Chapter 1385
Making the Deal
Chapter 1385 Making the Deal
Duke seemed to have been prepared for Song Heping's question.
“Song, we’re both realists. This kind of deal won’t have a written contract, no legal documents. There’s only a balance of mutual destruction. If I betray you, you can release the recording of this meeting—yes, I know you’re recording, and I’m recording too. If you betray me, I can have SEAL Team Six find and eliminate you within a week. We need each other to keep our promises because the cost of betrayal is too high for either of us.”
Song Heping had to admit that Duke's rank as a major general was well-deserved.
When he entered the room, Song Heping had already guessed that this conversation was unusual.
So he quietly pressed the record button on a cell phone in his pocket.
It seems Duke recorded the audio as well.
This arrangement has its own cruel logic.
Mutual assurance of destruction, a concept from the Cold War era.
Now it's being applied to a dirty personal deal.
“What if Mesour is already dead?” he asked, raising another practical question: “What if the evidence has been destroyed?”
“Then the deal is off!” Duke said without hesitation. “Without evidence, I can’t guarantee my own safety, and therefore I can’t proceed with the equipment transfer. I will find other ways to save myself, and you will at least receive the guaranteed ten million from this contract as compensation for time and risk.”
Song Heping sat down again, his fingertips touching, forming a triangle.
This is his habitual posture when considering important decisions.
$1.5 billion.
No, it's not just about money, it's about influence, power, and security for the next decade.
But the risks are equally enormous—going against the White House's secret plans could also mean winning the election and taking over the White House government under Hillary Clinton.
This is akin to dancing on the edge of a knife, with an abyss below.
But Song Heping understands himself.
When I chose this path, I had already accepted a life of high risk and high reward.
He experienced even worse situations.
Previously, he was simultaneously hunted by the CIA, Mossad, and the British MI6, yet he survived each time, finding opportunities amidst the risks.
"Deal!" he finally said. "Coordinates. The coordinates of Maisul's last known location."
Duke visibly relaxed, his shoulders drooping slightly.
He walked back to his desk, wrote down a string of numbers on a sticky note, and handed it to Song Heping.
“This is the latest intelligence. The abandoned ‘Crescent’ oil field on the border of Syria,” Duke said. “It’s 87 kilometers from the town of Badi and 120 kilometers from the nearest government outpost, at the intersection of the spheres of influence of three armed groups. If Masour is still alive, it’s a reasonable choice if he wants to evade the CIA and everyone else.”
Song Heping studied the coordinates, mentally recalling a map of the area.
He recalled the Crescent oil field—developed by a French company in the 1970s and abandoned in the 1990s. The facilities were largely intact, but the remote location made it a traditional hideout for smugglers, mercenaries, and fugitives.
“I might need backup,” Song Heping said. “One person isn’t enough to get into that area.”
Duke shook his head: "I can't give you formal support. Any involvement by U.S. military or intelligence personnel will be tracked. But I can give you this—"
He handed over a piece of paper:
"It contains information on three local contacts who owe me favors, as well as the latest information on the power distribution and checkpoints in the area. Other than that, you have to rely on yourself."
Song Heping took the piece of paper.
A piece of paper may be as light as a feather, yet as heavy as life itself.
“Three days,” Duke reiterated. “You have three days. After three days, whatever the outcome, this meeting was never held, and this deal was never discussed. If successful, I will contact you through pre-arranged channels. If unsuccessful, good luck.”
Song Heping thought it was a typical American arrangement.
Sufficient support gets you started, but insufficient support keeps you safe.
Success is shared credit, failure is the responsibility of the individual.
But he nodded anyway.
The temptation of $1.5 billion was too great, and he had enough confidence in his skills.
"I need some time to prepare," Song Heping said. "Equipment, vehicles, fake identities. We can leave as early as tomorrow evening."
“No. 12 Mohammed Avenue outside the city, that’s a warehouse,” Duke said. “The warehouse has everything you need, including civilian vehicles, weapons, equipment, and satellite phones. I’ll arrange for someone to meet you there and deliver the equipment to your squad.”
Song Heping noted down these details.
Duke's thorough preparations indicate that this plan has been in the works for some time.
It seems this guy didn't make the decision on impulse, but rather after careful consideration and calculation of the risks at every step.
Just like himself.
“One last question.” Song Heping stood up to leave: “Why did you choose this method? Why not just take the evidence to The Washington Post? You are an active-duty general; your accusations would carry weight.”
Duke's expression became complex, a mixture of mockery and helplessness:
"You think I didn't consider it? Song, didn't the people on that 'death list' consider it? They know the national security reporters at every major media outlet, they know their informants, they know their editors. The moment I walk into the Post building, they'll know. My encrypted emails will be intercepted before they reach the inbox. My phone calls will be transcribed. That's the reality of modern America—those in power have virtually unlimited surveillance capabilities. Don't think that just because I'm a major general I have special immunity. Don't be naive."
He walked to the window and looked at the base in the morning light:
"And through you—a foreign contractor, an outsider with no connections to the intelligence community, someone who was once on the U.S. terrorist bounty list, someone who knows how to operate in the underworld—this is the only possible way to bypass the surveillance network."
Song Heping nodded in understanding.
