Chapter 1863 - 1397: Why Don’t You Just Rob Me?!

He walked over to the table, picked up a tablet, and turned on the screen, turning towards Lemont.

"By the way, I have a little something here. The 'Witness' department's records of all operations in Illinois and Northern Syria over the past decade. Including complete reports on multiple violations of the Chemical Weapons Convention's biochemical weapon trials—yes, the 2014 '1515 chemical weapon use' incidents outside Raqqa, the warheads were actually provided by you."

Lemont's heart sank abruptly.

Song Heping swiped the screen: "And the complete plans of how you used NGO organizations to destabilize the Hafez Regime, codenamed 'Spring Flood Operation'. As well as...the most exciting part."

He enlarged a photograph.

In the image, a Caucasian man in civilian clothes is shaking hands with several armed men with turban-covered heads, the background being a desert tent.

The timestamp on the bottom right of the photo reads: March 17, 2014.

"This is your intelligence officer at the time doing a deal in Deir Ezzor with the 'Quartermaster' of 1515, exchanging fifty sets of 'Javelin' anti-tank missiles for them not to attack the Kurd Armed controlled areas of Northern Syria."

Song Heping raised his head, stared dead into Lemont.

"I have photos, recordings, even soil from the scene. What do you think will happen if these materials appear in the New York Times editorial office tomorrow, or are directly uploaded to the Dark Web?"

Lemont stared dead into Song Heping, trying to find any trace of bluff from the other's face.

Any slight flaw in micro-expressions, any faint wavering in his gaze.

But he found nothing.

The man's eyes were as calm as a deep pool.

That was not madness, it was carefully calculated determination.

Lemont believed he meant it.

He would really make these materials public, really launch an attack, really gamble everything.

"What are your conditions?"

Lemont finally conceded.

Song Heping put down the tablet and held up three fingers.

"Very simple, just three conditions."

His tone returned to that annoyingly relaxed manner.

"First, release my people. Milosh and his 247 team members, not one less. Also return all their equipment and vehicles."

"Second," he held up a second finger: "All remaining ammunition left by the Illinois US Army when they retreated. Stored in Taji Base, Balad Base, and the underground warehouses of Mosul Airport…."

At this point, Song Heping couldn't help but laugh:

"And those 'Stinger' missiles you secretly hid, intending to sell to the Kurd Armed, as I know, including twenty-four launchers, one hundred and ninety-two missiles, all of them. I want them all. As for the price…"

Song Heping chuckled: "According to the standard price of the international scrap metal market, 0.5 US Dollar per kilogram. I'll have a professional waste recycling company assess the value, fair and impartial."

Lemont almost cursed.

He knew too well the total value of that batch of munitions.

Over 20 billion US Dollar!

This was not negotiation, this was robbery.

Barefaced, unabashed robbery.

And the most humiliating part was, Americans have always been the ones robbing others, when did it become someone else's turn to rob Americans?

Madness.

Song Heping was absolutely mad.

Either he had completely lost his mind, or he was absolutely sure that the United States would capitulate.

"Third," Song Heping held up a third finger, his voice growing solemn: "Written promise. Official White House document, with the President's seal. Promise not to pursue Misu and Blake anymore, acknowledge that they are protected political refugees, and allow them to settle in a third country. Additionally, promise that the 'Witness' department will not retaliate or sanction me, my company, my employees, or partners at any time or in any form."

He walked in front of Lemont, the distance between them shortened to two meters.

"Finally, allow me to keep all evidence copies regarding the 'Witness' and 'Seeder' plans, as 'insurance'. Of course, I promise not to disclose them proactively—unless you breach the agreement."

The tent fell into a brief silence.

Only the low hum of the generator outside, and the faint sound of vehicle engines in the distance.

"FUCK!"

Lemont finally couldn't help but curse, his spittle nearly reaching Song Heping's face.

"You're fucking crazy! This is impossible! The White House will never sign such a document! This is equivalent to admitting all our secret operations, equivalent to handing the handle of the knife to you!"

"Then don't sign."

Song Heping shrugged.

"But tonight I will attack the base, plow through every building with 152mm howitzers, killing everyone inside. Then before dawn, I will send these materials to the encrypted submission mailboxes of seventeen major media worldwide, upload to thirty different Dark Web nodes, and backup on cloud servers in seven countries."

He glanced at the military watch on his wrist, the dial gleaming coldly under the tent's lights.

"If you want to block the network, want to delete the posts, want to suppress the news… then just try. You can guess whether Hillary's campaign team collapses first, or the entire Donkey Party slaughters to survive, throwing your 'Witness' department out as scapegoats."

He raised his head, his gaze containing no room for bargaining.

"Giving you thirty minutes. Starting now."

Lemont opened his mouth, his Adam's apple moving up and down.

He wanted to say "you dare", wanted to say "you don't dare", wanted to say "we will retaliate". But all the words stuck in his throat.

Because he knew, Song Heping truly dared…

When someone can even disregard their own life, they possess the strongest leverage.