Mercenary Black Mamba

"Considering their scale, they'd probably place a huge bet and try to gain as much as possible. To lure him over, they'd probably waste a considerable amount of money. The Yankees didn't abandon the MK Ultra project despite all the finger-wagging. Black Mamba is a superhuman with brains, the greatest donor[1], as well as the greatest consultant. It can be said that he's the evolved form of Arago Project, which you had abandoned, sir. If the Yankees get their hands on Black Mamba, the Ultra Hominid project that they're advancing in Nevada will take a turn for the worse. Fortunately, his identity hasn't been exposed yet."

Bonipas instilled a slight fear. The CIA hadn't abandoned the MK Ultra project. The press and council caused all kinds of commotions with just the surface of the project. The core biological experiments were relocated to Area 51 in Nevada. He hinted at the president to watch over Black Mamba since they didn't know the kind of monsters that would appear from Area 51.

"It's embarrassing, but we're only ahead of others when it comes down to history and culture. Shouldn't we review Black Mamba's treatment before the CIA wags their tail at him? Isn't the rank of a major too belittling for someone with the title of special military advisor? Why don't we use this opportunity to appoint him as a colonel?"

He wanted to give the guy a star, but that was impossible unless he was a French citizen. He could appoint him as a consul by the authority of the president.

"His current station should be enough, sir. A major is the highest rank among the lower ranks, and it is positioned above a junior officer. It is a position without responsibilities but with power. It's just enough for him to move while his identity remains hidden. Last time, he denied the lieutenant colonel offer too."

"What a strange guy. How can a young person have no desires?"

"He's a prideful and loyal person. He's not the kind of person who would be swayed by the Yankees' money bait. I've confirmed his average wage to be 500,000,000 francs with my signature."

Mitterrand shook his head.

"That's why I'm worried. Korea's politics, economy, culture, and everything else are tied down to the U.S. Korea's a country that will catch a cold when America sneezes."

"Sir, are you afraid of those Yankees threatening Black Mamba with the excuse of Monsieur Jeon's presidency?"

"Yes. Those b*stards who don't know what's s*** or food will probably pressure Black Mamba."

"That's a predictable scenario, but you don't have to worry, sir. Black Mamba applied to Legion Etranger because he was displeased with Korea's reality. He said he loves his country but hates it at the same time. He considers France his second homeland. He personally said that he'd stand in front of France. I'll manage him well, sir."

Bonipas was overflowing with confidence. Black Mamba loved his homeland but detested the corrupted leaders. Black Mamba didn't fear or side with power. He was not an idiot whom Jeon Du Hwan's government could use without a just cause.

"Oh, he'll stand before France? Such confident and righteous words, as deserving of the national treasure. It's something I want to communicate to those weak French youths. I should put it in the council speech. Director, don't you think 500,000,000 francs is too little?"

Mitterrand didn't feel at ease. Black Mamba wasn't just a murdering machine. Like a strategic weapon, he could instantly change the flow of operations. He was worried that Black Mamba would be swayed.

"He didn't say a word about his wage. Although that, on its own, is scary. He has requested for us to help the Syrian refugees whose escape he had assisted. He has also requested for the return of several Korean cultural antiques."

When Mitterrand's thoughts drifted, Bonipas took the opportunity to mention the return of the cultural assets.

"The refugees won't be a problem, but there'll be much chaos over the return of the cultural assets."

Mitterrand grew conflicted. He had to amend the Protection of Cultural Property law to return them. It wasn't an easy problem to resolve.

"Jack Lang will probably make a scene, but we can return it at the right time. I don't think we should ruin the national treasure's mood over a few antiques from Korea," Pione added, supporting Bonipas.

"What do you all think?"

Mitterrand looked around at the participants.

"We can't compare lifeless antiques to a living national treasure. France is a benevolent country."

Director of Defense Germaine replied as though stating the obvious. Like Jack-in-the-boxes, the participants nodded their heads in agreement. Even Majif, who was frowning, didn't want to ruin the mood by saying anything.

"Right. France isn't petty enough to lose Black Mamba. Minister Pione, try appealing for that in the next session. We can ask the prime minister to convince the council."

A smile was plastered on Mitterrand's face. France managed to retain a genius whom Korea had discarded. His mood improved immediately.

Black Mamba, I did it.

