Chapter 1820 - 1381: Lemont's Threat_2

"Interested in chatting a bit? About today's operation and some... background information." Lemont extends an inviting gesture: "I have fresh Colombian beans in my office, much better than the dishwater from the cafeteria."

Refusing would seem suspicious.

Song Heping nods, follows Lemont into the room at the end of the corridor, but keeps his right hand within ten centimeters from his waist holster.

Lemont's office is unexpectedly simple.

A metal desk, two encrypted computers, a bookshelf with books on Middle Eastern history and religion.

The only noticeable item is a small electronic device on the windowsill, with a green light flashing regularly.

"White noise generator," Lemont notices Song Heping's gaze: "Standard procedure. You know, in this place, even the walls have ears."

His smile carries a hint of something.

Apparently, this intelligence station chief knows there are adversaries within the joint team.

Song Heping sits on the metallic folding chair, while Lemont circles the desk to sit in his chair.

A bare desktop separates them, like an invisible boundary line.

On one side, the U.S. intelligence agency, and on the other, a foreign mercenary, needing each other, yet wary.

"First, I want to thank you and your team for your professionalism."

Lemont begins, hands crossed on the table: "Major General Duke has high praise for you; he says you know tactics better than most NATO officers."

"I'm paid to do the job, it's a given to be professional."

Song Heping's reply is watertight.

"Exactly." Lemont leans forward, a move to build intimacy, but Song Heping remains unmoved: "And today, what I need from you is to continue 'doing what's needed.' Don't ask too many questions, don't overthink, follow orders, complete the mission. It's good for everyone."

Song Heping doesn't avoid his gaze.

"My subordinates have the right to know what they're facing. The old man in Badi Town — intelligence says he's just a retired teacher, but Delta deployed a twelve-man team and asked us to lock down the perimeter. That's not normal."

Lemont's smile fades slightly, but still clings to his face.

"Some targets are more dangerous than they appear, Mr. Song. You know how things work in this field: some information, it's safer not to know than to know."

"Or knowing too much?"

Song Heping's tone remains calm, but he goes directly to the core.

The air in the office seems to freeze for a few seconds.

The white noise generator emits a faint hissing sound, like the warning of distant snakes.

"Song," Lemont finally speaks, his tone slightly tougher than before: "You're just a mercenary leader, not an investigative journalist. Your contract is clear: provide military support, assist in capturing high-value targets. There's no clause requiring us to share all intelligence background. In fact..."

He pauses: "Excessive curiosity has led to some... unpleasant endings in the past."

A threat wrapped in politeness, yet still a threat.

"But there's an additional clause," Song Heping responds calmly: "Article seven, clause four: if the nature of the mission changes significantly, involving unconventional warfare or politically sensitive operations, the contractor has the right to reevaluate risks and negotiate terms. I read every line before signing, chief."

Lemont's pupils contract slightly.

He clearly didn't expect a mercenary to remember contract terms so clearly.

Most PMCs only care about pay and equipment lists.

"The operation in Badi Town is not a regular capture." Song Heping continues, not giving the opponent time to think: "You're looking for something, or afraid something might be found. And I suspect that thing is related to Misu and why he defected from the CIA three years ago."

"Where did you hear these things—"

Lemont suddenly stops but quickly realizes he let something slip.

Saying that implies he admits what Song Heping mentioned is real.

Song Heping smiles, with a hint of sarcasm.

"So it's true. Misu once worked for you. So here's the question: why does a former CIA asset now become a target that must be eliminated? What's in his hands?"

Lemont stands up, walks to the window, his back to Song Heping.

Morning light now fully illuminates the room, dust dancing in the light.

"Listen, Song. Knowing some things is no good for you. In fact, it might cost you your life. Complete this mission, even if you can't catch Buckdadi, per the contract you can still earn ten million dollars, take the money and leave — that's the smart choice. Don't you Easterners have a saying? 'Ignorance is bliss.'"

"What if I already know too much?"

Song Heping stands up too, the movement causing Lemont to turn around.

"Besides, I'm quite greedy, you've said Buckdadi's bounty has reached 250 million dollars, which is much more than ten million."

He smiles at Lemont, displaying the demeanor of a bird not settling for small grains.

Indeed, now ten million dollars isn't really much for Song Heping.

He's confident enough to say such things.

Lemont's professional smile completely disappears, replaced by the cold expression unique to CIA agents.

"Then I suggest you quickly forget. Memory can be trained, like a muscle. What you know, what you don't know, sometimes is just a thought away. And..."

He adds: "In this war zone, accidents happen every day."

A blatant threat hangs in the air.

Song Heping still smiles pleasantly at the opponent.

But he thinks to himself, not even afraid of your director, why would I fear you, chief?

That's a joke!

"Thank you for the coffee and advice, Mr. Lemont."

Song Heping slowly moves toward the door.

As he walks, he says: "But my team and I will complete the mission in our way, and on the premise of fully assessing the risks. This is our professionalism."

He moves toward the door, his hand on the doorknob when Lemont's voice comes from behind him, as light as a whisper:

"What you know."

Song Heping's hand stops on the doorknob, steps halted.

"No matter who told you."

Lemont continues: "Believe me, it wasn't meant to help you. In this game, everyone is a pawn, the person handing you information just wants to move you to where they want. The master of the chessboard is always us; you're just an outsider, a pawn on the fringe."

Song Heping snickers internally, but doesn't turn back.

"I've never liked being a pawn, many people have said similar things to me in the past, but..."

"But what?"

Lemont coldly stares at Song Heping.

Song Heping then turns around and returns the cold gaze: "But they all died—"

He points back at himself.

"And I'm still alive."

With that, he pulls open the door and walks out.

The corridor is empty, but his back feels the burning gaze from Lemont, like the red dot of a sniper's scope.