Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1402 Anxiety in the Oval Office

Ten minutes ago.

White House Chief of Staff Lucas didn't even knock; he simply pushed open the walnut door to the Oval Office.

President Barack Obama was discussing the debt ceiling with the finance minister when he looked up and saw Lucas's expression, immediately realizing the seriousness of the situation.

Lucas is a retired Marine Corps colonel who served in three wars and is known for his composure.

At this moment, however, his face was ashen, and he was gripping the remote control tightly in his hand.

“I’m sorry, Minister.”

The president closed the folder as he spoke.

The finance minister tactfully put away the documents and quickly left.

As soon as the door closed, Lucas turned on the four screens on the wall.

The first image from the left is from CNN, which is looping the shelling video; the second image from the left is from Horizon News' special report with an eye-catching headline; the first image from the right is from Fox News, where the host is interviewing the former commander of the Central Command for analysis; and the second image from the right is from a real-time social media trending chart, with the hashtag "#MosulBombing" already at the top of the global trending list.

"When did this happen?" Obama asked, his voice seemingly calm, but his fingers unconsciously tapping the table.

His subtle movements seemed to show that he was trying his best to suppress the turmoil of emotions inside him.

"It was exactly midnight in Mosul, which is 4 p.m. here. Horizon News broke the story at 4:22 p.m., and then all the media started to follow up."

Lucas brought up the timeline on his tablet.

"The current confirmed situation is that the base was indeed attacked by at least twenty 152mm shells, two facilities were destroyed, and one was severely damaged. The casualty figures have not yet been finalized, but preliminary reports indicate that at least thirty people have died..."

The president closed his eyes and took a deep breath: "Who did it?"

"All the evidence points to the 10th Division of the Iligor Army and the 9th Brigade of the Kold's armed forces, which are the armed forces controlled by Song Heping behind the scenes. It is likely that Song Heping is using these as leverage..."

Lucas paused, his gaze lingering on Obama's face for two seconds, seemingly trying to gauge the president's emotional state.

"We want to negotiate."

Obama immediately picked up on the implication: "Negotiation? Negotiate with whom?"

"Walter is on his way. He knows more details."

No sooner had he finished speaking than National Security Advisor Walter pushed open the door and entered, carrying a thick stack of encrypted briefing folders.

The strategist, who was trusted by Obama, had disheveled hair, a crooked tie, and bloodshot eyes.

“Mr. President,” Walter said without even exchanging pleasantries, “'The Seeder' program has been exposed. Song Heping has obtained all the evidence, including financial transaction records, recorded communications, operational instructions, and so on. He used the artillery barrage as an ultimatum, demanding that we immediately cease military operations against him and then accept his terms.”

The air in the office seemed to freeze.

Obama slowly stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to the two people.

Outside the window, the South Lawn of the White House gleamed in the setting sun, and tourists took photos outside the fence, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside the building.

"What does he want?" the president asked in a low voice.

"First, release the 247 mercenaries held captive by CIA station chief Lemont in Iligo, and return all their equipment. Second, all remaining munitions left behind by the US forces during their withdrawal from Iligo, including all equipment stored at Taji Base, Balad Base, and the underground warehouse at Mosul Airport, must be sold to him at scrap metal prices. Third..."

Walter's voice was barely audible: "You must personally sign a written commitment guaranteeing that you will no longer pursue Maisul and Black, that you will recognize them as asylum-holding political refugees and allow them to settle in a third country, and that the 'Witness' department will not retaliate against or sanction Song Heping, his company, its employees, or its partners at any time or in any form."

"What if you don't agree?"

“He will send evidence of the ‘Sower’ program and the biochemical experiments to major media outlets around the world.” Walter’s face turned grim. “And expose the signed documents that Hillary Clinton directly approved these operations.”

Obama turned around, his eyes sharp: "She really signed?"

"Back then, in order to bypass congressional oversight, some actions required authorization at the Secretary of State level. She...did sign some of the documents."

"My God," Obama said softly, rubbing his temples, "What about the casualties? What is the actual number of casualties?"

Walter and Lucas exchanged a glance.

"Actually... at present... fourteen people have been confirmed dead and nine seriously wounded. But these are the casualties from the shelling itself."

Walter said with difficulty, "The most difficult thing is that the remaining people in the base are probably all under Song Heping's control. He currently has about a hundred prisoners, including six core agents from the 'Witness' department. He won't release them if we don't agree to his conditions. And if their identities are exposed..."

"Unofficial cover personnel in the black operations department of the joint US government intelligence and military agencies, right?" Obama continued, "If exposed, we will not only face domestic legal action, but also be caught in an international media storm, and more importantly, the election! Once Hillary's signed documents appear online... the consequences will be unimaginable."