He has seen far too many cases like this.
How whistleblowers are swallowed up by the system, how they are smeared, isolated, and ultimately eliminated. Duke's choice was ruthless, but perhaps the only effective one.
"Three days," Song Heping repeated. "Contact me in three days."
Duke turned and walked towards the door.
His hand had just touched the doorknob when he suddenly turned around: "Song."
"Hmm? Is there any other question?" Song Heping asked.
Duke stood in the doorway, light streaming in through the crack, illuminating his face in a strangely eerie way, half of it bright and half dark.
“McSoore may have gone mad,” Duke said. “After all this, burdened by that evidence, and being hunted by his former employer, he may no longer be rational. Be careful.”
Song Heping nodded without answering.
Dukla opened the door and went out.
As soon as Duke left, Song Heping's mind was already racing, planning routes, listing equipment, and assessing risks. $1.5 billion.
The number echoed in his mind like an alluring yet dangerous ballad.
But he knew the truth Duke hadn't told him: the $1.5 billion was not only payment, but also hush money.
Once Song Heping accepted the arms shipment, once he became part of this dirty deal, he could no longer remain uninvolved.
He will be tied to Duke, sharing secrets and risks.
The truth behind Project Sower, the civilians who died in chemical weapons tests, and the soldiers who were sacrificed...
These all became bargaining chips, commodities that could be used to negotiate prices at the negotiating table.
As Song Heping turned a corner, he encountered two military officers.
They nodded to him, and he responded politely, continuing on his way.
To outsiders, he was just an ordinary contractor who had completed a routine meeting with the base commander.
But in his heart, a deal that would change everything had just been struck.
He opened his laptop, connected to an encrypted network, and began studying the Crescent oil field and the surrounding area.
Satellite images show that the oilfield facilities cover an area of approximately two square kilometers and include drilling platforms, storage tanks, staff dormitories, and maintenance workshops.
Most of the buildings have been abandoned for twenty years, but recent images show signs of some activity.
Vehicle tire tracks, signs that some building entrances have been swept.
Maisul's choice of this location is reasonable.
It is remote but not inaccessible, with enough buildings to provide hiding places, and it is located at the intersection of multiple forces, so no one will easily enter to search.
But this also means danger.
At least three armed groups are active in that area: the Free Syrian Army, an extremist group linked to the 1515 armed group, and Kold's patrols.
Song Heping began to formulate a plan.
He needs a small team.
The number of personnel cannot be too large, otherwise the target will be too obvious. They need to be flexible and mobile enough, as well as have sufficient firepower to deal with emergencies.
He thought of some suitable candidates in the mercenary camp.
The mercenaries under Milos cannot be mobilized, as this would arouse Lemont's suspicion.
They need to be transferred from Hurmatu.
He took out his phone and sent an encrypted message to Jiang Feng, informing them of the meeting point.
If all goes well, they will meet up with him within 8 hours.
Next up is the equipment.
Duke's promised warehouse supplies are the foundation, but he needs some special equipment.
The kits included counter-surveillance equipment and chemical weapons detectors in case Mesour really went mad and decided to take his pursuers down with him, as well as medical kits and enough cash.
In this region, the US dollar is more effective than any weapon.
He made a list and calculated the weight and volume.
They will be driving modified Toyota Land Cruisers, vehicles that are ubiquitous in the Middle East and will go unnoticed.
The choice of weapons, a mix of American and Russian-made, was also to avoid revealing their identity.
It took an hour to develop the plan.
After finishing, Song Heping turned off the computer, lay on the bed, and stared at the ceiling.
He rarely questions his choices.
His time in the special forces taught him that hesitation is more deadly than a wrong decision.
But tonight, a rare doubt quietly emerged.
Duke's proposal is perfect.
A perfect trap or a perfect opportunity?
$1.5 billion in arms
All of this seems somewhat unreal.
But on the other hand, Duke's fears were real.
A general who is about to lose everything is dangerous.
He closed his eyes and let training replace thinking.
Slow down your breathing, steady your heartbeat, and clear your mind of distractions.
Two hours later, he will head to the warehouse to begin preparations.
He will depart for the Syrian border tomorrow evening.
Whether Masour is dead or alive, and regardless of whether there is evidence, this operation has changed something.
He and Duke have forged a dangerous symbiotic relationship that could bring immense wealth or lead to their mutual destruction.
Meanwhile, in Washington, in Langley, and at the White House, others are also taking action.
The bigwigs involved in the "Sowers" and "Witnesses" departments will not sit idly by; Hillary's team will not allow the scandal to ruin her inauguration; and Pentagon bureaucrats will fight tooth and nail to protect their agencies and budgets.
All these forces are colliding.
Song Heping checked his watch one last time, set the alarm, and then closed his eyes to go to sleep.
Tonight will be a sleepless night.
11:40 PM.
He pulled an inconspicuous backpack from under the bed, inside which were his ever-present emergency gear—a fake passport, cash, a Glock 19 pistol, two spare magazines, a satellite phone, and an encrypted tablet.
Then he turned off the lights, went outside, went downstairs, got in his car, and drove towards Mohammed Avenue.
Asking for a monthly ticket!
(End of this chapter)