"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Song."

Weber feigned calmness as he replied, spreading his hands.

But Song Heping noticed his pupils had dilated—a typical sign of lying.

His right hand instinctively reached for his tie clip, where the micro camera was located.

Song Heping picked up a red thumbtack and pinned it to the Alder Plateau on the map. "Let me guess. The Americans have been too active in Africa in recent years, cutting into the pie of you French and British."

His finger traced a line on the map.

"Uranium mines in Niger, oil fields in South Sudan, and now they've got their eyes on Darfur."

He looked at Weber, a cold smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"And you MI6 found that, instead of direct confrontation, which would destroy years of traditional ally friendship, it might be better to find a 'troublemaker' like me to trip up the Americans, right?"

Weber's lips twitched slightly, almost imperceptibly.

In fact, an indescribable shock had already formed in his heart.

Now he seemed to understand why the CIA, Mossad, and even MI6's initial attempt to eliminate Song Heping ended up backfiring.

This person is too smart!

He had greater admiration for his superior—Lady M's foresight.

The last joint operation, MI6 outwardly agreed to provide resources but did not assign any agents.

This also provided MI6 with room for maneuver today.

It was then that Lady M began to develop the idea of utilizing Song Heping.

This collaboration was also instructed by Lady M.

Song Heping knew that his guess hit the mark.

Outside the tent, the shrill cry of a desert fox sounded, as if it were the soundtrack to this game.

"Mr. Song, you have a rich imagination."

Weber adjusted his tie, pointing that micro camera directly at Song Heping's face.

The action was so deliberate, it was almost an open provocation.

Song Heping noticed it too.

However, such a detail seemed completely unimportant at this critical moment of "collaboration."

Agents from an intelligence agency like MI6 would never miss any opportunity to gather intelligence.

If he exposed the other party now and took away his micro camera, he of course could leave MI6 without a chance to study him.

But doing so would not only spoil this "collaboration," it would also put Rashim in a difficult position.

In the future, he still needed to establish himself in Darfur, and without the support of the Northern Sudan regime, it would seem less legitimate.

This face.

Should be given.

"However, even if your guess has some truth, what's the harm? An enemy's enemy..."

Before Weber could finish, Song Heping had cut him off.

"...is a temporary friend."

Song Heping sneered, standing up, his tall figure casting a long shadow inside the tent, directly enveloping Weber.

He didn't say "an enemy's enemy is a friend," but chose to define "temporary friend."

This is the most genuine answer.

"The problem is, Mr. Weber, why should I believe the intelligence you provide isn't a trap?"

Weber pulled a black USB drive from his suit's inner pocket, his fingers slightly trembling as he placed it on the map—an adrenaline surge.

"Here are the communication records of the 'Shepherd' from the past three months, as well as the personnel files of the elite team from EO Company hired by Pence. They will accompany the 'Shepherd' to Northern Darfur to meet with Hakeem and his group. The timeline is long enough to demonstrate that we've been wary of this 'Shepherd' for some time and have been monitoring him. This individual is a pawn of the American 'Elder Council' in this region. You've also annoyed the 'Elder Council' before. Now, it's not just the CIA that wants to deal with you, but also the 'Elder Council.' It shouldn't be difficult for you to verify these; just a glance will show that I'm not lying. This kind of long-term intelligence is very difficult to fake."

Song Heping didn't touch the USB drive.

He stared into Weber's eyes, as if the air between them had solidified.

The emergency light hanging from the tent's ceiling cast flickering shadows on Weber's glasses.

Weber looked up at Song Heping, but against the light, he couldn't clearly see the other's face, making him feel more unfathomable.

Outside the tent, the footsteps of the camp guards came and went, creating an invisible pressure.

"Let me be blunt," Song Heping finally spoke, his voice low and cold. "You British want to use me against the Americans, but don't want to dirty your hands. So, through Director Rashim as a 'pipeline,' you provide me with intelligence. This way, even if the matter is exposed, London can claim it has nothing to do with MI6."

Rashim's breathing became rapid, sweat rolling down his forehead.

Being seen through and exposed is an embarrassing thing.

Song Heping could almost hear his heartbeat speeding up—this intelligence chief clearly hadn't expected to become a pawn in a great power's game.

But Weber smiled, the kind of perfect smile honed in the Oxford debating society: "Mr. Song, you're even more...astute than the file descriptions."

He admitted, unconsciously straightening his sleeve with his right hand.

"However, cooperation is all about mutual needs. You need intelligence, we need...balance."

"Balance." Song Heping savored the word, his gaze shifting to the map.

He noticed Weber used "balance" instead of "interest"—a typical British diplomatic euphemism.

"Do you know what I plan to do?"

He wanted to test the agent before him.

Because he wouldn't collaborate with fools.

To collaborate, one must choose smart people.

