markers."
"The fluorescent identification tape is on, boss."
……
Each vehicle would pause briefly as it passed him, and the captain would lean out to receive Song Heping's final instructions.
Among these faces were Serbs, Poles, Colombians, and even two former members of the French Foreign Legion.
They were artisans of war, skilled workers who died, each with a wealth of battlefield experience.
When Milos's Hummer arrived, Song Heping made a gesture.
The vehicle stopped, and Milos jumped out.
“All the squads have set off, boss,” Milos reported. “As planned, we will set up 10 observation posts on the outskirts of Buddy Town, and then go in to clean up the site after the Delta forces have finished.”
"Remember the communication protocol."
Song Heping took a step closer, lowered his voice, and made sure that only the two of them could hear him.
"The satellite phone channel is for emergency contact with me, the radio channel is public, understand?"
The implication is clear.
Milos looked at Song Heping with a puzzled expression, seemingly not understanding.
"Boss, you don't think Americans can be trusted, right?"
He asked tentatively.
“Hmm…last night,” Song Heping said slowly, “someone slipped a USB drive under my room door.”
Milos frowned.
“There are seven files on the USB drive,” Song Heping continued. “Four of them are about Maisour, including his educational background, employment records in the United States, and immigration information. The other three… are about Lamont.”
Milos asked, "Is it that CIA station chief?"
Song Heping said, “Yes. The documents show that Lamont was an ‘academic advisor’ to Messour when he was pursuing his master’s degree in chemical engineering at Johns Hopkins University between 2011 and 2013. But this identity was a cover; in reality, he was Messour’s recruiter and controller.”
Milos seemed to understand: "So... Maisul used to work for the CIA."
“Once upon a time,” Song Heping repeated the word, his tone carrying a deeper meaning.
“In 2014, Masour suddenly cut off all contact. A few months later, he suddenly appeared in a dark web propaganda video of the 1515 organization, claiming that he wanted to ‘purify the world with science.’ An internal CIA report listed him as a ‘high-risk defector’ and recommended that ‘extreme measures be taken if necessary.’”
Milos asked curiously, "But why are you only arresting him now? He's been missing for almost three years."
"This is where the problem lies."
Song Heping looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to him and Milos before saying, "The last file on the USB drive is a screenshot of an encrypted email, sent six weeks ago. The sender's address has been redacted, but the recipient is a law firm in Washington that specializes in Whistleblower Protection Act cases. The email attachment is named 'Project White Flame'."
Milos's eyes sharpened.
"What are you suspecting?"
"I suspect someone wants to use us to uncover a secret the CIA wants to bury forever."
Song Heping looked eastward, where the golden hue was spreading across the horizon.
"The most ironic thing is that the person who handed me the USB drive is very likely in this joint task force, but I don't know who it is."
The two were silent for a moment.
Song Heping added, "So be careful in everything. We can't trust the Americans. If anything unusual happens, save your life first."
"OK!"
Milos turned and got into the car.
The Hummer's wheels rolled over the gravel, and the red light from its taillights gradually blurred in the dust.
Song Heping stood there until the last car drove out of the base gate.
He looked up at the main building and saw a figure flash by behind a window on the second floor.
It was too far away to see who it was, but that location was Lamont's office.
Song Heping's hand unconsciously reached for the Glock pistol at his waist, a habitual action of his.
He never let his guard down completely at the U.S. military base.
Back inside the building, the sound of military boots clattering on the floor echoed in the corridor.
I met Lamont at the corner of the stairs on the second floor.
This guy had obviously been waiting there for a while, holding a cup of still-steaming coffee.
"Mr. Song got up really early."
Lamont's smile was just right, both friendly and aloof.
That typical smile of an intelligence officer is never entirely genuine.
“If the employer requires it, then of course I have to do my duty,” Song Heping replied briefly, preparing to walk away.
He always maintained this slightly distant politeness when dealing with Lamont, neither being overly familiar nor rude.
“Interested in chatting for a bit? About today’s operation, and some… background information.” Lamont gestured invitingly: “I have some fresh Colombian beans in my office, much better than the dishwater from the cafeteria.”
Refusing would seem suspicious.
Song Heping nodded and followed Lemont into the room at the end of the corridor, but his right hand remained only ten centimeters away from the holster on his waist.
Lamont's office was surprisingly simple.
A metal table, two encrypted computers, and a bookshelf filled with books about Middle Eastern history and religion.
The only thing that stood out was a small electronic device on the windowsill, with a green light flashing regularly.
“White noise generator.” Lamont noticed Song Heping’s gaze. “Standard procedure. You know, in this place, the walls have ears.” There was a hint of something in his smile.
It seems that the head of this intelligence station also knew that there were rivals within the joint team.
Song Heping sat down in the metal folding chair, while Lamont walked around the table and sat down in his own chair.
A bare tabletop separated the two of them, like an invisible dividing line.
On one side are American intelligence agencies, and on the other are foreign mercenaries; they need each other, yet they are also wary of each other.
"First of all, I want to thank you and your team for your professional performance."
