154: Chapter 154 A Killing Trap Right from the Start? The War God Industries Delivery Has Arrived

The rain in Washington always carried the musty smell of sewer backflow, and even the safe house near The Pentagon was no exception.

Chen Mo sat in the living room with only a single desk lamp, the military laptop screen before him glowing with a cold, harsh blue light.

That encrypted account salvaged from Hamilton's corpse was like a rusty but effective key, slowly prying open the deepest cesspool of The Pentagon.

The sound of Jack Martin tapping on the keyboard echoed in the empty room, monotonous and jarring.

"Boss, it's unlocked."

Jack stopped, turned the screen toward Chen Mo, "Ares Industries' Operation Sandstorm Two isn't just about clearing out inventory."

Chen Mo stubbed out his cigarette, his gaze falling on the dense rows of tables.

Guardian armored vehicles, man-portable missiles, exoskeleton armor... these were all within expectations.

But in the last line of the supply list, a string of red-coded text was clearly written: [Biological Sample Recovery, Live Transport (Priority: Highest)].

There were no notes in the remarks column, only a coordinate pointing to an abandoned mining area on the border of a certain country.

"Selling arms is just a cover."

Chen Mo's fingers slid across the touchpad, flipping through the photos of attachments labeled as "Consumables."

The photos were blurry, but it was still possible to identify human bodies packed into special life-support pods.

There were prisoners of war, civilians, and even children.

"They're conducting human experiments, or organ trafficking."

Jack's voice sounded a bit dry; he tugged at his tie, "These animals treat war like a buffet."

"No, a slaughterhouse."

Chen Mo closed the laptop, stood up, and picked up the trench coat draped over the back of the sofa.

"In this place, a human life is priced lower than a 30mm cannon shell."

The system panel flickered before his eyes; the red task icon for [War Hyena] looked particularly glaring at this moment.

Ares Industries didn't just want money; they wanted to turn the entire country into their biological laboratory.

"Prepare the plane."

Chen Mo fastened his trench coat, "Since Robert has set the stage, if I don't go to show some support, this play won't be able to continue."

"Now?"

Jack hesitated for a moment, "The aftermath of the hearing hasn't passed yet, and the FBI is still watching us..."

"Right now."

Chen Mo walked to the door and looked back, "Tell Ava to keep an eye on things at home. I'm going to deliver a big gift to our competitor."

At the private tarmac of Dulles International Airport, strong winds and rain lashed against the black asphalt.

A lincoln sedan with Senate license plates blocked the path of Legacy Defense's Gulfstream G650, its headlights glaring, windshield wipers swinging wildly.

Senator Frank Underwood stood by the car with a black umbrella, his expression so gloomy it could drip water.

Seeing Chen Mo's car pull up, he immediately strode forward, his leather shoes splashing mud into the puddles.

"Are you insane?"

Underwood didn't even care about his usual decorum, grabbing the arm of Chen Mo, who had just stepped out of the car.

"The Pentagon's investigation team is moving into Ares Industries tomorrow, and you're a key witness!"

"Leaving Washington at a time like this, do you want to hand the victory over on a silver platter?"

Chen Mo looked down at the hand gripping his sleeve.

That hand was well-maintained, but it was trembling slightly at this moment.

"Frank, you've wrinkled my suit."

Chen Mo's voice was very soft, yet it made Underwood recoil as if electrocuted.

"This is against protocol!"

Underwood growled in a low voice, "If you leave, who will control the situation? What if Robert strikes back..."

"That's your problem, Senator."

Chen Mo pulled a tablet out of his pocket and casually shoved it into Underwood's arms, "I'm treating you to a movie to cool off."

Underwood skeptically swiped the screen.

The video had no sound, and the footage was shaky, clearly filmed from the back seat of a car.

The angle was clear, capturing Underwood's notoriously dignified wife riding on top of their young driver, her movements wild and chaotic.

Rain hit the tablet screen, blurring the image, but Underwood's face had already turned deathly gray.

"The driver's name is Officer Mike; he's quite a good photographer."

Chen Mo patted Underwood's stiff shoulder.

"I think if this video appeared on Fox News' morning slot, the ratings would definitely surpass the President's State of the Union address."

Underwood clutched the tablet tightly, his knuckles turning white, a dry, rattling sound squeezing from his throat.

"Keep the home front secure, Frank."

Chen Mo bypassed him and headed toward the boarding stairs.

"If I hear any negative news about Legacy Defense while I'm in that country, I'll send this episode to your constituents as a Christmas present."

"...Have a safe trip."

Underwood squeezed the words through his teeth, his body hunching over in the heavy rain, no longer retaining his usual dignity.

K Country, southern border.

The moment the cabin door opened, a blast of hot air mixed with the stench of fuel, rotting corpses, and arid sand rushed in.

The air here was full of sand particles; breathing them into the lungs felt like swallowing a mouthful of coarse grit.

In this land forgotten by God, even the sun seemed particularly vicious, baking the ground until it cracked.

Occasional cold shots rang out from the distant city ruins; in this chaotic country, gunfire was as common as a heartbeat.

"Boss, welcome to hell."

Nightingale carried a frighteningly long Barrett M82A1 on her back, her tactical boots treading on the scorching runway.

She took off her sunglasses; there was no emotional fluctuation in those blue eyes, only the vigilance of a predator.

