The ancient clock in the corner of the room struck three.
Hakeem suddenly stood up and walked towards the window, turning his back to everyone.
Klein caught sight of Song Heping's fingers quietly moving towards the shock bomb hidden at his waist—if the negotiation failed, he would kill Hakeem right here.
Not killing him would inevitably remain a major threat.
Earlier, out on the open ground, the terrain was disadvantageous to him.
But now, here inside the outpost, and with the drone reconnaissance completed, there were about thirty armed personnel near the outpost, and over a hundred armed men about five kilometers away, likely a unit stationed here.
Five kilometers, as long as he moved fast enough, he could take out all the armed personnel here and then flee.
Although the whole action was very risky.
But fortune favors the brave.
In the war-torn regions of Africa, nothing succeeds without taking risks.
"I need to see more sincerity."
Hakeem finally turned around, a greedy glint in his eyes.
"Markuer has an arsenal in Fashir, if he has it, I want it too..."
Klein knew victory was in sight.
The most dangerous person is one who isn't greedy.
As long as he's greedy, things are easier to handle.
He feigned impatience: "Alright, five days from now at dawn, there will be a shipment arriving here."
This was the bait Song Heping had pre-planned—a batch of Illiguo's former government army weapons, soon to be smuggled through the group to arrive at Ethiopia's port and then delivered to Darfur by Northern Sudan's military via special channels.
"Enough for you to set up a small arsenal of your own and take over Markuer's arsenal. But remember..."
He suddenly grabbed Hakeem's wrist.
"I want Markuer's head placed in front of the gold mine, with a photo as proof."
Hakeem burst into thunderous laughter.
He clapped his hands to signal the attendant to bring coffee—this time, it wasn't drugged.
"To friendship!"
He raised his coffee cup high, the scars twisting and deforming in his smile, making it appear more menacing.
"Cheers!"
One hour later.
As the convoy drove more than ten kilometers away from the outpost, Klein finally breathed a sigh of relief, tore off the eyepatch covering his one eye, then forcefully pulled away the sweat-soaked fake beard, taking deep breaths of the air-conditioned air.
"Good heavens, I thought he was going to find out—"
"You did well."
Song Heping reached over and patted him on the shoulder, then handed him a bottle of mineral water.
"Five days from now, wait and see, for now, I have to make a trip to Chad."
Klein immediately realized that Song Heping was heading to Chad to find Pence.
However, he was still a bit worried, sipping the water and couldn't help asking, "This guy used to be a deputy director of the CIA, killing him might stir up a lot of trouble."
Song Heping said, "No choice."
He didn't clarify the reasons.
The rationale was actually quite simple.
If Pence isn't dead, he will follow him like a ghost, using all means to eliminate him.
This was almost his obsession.
As long as he's alive, Pence probably wouldn't sleep well.
Moreover, in the current situation, whether he eliminates Pence or not doesn't make much difference.
Killing him might actually deter the "Elder Council."
Currently, he was stuck in Africa and hadn't secured a foothold yet.
Once he stands firm, the feud with the "Elder Council" will have to be settled properly.
More importantly, there's Simon.
If Pence dies, there will definitely be a huge shock within the CIA.
They will certainly need to find someone to take over Pence's mess, and Simon would be one of the best candidates.
At least to outsiders, he hates him, holds a grudge, and has dealt with him for a long time.
Considering all factors, Pence must die.
Throughout the night, Song Heping was busy.