Vincent listened quietly, his face devoid of any expression.
When Simon finished speaking, the office once again fell into a brief silence.
"Hmm."
Finally, Vincent uttered a short syllable.
He picked up the briefing on the table, casually flipped through a couple of pages, then closed it and pushed it to the side.
"Your analysis makes sense. So continue to keep an eye on this, especially on the developments after the conflict erupts and the international reaction. As for the rest..."
He lifted his eyes, his gaze returning to Simon's face as if his look could penetrate one's soul, "...let them fight it out. We'll just watch quietly."
"Yes, Director! I will keep a close watch."
Simon suppressed the wild joy and relief in his heart, responding respectfully, striving to keep his voice calm and steady.
He turned and walked steadily out of the Director's office.
Once the heavy soundproof door silently closed behind him, a cold smile climbed onto Simon's face impatiently.
He had made the right bet.
Vincent had chosen to sit by and watch, eager to see the British suffer.
This meant he had temporarily secured himself from the huge risk of suppressing the earth-shattering secret that Song Heping was still alive.
As long as the British were unaware that Song Heping was alive, as long as Du Er and Lumar followed the script to kick the "Musician" defense they thought they had lost the leader of, all the chaos, failures, and accusations following the conflict would be the result of British and Sena Government incompetence, unrelated to him.
He had even laid the groundwork with a note, "Intelligence indicates both sides are mobilizing forces, making conflict inevitable."
He quickly walked to his office, closed the door, and immediately picked up an encrypted satellite phone, fingers rapidly punching the keys to input a short message—
"The 'package'... has been safely delivered to the 'Northern Darfur Station.' The recipient has confirmed it without error. Tell the 'client,' the storm is coming, perform according to the original script. Our 'audience' is in place and eager to see the 'protagonist' make a fool of themselves."
The "protagonist" refers to the British.
After sending the message, Simon sat back at his desk, picking up a cup of coffee the secretary had just brewed and placed there, taking a sip.
A moment later, the phone screen lit up, a message coming through—
"Understood. Station confirms the package is intact and of superior performance. The storm eye... is forming."
After reading the message, a slightly smug smile appeared on Simon's face.
He walked to the large floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the lush woods outside Langley headquarters.
On that dry and barren land of Northern Darfur, the phase array jammer and ultra-high frequency wide-spectrum surveillance equipment sent through secret channels, flowing from CIA's most cutting-edge lab, should now be in the hands of the mysterious figure codenamed "Jiang Feng."
It was the "eyes" and "ears" specifically requested by Song Heping.
And Director Vincent, this cunning old fox, was now comfortably seated in his office, preparing to enjoy watching the British's humiliating spectacle.
He absolutely did not expect that the newly trusted Deputy Director had quietly handed a deadly weapon to his most unexpected enemy.
This storm had long surpassed his script.
All sides were making moves, each thinking they were the player.
Little did they know, by the banks of a river called the Loli River in Southern Sena, deep within a dimly lit canning factory, a man returned from hell was using his cold fingers to redraw the boundaries of the chessboard.