Bonipas sighed in relief at the positive responses from the president and officials. Until now, there hadn't been a single case where France returned foreign cultural assets. It was impossible unless the government decided on it.

"Director Bonipas, I want to award him the Grand Croix of the Légion d'honneur, what do you think? Shouldn't we raise his honor at least?"

"Sir, Black Mamba is an incomprehensible human. After completing the mission in Chad and awarding him the second-rank grand officier alongside a certificate and medal, he had referred to them as 'stiff paper that can't even wipe his behind and a piece of metal.' To him, a true partnership is more valuable than an award. There's also the risk of exposing his identity as a call name if you name him a first-rank. We can lend him support in the construction of his autonomous region in the Sahel."

"Hahaha, the grand officier is a piece of metal? What an incredible guy. I'll push whatever that needs to be permitted, so director, take good care of him. First, let's give Black Mamba a private jet. National treasures should be treated like national treasures. I'm proud of you for discovering the said national treasure, director."

"Thank you."

Bonipas was smiling from ear to ear. Thanks to Black Mamba, he'd been promised the position of head director. He'd gotten hold of a lump of gold due to a well-placed decision. It was all because he'd admitted to Black Mamba's potential. If he'd acted pridefully, he would have been burnt to his bones just like Miguel. For the first time, he realized that there was a different perspective to blessing and anger.

"Why does our friend need land in the Sahel?"

"It seems like he's thinking of building an autonomous region. He always took pity on those who were tormented and starving, after all. It seems like the devastation that had swept through the Sahel caused him pain."

"Ollah! What an incredible friend. The Orthodox Christians and the Kurd tribe whom he had helped escape from Syria must have suffered the same thing. Perhaps a true philanthropist has appeared in this chaotic world. He is a person with a mysterious ability and mind. Let's help him to the best of our abilities."

God, that devil-like human, a philanthropist?

Taken aback, Bonipas started hiccuping at the president's words. To Bonipas, Black Mamba was a hot potato, no, a burning diamond.

"Prechant, this is really good."

The plate placed on top of the suite living room table was emptied clean. Black Mamba looked up at the chef with a pleased expression as he chewed on a steamed rib.

"Amazing. You devoured 25 portions. I am proud to be a chef."

Prechant's face brightened up. A chef could only feel happiness when a customer was satisfied. Prechant had attempted his best for the customer with a huge appetite. Not only did he have the pride of a cook, but the customer was also a guest whom the president had personally entrusted.

He shouldn't mind a customer's status. Whatever their status, they were but precious customers to the cook.

He had reached out for advice from the Korean embassy's chef in France and only used ingredients he carefully selected. He even went out of his way to import all kinds of Korean sauces with strange names like gochujang, soybean paste, and soy sauce.

"Wow, the president's chef is really distinguished."

Black Mamba's expression relaxed as he bit into the galbi. He didn't need to visit any restaurant, thanks to Prechant. Not only could he eat French food, but galbi, bulgogi, japchae, bean paste soup, and kimchi soup was also delivered to his room.

Prechant worked his magic at creating dishes of different shapes and tastes with the ingredients. The combination of the best ingredients and a great cook excited Black Mamba. Prechant's existence comforted him better than the 500,000,000 francs.

They wasted over a week concluding the Ruman plan. The wrap-up grew complicated because the eraser plan had escalated. Of course, it was a happy wrap-up. He managed to eat well, thanks to the chef whom the president had sent over.

"Why a personal jet? A business-class seat on an airplane would've been enough."

Black Mamba just laughed it off when he received a call from Bonipas. Transporting a personal jet over to Korea would flip the world over. The police would drag him to the nearest mountain immediately. He'd prefer to give up the plane than gain the attention of those government officials.

He had nothing much to bring. All he packed was gold, a bunch of dollars, weapons, underwear, and a suit. That was the life of a mercenary.

"That should do it. Now, should I head out to the land of golden sand and flies?"

He shoved 10 francs under the pillow and left the room. Bristol Hotel's suite room had a private elevator. Not even once during his stay did he leave his room. Black Mamba opened the room door for the first time. At the opportune moment, a slim woman emerged from next door. It was the agent who knew Korean. He'd completely forgotten about her existence after forbidding her from approaching.

After locking the door, the woman turned around and saw Black Mamba. Her wide eyes darted between the suite room and Black Mamba.

"Oh, nice to meet you. I was slightly disappointed."

