Chapter 1386
The Vanished Ghost
Chapter 1386 The Vanished Ghost
At six o'clock in the morning, on the third floor of the main building of the Joint Operations Group base, Lemont sipped his now-cold black coffee, his eyes quickly scanning the camp area.
Yesterday's operation in Badi Town failed, and today everyone at the base is busy cleaning up the mess left over from yesterday. Apart from the intelligence department continuing to search for Masour's whereabouts, all the operatives and Delta Force special forces soldiers have no missions today.
In the open space opposite the building, Milos's mercenaries were chatting and smoking next to a Humvee; in the hangar, two Black Hawk helicopters were undergoing pre-flight checks; sporadic gunfire could be heard from the direction of the firing range.
Everything seemed normal, but something seemed to be missing.
Lemont had been observing from upstairs for fifteen minutes, but Song Heping had not appeared.
He had just gone to the other person's room and knocked on the door, but no one answered.
too weird.
He pondered for a moment, put the coffee cup aside, and then went downstairs.
"Miloš!"
Once they reached the open space downstairs, he shouted to the Serbian, "Come here for a second."
Milos turned around, paused for a moment, and when he saw that it was Leimont, a contemptuous look was undisguised in his eyes.
"Mr. Lamont, is there something you need so early in the morning?"
His address carried a subtle air of distance, emphasizing that they were neither military nor directly subordinate to each other.
"Where is Song Heping?" Lemont asked bluntly.
Milos tilted his head and gave a meaningful smile: "You mean my boss? How would I know his whereabouts? He doesn't need to report to me."
He shrugged, turned to look at his mercenary colleagues, and laughed, "Maybe he runs around the base? He has that habit."
“I checked, nothing.” There was a barely perceptible hint of impatience in Lymont’s voice. “Where was he last night?”
Milos turned around, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes: "Mr. Lamont, you're the... coordinator here, not his nanny. Maybe he went to Bakda? I heard there's a nice new club there, with gorgeous women in stockings."
He grinned, revealing a set of white teeth: "Relax, sir. Our boss is an adult and can take care of himself."
Lemont stared at him for three seconds, knowing he wouldn't get anywhere with Milos.
Without saying anything more, he turned and left.
Milos's smile vanished quickly behind him. The Serbian spat on the ground, muttered something in his native language, and then continued training.
Lemont headed straight for the medical area at the other end of the base.
Duke was standing outside a makeshift medical tent, his face grim as he spoke to a medic. Next to him were two Humvees that had been evacuated from Buddy the day before, riddled with bullet holes and their canvas surfaces stained with dark brown dirt.
"General."
Lamont approached, interrupting their conversation.
Duke turned his head, saw Lymont, and frowned almost imperceptibly. Then he said to the medic, "Treat the lightly wounded soldiers as I just said, prioritizing wounds with a high risk of infection."
The medic nodded, turned, and went into the tent.
“Lemont.” Duke’s voice was tired, but lacked enthusiasm: “What is it? I’m very busy here. We lost six men and seven others with minor injuries in last night’s operation. It’s a mess.”
Where is Song Heping?
Remont repeated his question, his gaze fixed on Duke's eyes.
Duke paused for a moment, then spread his hands: "Song? How would I know? He's the boss of 'The Musician,' a contractor, not my direct subordinate. He doesn't need to report his whereabouts to me."
He picked up the camouflage scarf hanging around his neck and wiped the sweat and dust off his face.
"Perhaps he's in his own room?"
His tone carried a hint of disdain.
"He's not in now."
"He wasn't even at the base this morning," Lamont said slowly.
Duke's eyes flickered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure: "So what? Maybe he has personal matters to attend to. Lymont, listen, I really don't have time to care where a contractor is right now. I have my soldiers to take care of, operational reports to write, and the blame for Buddy Town might still fall on my head."
He waved his hand, making a gesture of seeing the guest off.
"If you're worried about him, why don't you just call him on his satellite phone? Excuse me."
After saying that, Duke turned and left without saying goodbye.
Lamont stood there, stunned.
The morning sun began to grow hot, shining on the back of his neck.
The feeling that something was wrong was getting stronger and stronger.
Duke's avoidance was too obvious, and Milos's teasing was full of protective intent.
Song Heping is not the kind of person who would disappear without a trace, especially at this sensitive time when the key target, Maisul, is still missing and the operation in Badi Town has just suffered a crushing defeat.
unless……
He discovered something, or rather, he decided to do something himself.
Lamont recalled his conversation with Song Heping the day before.
A few minutes later, Lamont walked toward the base's monitoring center.
As the head of the CIA's intelligence station in Iligo, and also the "intelligence coordinator and advisor" for this joint operation, he had access to the entire base area.
The person on duty in the monitoring room was a young Air Force technical sergeant, who was yawning and staring at more than a dozen split-screen images.
Seeing Lymont enter, he quickly stood up: "SIR!"