“Yes,” Walter admitted.

A long silence fell over the office.

Only the voice of the news anchor could be heard on the television:

"...The Pentagon continues to decline to comment, but Horizon News has just released a fourth video showing what appears to be the body of a U.S. soldier being moved..."

"So," the president finally said, "we have no choice. We agree to his request."

"Mr. President, what about Hillary Clinton—"

“I’ll call her myself.” Obama walked to his desk. “Now, I want you to contact Lymont immediately and tell him that we accept all our terms. I want this damn shelling to stop immediately. The rest… we’ll deal with the rest later.”

“We can’t get in touch with Lemont now…” Walter said. “He lost contact with us after the shelling.”

"Then find someone to contact Song Heping! He's not some ghost from hell, someone can always reach him!" Obama said impatiently, "I don't need you to raise questions, I need you to solve problems!"

“Yes, I’ll contact Simon and have him try to get in touch. After all, the CIA must have a way.” Walter immediately thought of Simon, then added, “What about the press conference…”

"An hour later, I delivered a national address in Roosevelt Room."

The president pressed the intercom button: "Marcy, I need the speech team, the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of State, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff to be in the Situation Room within thirty minutes. Also, contact Angel of Horizon News; I need to speak with her for ten minutes before I speak."

"You want to speak to her?" Lucas asked in surprise.

“She’s the one with the most information right now. And,” a deeper meaning flashed in Obama’s eyes, “if Song Heping chooses to release the message through her, perhaps she is also his chosen messenger. I need to know what the next act of this charade will be.”

Walter nodded and was about to leave when the president called him back.

"Walter."

"exist."

“This Song Heping… I remember seeing his briefing before. If I remember correctly, he was on our bounty list three years ago. Where did we go wrong, turning a mercenary leader we had a bounty on into someone who could shell US military bases and extort money from the White House?”

Walter remained silent for a long time before finally answering, "At first we thought he was just a pawn. We never imagined he'd been learning how to play chess all along..."

At 5:16 p.m., just as Obama was about to head to the situation room, the second wave of attacks arrived.

This time it wasn't a video of the shelling, but a document.

Horizon News updated its special report, changing the title to: [Exclusive: The Deal Behind the Shelling? Declassified Documents Reveal Secret US Intelligence Operations in Iraq and Syria]

The page displays scanned copies of seven documents.

Although key parts were blurred out, it was still recognizable as a State Council document format, encrypted communication records, and proof of fund transfer.

On one of the signatures, Hillary Clinton's signature at the time was very blurry, but it seemed that a few letters were deliberately revealed, leaving much to the imagination.

Then, social media exploded.

120,000 new related tweets are being posted on Twitter every minute.

A Reddit international politics forum server crashed temporarily.

Global stock markets fell sharply: the Dow Jones Industrial Average dropped more than 300 points in five minutes, Brent crude oil prices rose 8%, and gold futures jumped 5%.

The foreign ministries in London, Berlin, and Paris all issued urgent requests to summon the US ambassadors.

Tehran issued a statement saying it was "closely monitoring the situation."

The University of Tokyo and Moscow have remained unusually silent, but intelligence analysis indicates that the diplomatic systems of both countries are urgently assessing the situation.

5:17 p.m., Virginia, on the eastern slopes of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Hillary stood in front of the full-length mirror in the dressing room, tilting her chin slightly upward.

Makeup artist Leah was lightly sweeping blush across her cheekbones with a squirrel hair brush, her movements as precise as a surgeon's.

The setting sun slanted in through the Gothic arched windows, cutting the oak floor into stripes of light and dark.

In the distance, the low hum of a lawnmower came and went, mingling with the clinking of silverware coming from the kitchen downstairs.

The servants are making final preparations for tonight's campaign fundraising dinner.

“Make it a little brighter here,” Hillary said, her eyes still fixed on her reflection in the mirror. “I want to be visible even in candlelight.”

Leah nodded and switched to a smaller brush.

The blush was a custom-made "battle dress red," a color her campaign team spent three months mixing to ensure it wasn't too flashy or aggressive, nor too pale and weak in front of the camera, while also concealing the thin pallor that an older woman's face might have.

The perfectly balanced warm tones symbolize a delicate balance of vitality, approachability, and decisiveness.

She represents not just herself, but the interests of the Democratic Party and the American left.

From her speech drafts to her clothing to even the smallest accessory, a large team is dedicated to tailoring everything for her, ensuring she has sufficient performance power and charisma in front of people and on camera.

The walk-in closet is a full forty square meters, with three walls lined with floor-to-ceiling walnut wardrobes.

One side, designed specifically for evening gowns, is currently open, revealing a dress arranged in color schemes: navy blue, pomegranate red, champagne gold, and emerald green.

