At three in the morning London time, in the encrypted video conference room on the fifth underground floor of MI6 Headquarters, Lady M was sipping her third cup of black coffee.
The screen was divided into three sections — on the left was Deputy Director Pence from CIA Headquarters in Langley, and on the right was Deputy Director Levin from Mossad Headquarters in Tel Aviv.
Their faces appeared especially grim under the blue light.
"According to the latest intelligence, Song Heping's operation in Mogadishu has completely altered the PMC dynamics in Africa.
"Lady M put down the coffee cup, her fingers swiping across the tablet to bring up a set of satellite images.
"In just a week, his 'Musician' Defense has grown to over two hundred people in Africa. Most are former special forces members from various countries drawn by his reputation, and their equipment level is close to that of a regular army. It's fair to say that the current mercenary circles in Africa have changed. The setback of the 'Satan' battalion has made Song Heping's fame soar. We've inadvertently helped him, and now someone must clean up this mess."
"His growth rate is too fast and must be curbed, or it will have a huge impact on our plans over there!"
Pence squinted, staring at that all-too-familiar Eastern face on the screen.
"He has already sabotaged several of our operations, causing a huge blow to our reputation. If we don't eliminate him, we will lose our deterrent power in the Sahel Region of Africa."
"Not only that," Levin interrupted, his voice carrying a heavy Israeli accent, "our intelligence shows that he is establishing contact with the Persian Revolutionary Guard's 'Holy City Brigade'. If these two forces combine..."
"It won't just be a simple armed threat," Lady M interjected, "but will become a geopolitical threat impacting the entire Middle East and Africa."
The conference room fell into a brief silence.
All three knew that Song Heping was no ordinary mercenary leader.
This former PLA Special Forces member was fluent in five languages and had significant influence in the rebel and drug lord circles of South America. More troubling was that he always seemed able to anticipate the actions of Western intelligence agencies.
"We can no longer tolerate his existence." Pence's fingers tapped the table, "The President has authorized 'extreme measures'."
Levin leaned slightly forward: "Our Mossad 'Stinger' team is ready to cooperate with the operation."
Lady M brought up a map of Africa, with several red dots flashing in the Northern Sudan area: "The latest news is that the North Sudan Government is in contact with him. They want him to train their troops to fight against the South Sudan rebels and the threat from Libya."
"God," Pence cursed, "if he establishes a base in Sudan, the entire Northeast Africa will get out of control."
"So we must act before the contact becomes a formal agreement."
Lady M said calmly.
"I propose using the SAS 'Dagger' Squad to coordinate with your Delta and Mossad actions."
"Location?" Levin asked.
"Here." Lady M zoomed in on a coordinate in the Darfur Region, "According to reliable intelligence, Song Heping will visit the border oil fields in three days. We have detailed information on his itinerary."
Pence showed the first smile of the night: "A perfect ambush point. We will handle the air support."
"Intelligence sharing and real-time monitoring will be provided by Mossad." Levin added.
Lady M looked around at her colleagues on the screen: "Then, 'Operation Owl Hunt' is officially launched. May God bless us."
The images of the three disappeared simultaneously from the screen, and the conference room plunged back into darkness.
Two days earlier, at dusk, in an unassuming villa on the outskirts of Khartoum, the capital of North Sudan, Song Heping stood in front of the window, watching the sun setting over the Nile River.
More than a week had passed since the Mogadishu operation.
And now he had moved to Khartoum.
The reason was that someone invited him here.
According to his original plan, it was to establish a base in Somalia.
But establishing a base there required killing, and although Abdul was dead, the internal warlords and local armed forces in Somalia had fallen into chaos. Establishing a foothold there would require nearly six months of eliminating and suppressing local forces until they bowed their heads.
This was not an easy task, after all, even the US Special Forces had suffered setbacks there.
However, as the fortune teller once said.
Upon reaching adulthood, Song Heping would have a turn of fortune and achieve great success, with limitless prospects.
Just as Song Heping was racking his brain for a foothold, the emissary sent by the North Sudan Government came to the door.
"Boss, the people have arrived."
Jiang Feng opened the door and entered, followed by three African men in suits.
The leading man was in his fifties, with dark skin, his every move exuding the caution and smoothness unique to politicians.
"Mr. Song, it's an honor to meet you. I am Presidential Special Advisor Hassan Omar."
Song Heping smiled and shook hands with the three of them. "Mr. Omar, your English is much better than my Arabic. Why don't we converse in English?"
Omar visibly sighed in relief. "Of course."
Once everyone was seated, Jiang Feng silently exited the room.
"Mr. Song, our government greatly appreciates your actions in Mogadishu."
Omar got straight to the point. "The professional ability and strategic foresight you have shown are exactly what we urgently need."
Song Heping sipped his mint tea impassively. "You have your own army, and the conflict zones also have UN Peacekeeping Forces. Why do you still need to seek me out?"
"Yes, but..."
Omar exchanged a glance with his companion.
"We are simultaneously facing threats on both the northern and southern fronts. We know for a fact that the CIA is behind the South Sudanese rebels. There are complex historical intricacies behind this. The Americans now want to intervene in our affairs here, although officially, these matters are primarily handled by the French. On the surface, they are allies, but in reality, they are using the war to play chess on our land. The role of the Peacekeeping Forces here, as you've seen, isn't significant. Now the rebels in the south are constantly attacking our oilfields; in the north, Qadhafi's troops have crossed the border three times to attack the oil facilities in Darfur. We are at our wit's end..."