Chapter 1054 - 964: SAS' Do-or-Die Gamble_2

The supervisor's Adam's apple rolled slightly, "The speed of information spreading is too fast; it has already been obtained by several influential independent investigative journalists and... intelligence brokers whom we suspect to have a CIA background! Deletion... I'm afraid it's too late! What's worse, it hints at more undisclosed details inside!"

"It must be Song Heping!"

Hammond's face grew sullen.

The previous cooperation with Song Heping was top secret; even within MI6, only those in senior supervisory roles and certain operatives knew.

You don't even need to check to know who's leaking this stuff!

Judging by the current situation, it seems the other party has only released a very small portion of the data.

It's not the rhythm of tearing faces; it's a warning!

It's blackmail!

Telling the British not to interfere in the Sena affair!

At this moment, Hammond's encrypted private line phone emitted a piercing buzz. He glanced at the caller ID, his pupils suddenly narrowing — it's Ms. M's direct line!

He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressed the raging fury and a slight, discernible fear, and answered the phone.

"Hammond!"

Ms. M's signature voice, cold and authoritative, came through — but now, the chill within was enough to freeze the Thames River.

No greetings, no pleasantries, only the extreme suppression before a volcanic eruption.

"Did you hear the recording? Core secrets are already flying like cheap tabloids?! Are you and your department sieves?!"

Cold sweat instantly appeared on Hammond's forehead.

"Madam... we're investigating with all our might! Clearly, this is Song Heping's revenge and divisive strategy! He wants to stop our actions, sow discord between us and..."

"Sow discord?!"

Ms. M's voice suddenly rose, carrying cold anger.

"He succeeded! Just moments ago, CIA Director Vincent, that old fox, personally called me under the guise of 'concern for an ally's reputation'! All his words were probing and gloating!"

"Do you know what this means, Hammond?! This means that the vultures in Washington will be watching us closely! It means any action we take in Sena will be under a microscope! It means the Americans will try every trick to trip us up, possibly even secretly supporting those damn mercenaries to erase their shame! Your SAS drop plan? It's now a live target! International public opinion disaster? It's already happened!"

A harsh sound of something being smashed resounded from the other end of the phone.

"I don't care how you do it, Hammond! Get to the source of the leak! Extinguish the online fire for me! Immediately! Now! Also, inform Colonel Blake Wood of SAS over there, the base operations in Africa... on hold! Until this mess is handled and we ensure the Americans won't stab us in the back, stand by! Without my direct orders, not even a fly should enter Sena!"

The call was abruptly disconnected, leaving only the busy tone buzzing in Hammond's ear like a death knell.

His face was deathly pale as he slumped back into his chair, staring at the damned post title on the screen, feeling a cold despair creeping upwards from his feet.

Song Heping's strike with "poisonous agent" not only pierced the core of the operation but precisely tore the fragile foundation of British-American intelligence cooperation.

North border of Sena.

Between the hills on both sides of the "Rift Valley Corridor," a pocket of death has already opened.

The radar of Sam-6 is warming up silently, MiG-23 is readying missiles in the hangar, countless gun muzzles and trap mines lurk under the starlight.

Song Heping stood inside the command post, watching the electronic sandbox as the digits representing time jumped bit by bit, his gaze as cold as iron.

The British were temporarily pinned down by the leaked information, the Americans temporarily provoked and divided.

But this is just a brief respite before the storm.

He knows that, whether it's the fury of London or the cold calculations of Washington, it will ultimately transform into an even fiercer storm sweeping in.

He picked up the communicator, his voice spread clearly among all ambush positions: "All units, note that the 'guest's' itinerary is postponed, but the banquet is not canceled. Maintain the highest alert, wait for my command. Remember, we don't just want to repel, we want to break their backbone!"

The darkness before dawn had deepened.

In the air there permeated not just the scent of gunpowder and dust, but also the invisible, more deadly stench of international political conspiracy.

The real tough battle is yet to come.

In London, the Thames River flowed in the twilight with a heavy lead gray.

Deep within MI6 headquarters, in the strategic intelligence room on the "Q" level, the air seemed to solidify into substance.

The large screen on the wall was silently playing clips from several international news channels.

Scenes switched between screenshots from the deep web, blurred audio waveform graphs, and commentators' pretentious, actually inflammatory analyses. Terms like "leak," "trust crisis," "cracks in the special relationship between UK and USA" repeatedly bit at his nerves like a poisonous snake.

The coffee stain on the carpet had long since dried, leaving an unsightly deep brown mark, like the brand of shame on his heart at this moment.

"The source... still unattainable to lock down?"

Hammond's voice was hoarse, with a subtle tremor.

Overnight, he seemed to have aged ten years.

He tried his best, but so far it seems the information leak is unstoppable.

Yet it's somehow expected.

The Americans have already obtained the intelligence, and they will leverage the media to make a big fuss.