Remont began, placing his hands on the table: "Major General Duke speaks highly of you, saying you understand tactics better than most NATO officers."
"If you're paid to do something, you should be professional."
Song Heping's answer was watertight.
“Exactly.” Lymont leaned forward, a gesture that attempted to build intimacy, but Song Heping remained unmoved. “And today, what I need you to do is continue to ‘do what needs to be done.’ Don’t ask questions, don’t overthink, execute orders, and complete tasks. This is for everyone’s benefit.”
Song Heping did not avoid his gaze.
“My men have the right to know what they’re dealing with. That old man in Buddy—intelligence says he’s just a retired teacher, but Delta has sent a twelve-man squad and asked us to blockade the perimeter. That’s not normal.”
Lemont's smile faded slightly, but it was still on his face.
“Some targets are more dangerous than they appear, Mr. Song. You know the rule in this business: some information is safer to remain ignorant than to know it.”
"Or do you know too much?"
Song Heping's tone remained calm, but his words went straight to the heart of the matter.
The air in the office seemed to freeze for a few seconds.
The white noise generator emits a soft hissing sound, like a distant snake's warning.
“Song,” Lymont finally spoke, his tone slightly harsher than before, “You’re just a mercenary leader, not an investigative journalist. Your contract is clear: provide military support and assist in the capture of high-value targets. There are no clauses requiring us to share all intelligence background. In fact…”
He paused: "Excessive curiosity has led to some...unpleasant outcomes in the past."
A threat disguised in politeness is still a threat.
“But there is an additional clause.” Song Heping calmly replied: “Article 7, Section 4: If the nature of the mission undergoes a significant change, involving unconventional operations or politically sensitive actions, the contractor has the right to reassess the risks and negotiate the terms. I read every line carefully before signing, Station Master.”
Lamont's pupils contracted slightly.
He clearly hadn't expected a mercenary to remember the contract terms so clearly.
Most PMCs only care about compensation and equipment lists.
“The operation in Badi was not an ordinary arrest,” Song Heping continued, giving the other party no time to think: “What are you looking for, or what are you afraid of being found? And I suspect that it’s related to Masour, and also to why he defected from the CIA three years ago.”
"Where did you hear that from—?"
Lamont suddenly stopped, but immediately realized he had let something slip.
This implies that he himself admits that what Song Heping mentioned exists.
Song Heping smiled, a smile tinged with sarcasm.
"So it's true. Maisour used to work for you. So here's the question: why is a former CIA asset now a target for elimination? What does he have?"
Lamont stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to Song Heping.
The morning light now fully illuminates the room, and dust particles dance in the light.
“Listen, Song. There are some things you won’t do any good to know. In fact, they might cost you your life. Even if you don’t capture Bakdadi, you’ll still get ten million dollars according to the contract after completing this mission. Taking the money and leaving is the smart thing to do. Don’t you Easterners have an old saying? ‘It’s good to be confused sometimes.’”
"What if I already know too much?"
Song Heping also stood up, a movement that made Lamont turn around.
"Besides, I'm quite greedy. You said Bakdadi's bounty is $2.5 million, which is much more than ten million."
He looked at Lymont with a smile, as if he were a big chicken that wouldn't eat fine rice.
Indeed, ten million US dollars is not a large sum of money for Song Heping now.
He has the confidence to say such things.
The professional smile on Lamont's face vanished completely, replaced by the cold expression typical of CIA agents.
"Then I suggest you forget it as soon as possible. Memory can be trained, just like a muscle. What you know and what you don't know can sometimes be a matter of a single thought. And..."
He added, "Unexpected things happen every day in this war zone."
The threat hangs blatantly in the air.
Song Heping continued to look at the other person with a smile.
But in his heart he was thinking, "I'm not afraid of your bureau chief, why would I be afraid of you, a station chief?"
What a joke!
"Thank you for the coffee and the suggestion, Mr. Lemont."
Song Heping slowly walked towards the door.
As he walked, he said, "But my team and I will complete the task in our own way, and only after fully assessing the risks. That's our professionalism."
He walked toward the door, and as he gripped the handle, Lymont's voice came from behind him, soft as a whisper:
"Things you know."
Song Heping's hand stopped on the doorknob, and he stopped walking.
"Regardless of who told you."
Lymont continued, “Believe me, it wasn’t to help you. In this game, everyone is a pawn. The person who gives you the information just wants you to move to where they want you to be. And the owner of the board is always us. You are just an outsider, a pawn on the edge.”
Song Heping sneered inwardly, but did not turn around.
“I’ve never liked being a pawn. Many people have told me the same thing you’re saying today, but…”
"but what?"
Lemont stared coldly at Song Heping.
Song Heping then turned around, giving him the same cold look, and said, "But they're all dead—"
He pointed back at himself.
"And I am still alive."
After saying that, he opened the door and went out.
The corridor was empty, but he could feel the burning gaze of Lymont on his back, like the red dot of a sniper rifle scope.
Asking for a monthly ticket!
(End of this chapter)