129 The First Signs of Crisis

Inside the underground command center, Clark was becoming increasingly agitated.

Dammit! How could those damned mercenaries have broken in so quickly and pinpointed their exact location? Had their previous operations been compromised?

Clark immediately thought of the agents who had gone missing earlier. Those bastards must have been taking on private side jobs. Having not returned after all this time, there was no other possibility than that they had been killed. And in doing so, they had leaked their trail.

"Evelyn, contact the *Dartmouth* at all costs! Tell them we need support!"

"Mr. Clark, we have no way to contact the *Dartmouth* right now. None at all!"

"Fuck!"

He let out a fierce curse, but Li Changjiang did not give him any more time to deliberate.

*Bang!*

The distinct sound of a sniper rifle firing sent a chill down everyone’s spine, and a look of despair washed over their faces. No one was reporting casualties anymore, but there was no doubt—given the terrifying marksmanship of that mercenary, no one dared to harbor any delusions of luck.

The voices in the room fell silent once again. Many began to breathe faster, the atmosphere growing increasingly suffocating, almost to the point of being unable to draw breath.

"Alright! Well? Have you made up your minds?"

That damned voice had returned once again!

"Fuck!"
"Asshole!"
"Devil!"

"This is a threat! This is an act of terrorism!" Clark grabbed the communicator on the table in a fit of rage and cursed into it, but Li Changjiang remained completely unmoved.

"It doesn't matter. You are the ones who need to worry, not me. The time is now 6:39 AM. You have less than twenty minutes left. I believe General Khamis’s men will occupy this place very soon. If you haven't decided yet, I can keep giving you time until you do."

"Damn it! Wait!"

Just as Li Changjiang was about to set down the communicator, the Englishman on the other end suddenly shouted.

"What? Do you have more questions?"

It worked!

Li Changjiang knew clearly the moment the other man spoke. This tactic of feigning disinterest had indeed forced Clark to cave. To be precise, it wasn't so much that he had softened, but that his circumstances forced his hand. This MI5 branch in Misrata housed nearly fifty British personnel. If all of them, including him, were captured by the Libyans—especially that man Khamis—it would undoubtedly be a disaster for the British government.

Most importantly, he was not only responsible to the Queen but also to his comrades; no one wanted to die in this godforsaken Libya.

"You’re a lunatic! I’m willing to talk to you. Stop your men from firing, and I will talk."

"No!"

"Please note, I don't need to talk to you anymore!"

The voice from the communicator nearly caused Clark to collapse.

"Fuck, what exactly do you want? You’re a madman, you’re a lunatic!"

"Order your men to fall back immediately."

Li Changjiang’s voice was cold and indifferent. As soon as he finished speaking, the gunfire ceased; everyone stopped shooting, including the British. But this silence only created an even more unbearable pressure. Li Changjiang could even hear the heavy, ragged breathing of the man on the other end of the communicator.

"Then how are we supposed to talk? You want me to trust the word of a madman and entrust everyone’s safety to him? Fuck! You bastard, that’s impossible!"

"No, no, no! Please note, it is not I who is making you do this, but you who have chosen to do it yourself. You have fifteen minutes left!"

"To hell with it!"

Li Changjiang’s words caused Clark’s resolve to crumble once more.

"I agree! But let me tell you, do you really think Khamis can take Misrata? You bastard!"

It seemed to have been a long, agonizing struggle. The Englishman had finally made up his mind, but his final words left Li Changjiang feeling uneasy.

"Any news from the Libyans?"

Turning off the communicator, Li Changjiang asked the person behind the keyboard. Seeing him shake his head, the unease in his heart grew more pronounced.

A moment later, through the scope, he saw the British troops beginning to pull back. Li Changjiang’s voice immediately rang out on the comms channel.

"Bart, come and regroup with us."

A burst of static followed, and soon Batra appeared. However, the man seemed overly excited, completely oblivious to the fact that something was wrong.

"Duke, how did you do it?"

"My God, are you a god?" Batra’s expression was exaggerated; he looked as if he were about to swallow Li Changjiang whole.

"Hey, Bart, we don't have much time. Did you receive any intelligence from the Libyans?"

Batra shook his head.

"Damn it, I knew those damned Libyans couldn't be trusted. Listen, I think we should abort the mission and get out of here immediately."

Li Changjiang had no time to worry about Batra’s current state of mind; the situation was becoming dire.

"Hey, Li, I know what you’re worried about, but we don't have a choice now."

Li Changjiang and Batra were actually worried about the same outcome. All their actions, including Li Changjiang’s threat to the British, were based on the assumption that Khamis would soon capture Misrata. But as time wore on, the probability of that assumption holding true was not increasing—it was decreasing.

Li Changjiang had a very bad premonition. The Englishman was right; it was possible that Khamis’s men might not be able to take Misrata at all. If that were the case, they would be plunged into another brutal battle.

"Bart, you should take your men and leave here immediately."

"And you?"

"I need to go somewhere else. It’s 6:48 AM now. In two hours, we’ll meet at the previous location."

On the other side, after all the agents had retreated into the command center, everyone crowded around.

"Hell! Quick, a medic! We need a medic!"

"James! James, James isn't dead!"

"Merlin!"

The agents who had been knocked unconscious by Li Changjiang’s rubber bullets were waking up. Clark’s expression was grave. What exactly were those mercenaries trying to do? They hadn't killed anyone.

"Mr. Clark, what do we do now?"

Many looked at the middle-aged white man in charge with dazed expressions.

"Fuck, what are those damned mercenaries up to? Why didn't they finish us off?"

"Keep trying to contact any military forces we can reach. This place is no longer safe. Those damned Libyans will not welcome us."

Clark understood their situation all too well. The Libyans had no idea that MI5 had established a branch in Misrata; everyone who knew that information had been killed by them—including the rebels—during the last operation. If the Libyans discovered they had built an intelligence base in Misrata, they would likely face an attack from thousands of Libyan militiamen.

It was nothing short of a nightmare.

Just think about how the Americans had died!