The twelve Legacy Defense veterans behind her dispersed quickly, skillfully establishing a circular defensive perimeter.

The safeties on their HK416 assault rifles were already off, barrels pointed low, ready to spit fire at any moment.

Chen Mo walked down the gangway, his expensive custom suit looking completely out of place here.

He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, the acrid tobacco flavor barely masking the stench of corpses in the air.

"Nice place."

Chen Mo exhaled a smoke ring, "A businessman's paradise."

Before he could finish the cigarette, three Toyota pickup trucks mounted with heavy machine guns roared over, kicking up yellow sand, the screech of brakes echoing across the empty runway.

Before the vehicles had even stopped, a dozen militants wearing mismatched camouflage and headscarves jumped out, waving their AK47s around and shouting in an unintelligible dialect.

The leader was a burly man with a thick beard, wearing a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses, a gold-plated Desert Eagle tucked into his waistband.

He swaggered up to Chen Mo, poked Chen Mo's chest with the gun barrel, and revealed a mouth of rotten teeth.

"I am General Karim."

The bearded man roared in broken English, spittle flying everywhere.

"This airport belongs to me. If you want to pass through here, five thousand dollars per person, and leave half the cargo."

Chen Mo looked down at the gun barrel against his chest, then at the bearded man's arrogant face.

"Didn't the people from Ares Industries tell you who I am?"

Chen Mo flicked his cigarette ash, his tone as calm as if he were asking for directions.

The bearded man froze for a second, clearly not expecting this Easterner who looked like a rich young master to mention Ares.

He subconsciously took half a step back, his hand reaching for the walkie-talkie at his waist.

"Mr. Robert did say that guests would be coming."

The bearded man sneered.

"He said, if it's a friend, offer a drink. If it's that guy named Chen Mo... send him to meet Allah."

"It seems Robert gave you quite a few benefits."

Chen Mo nodded.

"Two boxes of gold, plus this."

The bearded man patted the gold gun at his waist.

"Kid, this isn't Washington; nobody cares who you are. Put your hands up, kneel!"

The surrounding militants pulled their triggers, making a clattering sound.

Chen Mo sighed, threw the remaining half of his cigarette on the ground, and crushed it with the sole of his shoe.

"Nightingale."

"Present."

"Clear the field."

The moment the words fell, the bearded man's head exploded like a rotten watermelon.

The dull sound of the Barrett gunshot arrived even half a second later than the bullet itself.

The bearded man's headless corpse swayed twice before falling straight backward, the gold-plated Desert Eagle falling into a pool of blood.

This shot was like a starting pistol.

The twelve veterans around him pulled their triggers almost simultaneously.

The precise burst of fire from the HK416s merged into one; compared to the chaotic spraying of the militants' AK47s, this was simply a surgical massacre.

Just five seconds.

The three pickups were riddled with holes, fuel tanks ignited, turning into torches blazing with fire.

The dozen militants didn't even have time to scream before they all turned into corpses.

Smoke filled the air, and the smell of blood instantly overwhelmed the smell of fuel.

Chen Mo stepped over a still-twitching corpse and walked to the bearded man—or rather, the bearded man's remains.

"In my hometown, you have to provide an invoice for collecting tolls."

Chen Mo squatted down, ignoring the red and white matter all over the ground, and pressed his hand onto the bearded man's still-warm neck.

[High-value target (Regional warlord) detected.]

[Extracting memory fragments...]

A stream of icy electric current drilled into his mind through his fingertips.

The scene before him instantly shattered and reorganized.

Chen Mo saw the bearded man's memory from last night.

A white man wearing desert camouflage with an Ares Industries armband gave the bearded man two boxes of gold bars.

The white man pointed at a spot on the map, saying something about "Special Cargo," "Royal Bloodline," and "War Catalyst."

The scene shifted to a massive warehouse hidden deep within the mines.

Heavily guarded, searchlights scanning back and forth.

Deep inside the warehouse, a woman in robes was locked in a glass cage, her eyes vacant.

The memory cut off.

Chen Mo withdrew his hand and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, carefully wiping the bloodstains from his fingers.

"Found the rat's hole?"

Nightingale walked over, carrying her sniper rifle, her boot soles making sticky sounds in the blood.

"Found it."

Chen Mo stood up and threw the blood-stained handkerchief into the burning pickup truck, "Ares Industries has hidden a treasure here."

"Are we going to steal the weapons?"

"No."

Chen Mo looked toward the rolling shadows of the mountains in the distance, a cold smile on his face, "We're going to steal a princess."

"Princess?"

Nightingale frowned, "There are still creatures like that these days?"

"Sophia Al-Thani. The youngest daughter of the former King of K Country, and also that unlucky person who holds the inheritance rights to the largest oil field in the country."

Chen Mo recalled the information extracted from his mind.

"Ares Industries killed the old King and hid this crown."

"As long as she dies at the hands of anti-government forces, or dies in a US airstrike, this war can be fought for another ten years."

"And in these ten years, Ares Industries' stock will increase tenfold."

Chen Mo turned and got into the off-road vehicle, inserting a tactical dagger into his boot sheath.

"Notify everyone, change gear. We're going to perform a safety inspection on Ares Industries."

Chen Mo started the engine, his eyes cold and sharp, "By the way, tell Robert that his delivery has arrived."