Otherwise, you wouldn't even know how you died.

Weber pushed his glasses, the lens reflections obscuring his eyes: "Based on your style, I guess you would intercept the 'Shepherd,' then impersonate him to meet separately with Hakeem and Markuer."

He paused for a moment, his tongue gently licking his dry lips.

"Give them contradictory promises, even some perks, and then incite mutual conflict among them."

Song Heping's eyebrows slightly raised.

This British person not only saw through his plan but even seemed to appreciate it.

He had to admit, Weber was a rare genius—something not commonly found in the intelligence community.

Most agents are too reliant on technological equipment, ignoring the most basic psychological games.

It seems there are still capable people on Lao Yin's side.

The name "century-old troublemaker" isn't for nothing.

When it comes to construction, the British are no good.

When it comes to sabotage and instigation, even the Americans have to call them master on this Blue Star.

"If I do this, the hatred between me and the Americans deepens."

Song Heping sat back in his position, then lightly caressed the barrel of the HK416 assault rifle with his fingers.

"You're already deep enough; as far as I know, you rank second on their assassination list. Do you know who's first? The infamous Laden."

Weber sipped a mouthful of tea, this time without frowning.

He had gotten used to this overly sweet tea, or perhaps learned to conceal the discomfort.

"Africa isn't the United States' backyard."

He threw out a statement laced with disdain.

Song Heping picked up the USB drive and envelope, standing up again.

He casually picked up the HK416 assault rifle as well.

Rashim was startled, nearly knocking over his teacup.

Weber remained perfectly still, merely narrowed his eyes slightly, tracking Song Heping's every move.

This was the response only of well-trained agents—evaluating every potential threat.

"Go back and tell Lady M."

Song Heping walked straight to the corner of the tent, turning his back on the two and bidding farewell, his voice dropping sharply like the temperature of the desert night.

"I will handle the 'Shepherd' and also sabotage this deal, even make Pence disappear. As for what happens afterward... it depends on what kind of 'friendship' London can provide, then we'll discuss our next steps of cooperation."

Weber slowly stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles on his suit's hem and said, "London's friendship has always been generous, Mr. Song. Especially to those who can maintain the Commonwealth's interests."

"A delightful candy may contain poison."

Song Heping said without turning around, "I won't see you two out; my people will escort you."

Once the tent door curtain fell again, Song Heping returned to the map, playing with the USB drive in his hand.

He didn't need the British friendship, but their intelligence was indeed valuable.

More importantly, this meeting confirmed his suspicion—the Western alliance is not monolithic; the cracks between them are exactly the space for people like him to survive.

The emergency lamp cast eerie shadows on the map, and Song Heping pinned a red pushpin heavily on the Alder Plateau.

A hunt was about to begin, and the prey didn't know it was already prey.

He picked up the satellite phone and sent a message.

Soon, the phone rang again.

"What I promised, you should have seen it, old friend."

Without waiting for the other person to speak, Song Heping delivered an opening line.

"First of all, congratulations on being one step closer to the deputy director's position."

"Thank you."

Simon's voice came from the other end.

After all this time dealing with each other, it was the first time he had thanked Song Heping.

"Don't thank me too soon." Song Heping said, "Pence isn't dead yet. Do you think you're safe?"

"What do you mean?" Simon asked.

Song Heping said, "Pence is a scapegoat; do you think his resignation is temporary or permanent?"

"He couldn't possibly return to the CIA." Simon was very certain.

Song Heping said, "Well, you know your internal affairs; the question is, for you to ascend to deputy director, what conditions are required?"

Simon cautiously said, "What do you mean?"

Song Heping laughed, "I mean, how about I give you a big gift, OK or not OK?"

Simon's breathing was noticeably heavier than before: "What big gift?"

"Don't be afraid, I won't harm you, at least not for now." Song Heping said, "You are of too much value to me."

Simon said, "Hmph, aren't you afraid that after helping me, once I'm deputy director I would go against you?"

Song Heping laughed, "That's what the previous deputy director thought too; look at his end."

Simon said helplessly, "Tell me, what do you want me to do this time?"

"Pence is currently in Chad; I need his location." Song Heping said, "I want to take him out."

Simon was taken aback, "You're crazy?! He's a former deputy director, do you know what consequences killing such a figure would bring? Do you want me to join you in your funeral?!"

Song Heping calmly said, "Simon, when you went against me, you were pretty bold, even dared to go against the military, but why is your courage so small now? I'm helping you; think again, if I take out Pence, will the CIA be furious?"

"It will..."

"Would they order a complete manhunt against me?"

"They will..."

"That's it; among their entire operation, currently, who knows me best? If you were the director, who would you choose to fill the position Pence left for the full-scale manhunt against me?"

"I... FUCK! Song Heping, you madman!"

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com