Assistant Caroline stood to the side holding two dresses.

One is a deep blue velvet by Oscar de la Renta, and the other is a red crepe by Carolina Helena.

“Blue is a safer bet,” Caroline said. “But red stands out more in the photos. NBC and CNN will be there, as well as the Washington Post photography team.”

Hillary Clinton did not answer immediately.

Her gaze passed over her own reflection and looked out the window.

The estate spans two hundred acres, and autumn is in full swing. Maple, oak, and beech trees intertwine to create a vibrant palette, with gold, scarlet, and ochre gradually fading into indigo as dusk settles.

This property was purchased five years ago by a foundation in her and her husband's names, ostensibly for charitable purposes, but in reality it has long been a strategic hub for her return to the political stage.

It's just an hour's drive from here to Washington, D.C., yet far enough away from the never-ending vortex of political gossip along the Potomac River.

The phone on the vanity vibrated.

Hillary glanced at the screen.

It was a text message from the campaign manager: "Latest polls: We're leading 3% in Pennsylvania, tied in Ohio, and trailing 2% in Florida. Fundraising goal tonight: eight million."

Eight million.

That's enough for two weeks of television ads in key swing states, or to pay hundreds of field organizers a month's salary. She understands better than anyone that politics is an exchange of money.

From the Arkansas governor's mansion to the West Wing of the White House, from the Senate to the State Department, her forty-year political career taught her one thing—principles need the support of power, and power needs the fuel of funds.

"Red." That was her final choice.

Caroline smiled with relief and hung the blue dress back in the closet.

Just then, another phone rang.

The encrypted black satellite phone sat next to the velvet jewelry box, its screen flashing an unstored number, but with the area code 202.

White House.

Hillary's eyebrows rose slightly by half a millimeter.

Leah took a step back sensitively, her makeup brush hovering in mid-air.

Caroline, being very tactful, quickly placed the dress on the back of the chair, silently left the room, and gently closed the door behind her.

Five seconds later, Hillary answered the phone.

Good evening, Barack.

She called Obama by his nickname, showing the close relationship between the two.

"Rodm, I hope I haven't disturbed your preparations for tonight's event."

Obama also called Hillary by her nickname.

As a political figure, Hillary Clinton's nicknames or common appellations are mainly related to her name and public image.

In informal settings or in the media, she is often simply referred to as "Hillary," a direct use of her given name, which aligns with the common practice of using names in English-speaking countries.

In addition, depending on her marital status and surname changes, she was sometimes referred to as "Mrs. Clinton," especially during Bill Clinton's presidency, a title that emphasized her status as the president's spouse.

Hillary used her maiden name "Rodham" before marriage, briefly continued to use "Hillary Rodham" after marriage, then changed to "Hillary Clinton" for political reasons, but resumed using her full name "Hillary Rodham Clinton" after Clinton became president.

This is certainly related to her desire to cultivate an image of an independent woman.

Therefore, people who are close to her in private call her by her maiden name – "Rodm".

“Never, Mr. President. Your voice always comes first.”

She walked to the window, unconsciously fiddling with a string of pearls in her left hand.

This was a gift Bill gave her when she was first elected senator, and it has now become a kind of psychological comfort.

A brief silence.

They all knew this was not a routine, polite call.

Have you seen the news?

"We saw it, that Dongda guy is threatening us."

“Horizon News Corp. has released a teaser,” Obama said bluntly. “They’re saying what they have can be a ‘game changer,’ that’s the language they use. You know what that means.”

Hillary Clinton did not answer immediately.

She looked out the window and saw a black SUV driving along the winding driveway, carrying the first guests of the evening.

Those were several bankers from Wall Street and their wives.

She certainly knew about the trailer for Horizon.

Her press secretary rushed into the study half an hour earlier, holding a tablet computer, her face as white as a newly painted wall.

“We’ve all seen those documents,” Obama continued, his voice low and restrained. “At least the parts that have already been made public. But if there’s more… especially details about our operations in North Africa and the Middle East, if they contain certain ‘unauthorized means’…”

He didn't finish speaking.

There's no need to finish.

Keep it brief and to the point.

We are all smart people.

Hillary closed her eyes.

Of course she understood.

She not only read those documents, but she even signed some of them herself.

Under the banner of the War on Terror, some boundaries have become blurred, some procedures have been accelerated, and some approvals have been made late at night under the fluorescent lights of the situation room, with a coffee cup next to a hastily drafted memo from a legal advisor, always titled "Emergency Authorization: Protecting U.S. Interests and Personnel."

“We are a country governed by the rule of law,” she finally said, her voice drier than she had expected. “All actions are within the framework of the law.”

