454: Chapter 454 The CIA Director's Resignation Letter

The rebel soldiers on the plaza stopped all movement.

The men who had just been rushing toward the palace gates with guns raised were now all standing frozen in place.

It wasn't that they didn't want to move.

It was that their legs were no longer obeying them.

Chen Rong did not give them any time to recover their senses.

Twenty-five mechas moved simultaneously.

Their movements were perfectly synchronized.

Ten mechas advanced toward the main gate of the palace, forming a semi-circular encirclement.

Ten spread out toward the east gate, cutting off any retreat.

The remaining five blocked the exits of the plaza, trapping the rebels dead in the center.

When Mohammed saw those mechas walking toward him, he did what all twelve hundred rebel soldiers present wanted to do.

He turned and ran.

He hadn't even taken three steps.

A mecha's metal palm reached in from the side, lifting him off the ground like a little chick.

Mohammed struggled a few times, only to find his legs kicking in the air, completely unable to reach the ground.

He looked down at the metal hand gripping him; the fingers were thicker than his thighs.

He then resigned himself to his fate and stopped struggling.

Things were a bit quieter on Lin Wan's side.

Her twenty-five mechas deployed from the north side of the palace, targeting the two tanks and four armored vehicles parked on the plaza.

These were the rebels' greatest reliance.

Lin Wan did not use any weapons.

Instead, she directly used spiritual energy.

Twenty-five mechas raised their right arms simultaneously.

A pale blue light emanated from the palms of their metal hands.

Then, the temperature began to plummet.

Riyadh's nighttime temperature was thirty-two degrees.

Within five seconds, the temperature on the plaza dropped to minus forty degrees.

A layer of white frost first formed on the surface of the first tank.

Then, the frost turned to ice.

The ice began to spread from the vehicle's surface, layer upon layer, as if an invisible hand were pouring water over the tank and freezing it instantly.

Ten seconds later, both tanks and all four armored vehicles were completely encased in a half-meter-thick shell of ice.

The gun barrels were frozen.

The tracks were frozen.

The vehicle doors were frozen.

Even the machine gunner perched on top of the turret was frozen in place.

4:00 AM.

Ninety minutes after the coup began.

The main gate plaza had been cleared.

The east gate had been cleared.

The north gate had been cleared.

The television station building was retaken at the ninetieth minute; the one hundred and fifty rebel soldiers who had taken it over collectively laid down their weapons the moment six mechas walked into the building.

No one fired a shot.

When you are facing a metal giant over ten meters tall, the thought of shooting doesn't even cross your mind.

Khalid was captured in the study of his estate.

He hadn't gone to the front lines.

He was watching television in his study.

At first, his own statement was playing on loop on the TV.

Then, the screen cut.

It cut to a cell phone video taken by a citizen on the streets of Riyadh.

The footage was shaking violently, but it was clear enough.

A massive gray object was floating in the sky, its light illuminating half the city below.

The bullet comments and comment sections had already gone wild.

Khalid watched for three minutes, then turned off the TV.

He pulled open a drawer and glanced at the handgun inside.

Then, he closed the drawer.

Someone who had never suffered naturally lacked the courage to end his own life.

He stood up, walked to the doorway, and opened the door.

Standing outside the door were two mechas.

The blue sensor light bands on their metal heads were pointed right at him.

Khalid looked at the two metal giants over ten meters tall; wearing his bathrobe, he looked rather comical.

He raised his hands.

"I surrender."

The mechas did not reply.

One reached out and very gently clasped his wrists.

At the same time, sixty thousand meters above Riyadh, inside the cockpit of the Xuanniao.

Chen Rong opened his eyes,

stretched his neck, and looked at Lin Wan beside him.

"It's done. Let's get ready to go home."

...

Washington.

The air in the White House underground Situation Room seemed to have frozen solid.

All six large screens on the wall were lit up, displaying the same content.

The live broadcast signal of Al Jazeera.

In the footage, dawn had already broken over Riyadh.

On the plaza in front of the palace's main gate, fifty dark gray mechas were lined up neatly, resembling a military parade.

On the other side of the plaza, over a thousand rebel soldiers squatted on the ground with their hands behind their heads.

Beside them were the tanks and armored vehicles frozen into ice sculptures, reflecting the sunlight and looking like a set of performance art installations.

Riyadh citizens had already run over to watch.

Some were taking photos, some were cheering, and a child was riding on his father's shoulders, holding a small Great Xia flag.

No one knew where the flag came from.

Perhaps it was handmade.

Seven people were sitting in the Situation Room.

President Jack sat at the head of the long table.

To his left was the Secretary of State, and to his right was the Secretary of Defense.

Beyond them were the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the NSA Director, and the White House Chief of Staff.

CIA Director William sat in the farthest seat.

Everyone was watching the screens.

No one spoke.

Eleven minutes had passed since Al Jazeera's broadcast first appeared on the screens.

During those eleven minutes, not a single person had spoken.

Jack rested his elbows on the table, his hands clasped beneath his chin.

His eyes were fixed on the mechas on the screen.

Metal bodies ten meters tall, dark gray paint, and sensor arrays on their heads glowing with blue light.

Fifty of them.

Fifty identical units.

The last time he had seen such things was when a mecha sliced through the Pacific Fleet with a blade.

That day, they had thought it was an alien civilization.

Jack averted his gaze from the screen and looked down at the table.

A document lay on the table.

The cover of the document was printed with the words "Desert Storm," with a red confidential stamp in the top right corner.

That was the plan William had handed him yesterday.

A seventy percent chance of success.

What an absolute joke.

The silence stretched on for about another two minutes.

Finally, the Secretary of State spoke first.

"We can propose a condemnation through the United Nations."

His voice was somewhat unsteady; he cleared his throat and continued.

"Great Xia has deployed military forces on the territory of another sovereign state. Regardless of whether the Saudi Arabian government agreed, this constitutes a violation of the fundamental principles of international law..."

Reaching this point, he gave a bitter, self-deprecating smile.

"Never mind."

He leaned back in his chair.

Everyone knew the coup was planned with CIA assistance.

The whole world knew.

On Al Jazeera's screen, tickers had already begun scrolling, reading: "Saudi Royal Family Statement: The rebellion was planned by foreign forces; an investigation is underway."

The words "foreign forces" didn't even need translation; everyone on Earth knew who they were referring to.

Going to the United Nations at this moment to condemn Great Xia for interfering in internal affairs would simply be shooting themselves in the foot.

At this moment, William, who had been sitting silently on the side, stood up.

Everyone looked at him.

William walked to the head of the long table and stood before Jack.

He placed a piece of paper on the table, right next to the "Desert Storm" folder.

"Mr. President."

Jack looked up at him.

"This is my resignation letter."

"I can no longer provide you with any effective solutions."