In the office of Shire, the director of the DGSE's Africa division who just rushed back from Africa a few days ago, the atmosphere was as heavy as a storm about to break.
On the large desk, a latest briefing on the situation in North Africa was spread out, with the arrows indicating Haftar's forces' advancement strikingly conspicuous.
Shire leaned back in his wide leather chair, the cigar between his fingers extinguished for a long time, with the lingering smoke resembling his current restless mood.
The buzzing sound of the satellite phone rang abruptly, shattering the silence in the room.
The screen displayed a number Shire was exceptionally familiar with.
He took a deep breath and picked up the phone, deliberately keeping his voice steady: "Mr. Song? A rare guest indeed, you haven't contacted me for quite some time. So? Sawinu has been taken, your momentum is unstoppable, within a couple of months, perhaps the entire Libya will be under your command, congratulations."
Shire's tone carried a slight hint of sarcasm.
The two had closely collaborated on the coup in Sen Republic.
But in the Libya matter, the line between enemy and friend was still blurred.
The British, Americans, and people from the Daishe Bird Country were all at odds with Song Heping.
However, the opportunistic France continued to maintain a neutral bystander position.
Shire knew Song Heping was not to be trifled with.
In several reports to headquarters, he had advised his superiors not to recklessly wade into troubled waters.
But, recently the British came knocking.
Their lobbyists seemed to have swayed his superior.
The recent direction of work seemed inclined towards cooperation with the British, meddling in the Libyan civil war, after all, there were quite a few pieces of the pie for the French in Libya, and Sayif had always taken good care of French interests there.
Shire had wanted to contact Song Heping to discuss intervening in matters concerning French interests in Libyan territories, but the old colonial mentality was at play, making it somewhat difficult to put aside pride.
He, the dignified director of GDSE's Africa division, seeking out a mercenary leader to ask for a share of the pie, to leave some meat?
What about France's dignity then?
Yet on the other end of the phone, Song Heping's voice sounded extremely relaxed, like old friends catching up.
"Mr. Shire, the sound of guns will never truly cease, just ringing out from a different location. With Sawinu over, the Libyan landscape has been rewritten. I think it's time to talk about the future."
"Future?"
Shire first felt a sense of dark joy, then tensed up.
Song Heping was no adorable little lamb.
He's decidedly a mercenary leader, a ravenous wolf.
Based on analyses of his previous conduct, this person is extremely resolute, carrying out actions swiftly with remarkable military talent and insight. Provoking him is like stepping barefoot on iron thorns, causing unbearable pain.
"Your future, or Libya's future? Or... France's future?"
"Aren't the three closely related?"
Song Heping's tone carried a kind of assured control over the whole situation, "I'm calling to offer you and your friends in Paris a guarantee, and also a suggestion. The guarantee is: If I eventually capture Libya, French interests in Libya—oil contracts, historical debts, cultural influence—will be respected and protected. There is no fundamental conflict of interest between us."
Shire didn't respond immediately, instead his fingers unconsciously tapping on the desk.
The carrot Song Heping dangled was tempting, but surely followed by a stick.
"And the suggestion?"
Shire's voice sank.
"The suggestion is—ask the French government, and your friends in London, to abandon any illusion and any form of support for Sayif."
Song Heping's voice suddenly turned cold, like the Siberian wind.
"He is already a discarded pawn by the Americans, a doomed sinking ship. Continuing to invest resources in him is not only a complete loss but also means opposing me."
Shire's breath caught slightly.
The voice on the other end was very calm, yet each word weighed a thousand pounds, carrying the cold logic of naked geopolitical power plays:
"Shire, you're a smart person. The French should be very clear on what I now mean in Central and North Africa. Sen Republic's iron and diamond mines, the British can only watch enviously now, thanks to whom? It was me who brought you up. I can chase away the British, allowing you to monopolize the benefits..."
Song Heping deliberately paused, further intensifying the threat.
"Of course, if the French insist on standing against me, supporting Sayif, the dead fish, then I can very easily remove the French from certain critical positions in Central and North Africa, bringing the British back. Or...more straightforwardly, support a more compliant regime that fully aligns with my interests to take power. Guess what situation French oil fields, mines, and military bases in Sen would face at that time?"
Shire's hand holding the phone tightened suddenly.
A surge of offended fury shot straight to his head.
Generations of his family have served France, never being openly threatened like this?
A blaze of rage flared up.
However, after all, he is the head of DGSE's Africa division, so the rationality nurtured by years of intelligence work forced him to suppress the rebuke that almost burst out.
Reason told him Song Heping wasn't bluffing.
This "Ghost" who climbed out of a mountain of corpses, now holding heavy troops, controlling most of Libya's territory and oil lifeline.
Not only that, he had his own territory and military bases in Northern Darfur and Sen, commanding over ten thousand mercenaries, well-equipped, well-funded, his influence already covering the entire Sahel Zone.