“The legal framework is flexible, Rodham.” A hint of tension appeared in Obama’s voice for the first time: “Especially under certain public opinion circumstances.”

"Listen."

He changed his tone, becoming more direct.

“I don’t like this situation, just like you. But we’re standing on the edge of a cliff. What does Horizon really have left? Where did they get all this from? The CIA hasn’t given us a definitive answer yet. But one thing is certain: if they release the second round of documents tonight at 7 p.m., especially if it involves ‘certain sensitive means’—I mean those that the public isn’t ready for—then next Tuesday’s election campaign will no longer be about the economy, healthcare, or foreign policy.”

Hillary's fingernails dug into her palms.

The doorbell rang downstairs; the guests had arrived.

She could imagine Caroline anxiously checking her watch, hesitating whether to knock.

"It will become a referendum on morality, law, and war crimes."

Obama said, enunciating each word clearly, "And you and your team will be the first to suffer. Don't forget, you're a former Secretary of State; many of those actions received final authorization from the State Department. The opposition will pounce like sharks smelling blood."

So what is your suggestion?

She asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"We need to cut our losses. Now."

Outside the window, the last rays of the setting sun sank behind the mountain ridge, and the sky turned from deep purple to indigo black.

On the driveway of the manor, car headlights strung together like a pearl necklace, winding their way to the main building.

Horizon Robotics has stated that they obtained the documents from an 'anonymous source'.

Obama said, "But the CIA's analysis suggests that the format, encryption methods, and metadata characteristics of these documents closely match some of the files leaked by Duke. And all the clues—and I mean all of them—point in the same direction: 'Song Heping'."

Hillary's breath hitched.

He loathed the name.

"So, you want to negotiate with him? The problem is, where is he? Can you get in touch with him?" she asked.

"That's the problem. We don't know. But he provided the terms of the deal."

For the next three minutes, Hillary Clinton barely spoke.

She listened as Obama recounted the outline of the entire event, the details she had never been told before, and the unfolding of a crisis far larger than she had imagined.

Obama reiterated Song Heping's three conditions one by one.

In exchange, he will return all the materials that have not yet been made public, but will retain copies.

Hillary felt dizzy.

She held onto the windowsill, the cool stone feeling coming through her palms.

"That's impossible!" she finally said. "Once this precedent is set—"

“I know,” Obama interrupted her, “but if Horizon releases a second set of documents tonight, especially if they have details of our operations in other areas, including footage of Delta Force soldiers and agents currently being shelled at bases… Rodham, how do you think voters in Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Florida will react?”

He paused, letting her process what he had said.

“Your lead will evaporate within 72 hours. Not only that, the entire party will be affected. We will lose six key Senate seats and 23 swing districts in the House of Representatives. Then, we may lose more than just the White House; we may lose the political landscape for the next decade.”

Faint piano music drifted from downstairs, indicating that the dinner party was beginning to warm things up.

Chopin's Nocturne, Bill's favorite.

Hillary imagined her husband walking among the guests, that familiar, charming smile on his face, shaking hands with bankers, kissing the backs of ladies' hands, as if nothing in the world was worth worrying about.

"So you want me."

She spoke slowly, each word as if ripped from her throat: "To bow down to a mercenary leader?! Don't you think that's absurd?!"

There was a full ten seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

"I want you..."

Obama concluded by saying, "It's a choice that political leaders sometimes have to make: choosing the less bad one from two bad options."

Hillary looked in the mirror.

Her makeup was flawless, her gown shone brightly on the hanger, and her pearl necklace gleamed with a warm luster.

The woman in the mirror looks invincible, ready to step onto the stage at any moment, accept applause and donations, and deliver a speech about America's future, justice, and values.

The voice on the phone was demanding that she break every vow she made in those speeches.

“I need to think about it,” she said.

“You don’t have time!” Obama’s voice suddenly turned sharp: “The second round of documents will be released at 7:00. It’s 5:26 now. I’ve already had the Attorney General prepare the draft pardon documents, all that’s needed is your consent as the former Secretary of State’s endorsement. The legal counsel believes this will increase the procedural legitimacy.”

"You're forcing me."

“Oh! For God’s sake! I’m begging you to save the cause we both believe in.” Obama paused, took a deep breath, and said, “Remember the 2008 primary? We competed to the very last moment, but in the end, you chose unity and gave way to me. Because you knew some things were more important than personal ambition.”

Hillary closed her eyes.

That was one of the most painful moments of her political career.

On the day of her concession speech, she wore an orange coat, stood on the stage, and looked at the weeping supporters and the volunteers who had knocked on countless doors and made countless phone calls for her.

And now, another ceiling.

Or rather, the floor was cracking right beneath her feet.

　Please vote for me! Please vote for me!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)