The woman smiled brightly. She was a stunner. A special sniper memorized other people's faces like they were taking photos. He finally registered her features in his mind — her double eyelids, the small dots between her eyelid and lashes, slim nose, sensual and thick lips, soft golden waves, firm butt, and bountiful chest that many men would ogle at.

She was Jeanne, an employee of the so-called "High-Level Personnel Protection Department" of the National Police Department under the Ministry of Interior. Black Mamba's eyes widened. He was as surprised as when he had met blacky in the underground world.

"Huh, you're the wrench without water, the rag that can't even compare to a kitchen towel?"

She was the nurse who had left with Emil on a cruise trip and the b**** who had attempted to steal Emil's money but ended up getting caught red-handed by him on the jet. He'd shoved her in jail, but she was already selling her lower half here. Well, a female seducing a male wasn't a crime. She would have been released after a few days anyway. Black Mamba's eyes grew alert. She was a woman who acted foolishly despite having all four limbs attached—a breed worse than cockroaches.

"Kyaaa!"

A piercing scream rang. The woman, who was exposed to his killing intent, collapsed. The miniskirt that barely hid her rear shifted, revealing her black bush. Some might even mistake Black Mamba as a rapist.

Crazy b****. She's still not wearing any underwear.

Embarrassed on her behalf, Black Mamba turned his head.

That fierce disabled b*stard!

Only a single memory filled her mind. He was the first human she had failed to kill. She was shoved into the police holding cell after attempting to open his pant zipper. The disabled b*stard, the only unjust ice-cold man in this world who didn't know how to treat a woman properly—he was that b*stard. Her mind blanked out the moment the monster's eyes and her memory of the bioluminescent eyes matched.

They want me to burn this b*stard's flesh and bones?

Losing control of her senses, she peed a little. Her lower half grew wet. She remembered his warning. If she was caught in the act again, her neck wouldn't be spared. Rather than burning flesh and bones, her head was about to be sliced off. Even if she pleaded, she was going to end up in jail.

Sirens rang in her head. Her will to live overpowered her fear. Like it was a matter of life or death, Jeanne immediately stood up and ran to the emergency stairs. Her pair of high heels slipped off, and the scarf she'd been wearing on her head fluttered away, but she didn't waver.

"What the hell?"

Black Mamba stared blankly at the killer heels that rolled around the carpet, unamused by the situation. Only the cold wind blew along the hotel corridor. His masculine pride to catch a woman on the run was nonexistent.

"Ariba, you b*stard. How dare he try to wipe away the national treasure with a rug? You're dead."

Black Mamba shook his hand that was equipped with the billion's water armor. Manager Ariba was only guilty of trying his best to appease the national treasure. Manager Ariba turned into a pitiful man for his lack of wit. Ariba wouldn't have made such a mistake if he had known about the prohibition of prostitution in Korea, a country advanced in the treatment of sex.

Black Mamba deposited the gold, the bunch of dollars, and Boss-saurus' tendons at Paribas bank before heading off to the de Gaulle Airport. After verifying his card, which was embellished with a gold lily, the worker processed his deposit without a single protest at a one-stop speed. As for the weapons, he left them in the DGSE's weapons storage room. All that was in his backpack were a few pieces of clothing. He felt invigorated, as though the blood stench was washed off.

"Act!"

A soldier, who'd been waiting at the entrance, guided him to the parking lot.

"Ha, the waste is substantial."

Black Mamba clicked his tongue. He had to board the shiny eight-seater jet alone. Black Mamba was stingy to the point that he even regarded the money he spent on a taxi as wasteful. A pilot, co-pilot, and stewardess—three people had to be activated for a single passenger. There was no greater waste than this.

"It isn't a waste but an investment. Your bike is stationed in the rear storage compartment."

Bonipas smiled brightly. Bonipas came to send Black Mamba off since manager Ariba was sent to the hospital after Black Mamba flicked his forehead with his fingers. Bonipas was attentive. Considering the helpless traffic situation in Africa, he'd shoved the BMW bike into the plane for mobility.

"Oh, the snakehead is here? Thanks. Contact me once you get in touch with a professional on coffee and cassava farming."

"Don't worry. I can guess what you're planning, but it will be hard. I hope you reap good rewards."

"I'm worried since I started this whole thing. Something should happen."

[1] A person who provides blood, organs, or other body parts for transplantation, transfusion, etc.