"Retrieve surveillance footage from the past 24 hours from all entrances and exits of the base, especially the personnel and vehicle exits on the east side," Lamont ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.
"Yes, sir." The technical sergeant quickly got to work, the keyboard clicking away.
Soon, the main screen began to play back the recordings from different cameras in segments.
Lemont pulled up a chair, leaned forward, and stared intently at the screen.
Time scrolls quickly, and people and vehicles come and go in the scene, most of them regular patrol teams and supply convoys.
He instructed the technical sergeant to review last night's records.
"Stop!" Lemont suddenly said.
The image is frozen at 22:37 last night, on the east side of the pedestrian passage.
A car is swiping its card to pass through the gate.
When the car was at the gate, the window was rolled down, and half of the face appeared in the frame.
Although the camera angle and lighting made the face somewhat blurry, Lamont immediately recognized that the person looked a lot like Song Heping.
"Zoom in, on the face."
The sergeant zoomed in, making the pixelated image even blurrier, but the sharp eyes that remained even in the night and the lines of the jaw were enough to confirm his identity.
"Is he alone?"
“It seems so, sir. The records show that he only swiped his own ID card.”
The sergeant immediately checked the electronic records of entry and exit during that period.
"What about the vehicles? Were any vehicles that left at the same time?"
The technical sergeant switched screens to view the vehicle access records.
A few minutes later, he shook his head: "Within half an hour before and after the same time period, no 'Musician' company or any vehicle related to Mr. Song left. The checkpoint records outside the base... I need a little time to retrieve them."
"Investigate immediately."
Lymont's heart sank.
Song Heping's decision to leave the heavily guarded joint operations base alone late at night was by no means a spur-of-the-moment decision.
The checkpoint record came back quickly—around 22:45 last night, Song Heping did indeed drive a Toyota SUV away from the base.
Song Heping really slipped away.
Right before everyone's eyes, at a time when the operation in Buddy Town had failed and everyone was on edge, it vanished without a trace. A chill ran down Lymont's spine.
He recalled his brief conversation with Song Heping outside the command center a few days earlier...
Song Heping seemed to accept the idea of "following the procedure" at the time, but deep in his eyes, there was clearly disbelief and determination.
Does he know?
Or do you want to interfere?
What is his purpose?
What good would it do him?!
"Damn it!"
Lemont cursed under his breath and hurried back to his dormitory next to the base command center.
The room is small, but it has strict security measures, including electronic scanning and physical soundproofing.
He locked the door, drew the thick privacy curtains, and then took out a bulky satellite phone with obvious encryption modules from the bottom of the metal security case he carried with him.
He took a deep breath and dialed a number that wasn't saved in his memory, but was already etched into his mind.
The sound of the communication connection was exceptionally clear in the quiet room.
It rang five times before the other party answered, without offering any greetings.
“It’s me, Lamont.” Lamont lowered his voice and spoke quickly. “The situation with the pursuit plan has changed. Song Heping, the person in charge of that 'musician,' has disappeared. Just last night, he left the base alone, and his whereabouts are unknown.”
There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone, followed by a slightly distorted, encrypted male voice: "The reason?"
“I suspect he sensed the sensitive level of the Masur incident, and may… know some of the inside story of the ‘Sower’ program. He was acting strangely after the failure of the Buddy Town operation. I asked other people, and everyone was vague and obviously covering it up.”
Lamont quickly reported: "Most importantly, Maisul hasn't been found yet. What if Song Heping gets there before us..."
"What are the chances he'll find Maisul?" the other person interrupted him. "What good would that do him?!"
"It's uncertain. But he's been operating here for many years and has his own intelligence network. His familiarity with the local terrain may surpass ours. Moreover, he has a group of elite mercenaries under his command. Although most of them are at the base, he is fully capable of secretly mobilizing them."
"If he finds Maisul and Maisul tells him what happened back then, he could very well use it as leverage to make some kind of profit..." Lamont analyzed.
"Enough." The other person's voice turned cold: "In your briefing yesterday, you mentioned that after Song Heping's operation in Badi Town, he seemed to have some suspicions about Maisul's true background?"
"Yes, he asked me directly about the 'Sower' program, and it seems someone provided him with some inside information."
There was another brief silence, with only the faint hissing of the encrypted signal audible.
“Understood.” Finally, the other party said, “I will report to my superiors immediately and make the necessary arrangements. You will remain at the base to monitor the movements of the ‘Musician’ mercenaries and Duke. Do not trust anyone. Try your best to find out Song Heping’s possible whereabouts. Also, the priority of the pursuit of Maisuer must be adjusted. Await further instructions.”
“Yes,” Remont replied.
The phone hangs up.
Lamont put down the satellite phone; his palms were slightly damp.
He knew what making that call meant.
The situation has spiraled out of his control as the on-site intelligence coordinator and is escalating rapidly.
A dozen minutes later, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA.
A massive campaign rally is being held in a park in the city center.
The huge stage was decorated with red, white and blue lights and flags, and the backdrop featured the eye-catching word "HILLARY" and the Donald Party logo.
