Chapter 1068 - 973: The Enraged Old European Woman (Part 2)

She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowered, yet carrying a chilling coldness, "Just before this damned 'chaos' in Sena erupted, we received a very 'friendly' reminder from our old friends at the CIA. They 'accidentally' intercepted and 'shared' with us an... interesting communication record. The content involves a certain mercenary leader who thought he was clever, seemingly 'leaked' details concerning the 'unofficial business memorandum of understanding' we came to with him a few years ago while handling certain 'dirty work'. The content is vague, but indicative enough to make our CIA friends' imaginations run wild, and they very 'considerately' asked if we needed to 'clarify'."

The air in the meeting room instantly dropped to freezing point.

Everyone's faces changed. The so-called "unofficial business memorandum of understanding" referred to those shady deals and exploitations.

Leaked?

And the Americans know?

That's practically rubbing salt into wounds, and salt precisely rubbed in by a competitor!

"So."

Ms. M's voice returned to that undisturbed coldness, bringing a sense of indisputable decision, "Until those gentlemen in Langley stop using the term 'British Mess' in internal briefings to mock us, any substantive cooperation is wishful thinking! We are on our own now, gentlemen. We can only rely on ourselves to clean up our mess."

She picked up the heavy steel pen, inlaid with a silver badge, which had been placed by her side all along—that was a symbol of her power.

Her gaze landed on the large map of Africa at the center of the table, pinpointing the location of the Sena Republic.

Then, under everyone's gaze, she lifted her pen-wielding hand high, with a force that gathered all the anger, humiliation, and murderous intent, and fiercely plunged the sharp silver pen tip toward the map marking the coordinates of the "Musician's" defense base in northern Sena!

"Pfff!"

The tough map paper was easily penetrated, emitting a slight tearing sound.

The silver pen tip embeded deeply into the map, sinking to the pen barrel, like nailing a wedge symbolizing death and vengeance.

"Find him."

Ms. M's voice was like a Siberian cold wind, icy and piercing, with each word tinged with the bloody rust, "Make him vanish. By any means you can think of. Clean, thorough, leaving no trace. I don't want to hear that name again, nor see that face, appear in any briefings threatening Her Majesty the Queen's interests! At any cost."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

The voice of murderous resolve echoed in the icy meeting room, carrying a sense of do-or-die determination. An undeclared war, relentless assassination hunt, was quietly initiated in this fortified intelligence bastion by the Thames River.

The target pointed directly several thousand miles away, towards that sun-scorched African wasteland.

Sena Republic President's Mansion, deep palace.

In stark contrast to the bustling state banquet a few days ago. Here is President Isis's most private reception room, with thick redwood doors blocking all external sound.

No crystal chandeliers, only a few wall lamps emitting soft yellow light, barely illuminating a small round table at the center of the room covered with a snowy white tablecloth.

Delicate local dishes were laid out on the table, but they were evidently barely touched.

The room was filled with the dense, rich aroma of premium Cuban cigars, like flowing, textured satin.

President Isis reclined in a high-backed chair, having replaced the ceremonial attire with a loose silk robe, bearing a lingering exhaustion on his face, yet his eyes were sharp as an eagle's through the cigar smoke.

He held a thick cigar in his hand, gazing through the swirling smoke towards the man across the round table.

Song Heping.

He was also sitting relaxed, dressed simply in a black shirt with the collar casually open.

He had a lit cigar between his fingers, the orange-red glow flickering in the dimness.

Having just enjoyed a simple meal, he was now slowly sipping a cup of strong black coffee.

The room was silent, only the faint "sizzling" sound of cigar smoke burning.

"Song…"

Isis finally spoke, his voice deep and calm, carrying a confident control of the overall situation, "The rebellion has been quelled, the nation is back on track. This is thanks to your and the 'Musician's' defense's... remarkable contribution."

He exhaled a thick white smoke, "Now, it's time for reconstruction. Rebuild the army, rebuild order, rebuild this trauma-stricken nation. I need a truly strong, loyal army that can deter all with ill intentions."

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixing intensely on Song Heping, "I've considered this for a long time. The position of Sena Republic's Army Training Director can only be yours. You will be fully in charge, training my government army to the highest standard. From soldiers' physical fitness, discipline, individual skills, to officers' tactical literacy, command ability, fully reform it. I want a sword that truly belongs to Sena!"

Song Heping set down the coffee cup, the bottom clinking crisply against the delicate porcelain saucer.

He didn't respond immediately, instead leisurely inhaling a puff of cigar, letting the intense smoke linger in his mouth for a moment before slowly exhaling.

In the swirling smoke, his face appeared somewhat blurred, yet his gaze remained as sharp as ever.

"Mr. President."

Song Heping spoke, his voice calm and steady, devoid of emotion, "Training an army, forging a sword, this is a technical task and also a laborious endeavor. What is needed is very clear."