Below the stage, tens of thousands of supporters waved banners, creating a lively atmosphere.
Hillary Clinton stood behind the podium, looking radiant in a well-fitting royal blue suit under the spotlight.
She was explaining her economic policies, her voice carried throughout the venue through a high-quality sound system, eliciting cheers and applause from time to time.
"...We will invest in infrastructure and create millions of high-paying jobs! We will ensure that every American child, regardless of their background, has access to a quality education! We will defend healthcare, protect women's rights, and build a fairer, stronger America!"
She waved her arms, her voice strong and clear.
Suddenly, a young female assistant wearing a headset and looking nervous quickly walked from the side of the stage to her side, leaned down and whispered a few words in her ear.
Hillary's signature warm and confident smile remained unchanged; she didn't even pause as she continued speaking into the microphone:
"And all of this requires a stable leader, a leader who can unite rather than divide the country! Not a real estate tycoon with no political experience!"
Cheers erupted again from the audience.
But someone standing close, or under a close-up shot from a high-definition camera, might be able to capture the subtle changes in her eyes in an instant.
It was a sudden shift from a highly focused state of speaking to a sharp and cold response to an unexpected crisis, though only for a moment, before being quickly overwhelmed by an even stronger performative passion.
She nodded slightly to her assistant without making a sound, and the assistant quickly withdrew.
Hillary continued her twenty-minute speech, and finally waved to her supporters amidst cheers of "HILLARY! HILLARY!" before calmly leaving the stage.
Two hours later, at a heavily guarded private estate on the outskirts of Philadelphia.
The moment Hillary entered the living room of the suite prepared for her, the smile on her face vanished instantly.
She slammed her expensive designer handbag onto the soft sofa armrest with a dull thud.
"A bunch of trash!"
Her voice, though low, was filled with anger, but it was still clearly audible in the quiet room.
"That idiot Lamont! How could he let a grown man, a key figure, slip away right under his nose! What kind of incompetent people is the CIA hiring these days?!"
There were already three people waiting in the living room.
Two of them were her core campaign staff, and the other was a senior Secret Service official in charge of perimeter security.
In addition, on a table in the corner of the living room, an encrypted laptop was already turned on, with a screen displaying a message waiting to connect.
"Have you made contact?"
Hillary asked, irritably loosening the scarf around her neck.
A staff member quickly replied, "The connection is already being established, madam, we can begin at any time."
Hillary walked to the computer and sat down, straightening her hair and collar. Although her anger hadn't subsided, she had switched to a more stern and in control demeanor.
After she finished, she nodded.
The staff member operates the computer to establish a video connection.
Three split-screen views appeared on the screen.
In the center is the current National Security Advisor, Walter, with a serious expression.
On the left is a former White House Deputy Chief of Staff with gray hair and gold-rimmed glasses. He played a key role in approving the "Sowers" program and is now retired but still wields considerable influence in the political and business world.
On the right is a slightly blurry figure, whose voice has been altered, representing certain stakeholders who "cannot show their faces".
"Good evening, everyone."
National Security Advisor Walter spoke first, his voice low: "The situation is urgent, so let's get straight to the point. Lamont Harris sent an urgent briefing from Iligo: Target A, codenamed 'Podcaster' (referring to Masour), is still at large. Operation Buddy failed; he was neither captured nor eliminated. New variable: Key figure B, codenamed 'Contractor' (referring to Song Heping), is suspected of being aware of the 'Sower' program. He escaped the Joint Task Force's surveillance last night local time and his current whereabouts and intentions are unknown."
The former deputy chief of staff pushed up his glasses: "How much does the 'contractor' know?"
“Not sure,” Walter replied. “But Lemont judges that he may have pieced together enough dangerous information. He has a complex background, close ties to Russian intelligence and the Persian Revolutionary Guard, and deep roots in Iriego, giving him the ability to act independently. His disappearance is most likely due to his search for ‘Podcast’.”
This is the worst-case scenario!
Hillary couldn't help but interject, her voice carried through the microphone to every attendee.
"If 'Podcast' falls into his hands, or worse, if 'Podcast' tells him what happened back then in exchange for protection... folks, we're facing more than just the exposure of a failed intelligence operation! It would be a nuclear-level political scandal!"
“The things involved in the ‘Sower’ program and the operational details, as well as the ‘necessary compromises’ we made back then for the sake of ‘long-term strategic interests’…”
She scanned every face on the screen.
"Think about it, at the most crucial moment of the election, if our opponent, that boastful real estate developer, finds out about this, how will he use it? He will nail us, our entire team, and our party to the pillar of shame for treason and condoning terrorism!"
Silence fell over the room and on the screen.
Hillary Clinton pointed out the most brutal stakes.
This goes far beyond an intelligence failure; it is a survival crisis concerning the political lives and even the personal freedom of everyone present.
Asking for a monthly ticket! Asking for a monthly ticket!
(End of this chapter)