Her fingertips lightly tapped on the red circle on the tablet screen.
Jacob picked up the crystal glass, the amber liquid gently swaying inside.
He took a sip, his gaze still fixed on Ms. M: "The 'Ghost' of Darfur—Song Heping. And the 'knife' he's forging—the last remnants of Haftar's forces."
His English carried a barely detectable Hebrew accent, cold and precise.
"He has cost us too much unnecessary blood in Egypt, in Morocco. In Mossad's archives, his na is marked with the highest level 'elimination' order."
"The objective is mutual, Mr. Yager."
Ms. M's lips curled into a smile devoid of warmth, "The existence of Song Heping, and his rapidly forming ard group, pose an increasing threat to our interests in Libya and your strategic security across the broader Middle East. He is like a nail that must be removed."
Jacob put down the glass, leaning slightly forward, as an invisible pressure filled the air: "Intelligence indicates they are equipped with SAM-6. Though outdated, in the hands of an experienced air defense commander, it still poses a threat to our airpower. Purely aerial strikes present a disproportionate risk to reward ratio."
"So we need a 'surgery'."
Ms. M's eyes beca sharper: "A precise, multi-dinsional coordinated decapitation. We are responsible for ground guidance and initial intelligence infiltration. Our forces within GNA's ranks have already begun moving; an elite assault team familiar with the local terrain has crossed the border and will advance to the edge of the target area in Northern Darfur, establishing a laser guidance position and providing real-ti battlefield assessnt for the airstrike."
She paused, emphasizing her words: "And you, Mr. Yager, need to provide the 'scalpel' hanging above. We need absolute air superiority and the most precise and lethal strike."
Jacob remained silent for a few seconds, his fingers unconsciously tapping on the sofa armrest, as if weighing the options. The firelight danced in his deep-set eyes.
"The price?"
"The next six months," Ms. M's voice was clear and steady. "In votes concerning issues in eastern Siria and the new settlent plans on the West Bank of the Jordan River, and in certain... regulatory reviews against your nation, we will take a more 'understanding' stance toward your country. This should demonstrate the sincerity and value of our cooperation."
Jacob was well aware of the weight of this promise.
A glint of sharpness flashed deep within his gray pupils.
The losses Mossad suffered at the hands of Song Heping had always been a thorn in his side.
"Target confirmation protocol?" he asked, probing the critical operational details.
"Double confirmation."
Ms. M had already anticipated this, "Our ground guidance team will lock onto the primary command nodes—especially Song Heping's own location signal—and send the first coordinate confirmation through an encrypted channel. At the sa ti, one high-altitude long-endurance UAV will enter the battlespace five minutes before the airstrike to perform final optical/infrared feature confirmation. Only when double confirmation is flawless will we summon your Iron Wings."
Jacob slowly leaned back into the sofa, finally showing a faint smile: "A very ticulous plan, Ms. M. Deal. Our Iron Wings will descend upon Darfur's skies when you need them. The codena... how about 'Falcon'?"
"Falcon... very fitting."
Ms. M raised her own glass, the ice clinking softly, "May it be a kill with one strike."
The two glasses filled with amber liquid clinked lightly in mid-air, the crisp sound resonating in the quiet room, sealing the impending storm of destruction deep in the Sahara.
Northern Darfur, "Musician" base, underground command center.
The thick concrete isolated the noise and sandstorms of the surface, leaving only the low hum of the ventilation system and the hiss of electronic equipnt cooling fans.
A massive electronic sandtable occupied the center of the room, clearly presenting the terrain and landscape hundreds of kiloters around Northern Darfur.
The blue light representing the base flickered steadily, while in the surrounding Gobi desert area, a dozen weak, slowly moving red dots stood out sharply—they were the sentries placed by Collins and real-ti information from cheap drones custom-made in a southern city electronics market in East University: confird GNA ard infiltration groups, and several extrely elusive signals of suspected Western special forces, equipped with high-grade equipnt.
Song Heping stood in front of the sandtable, his gaze firmly locked on those red dots prowling around the base like venomous snakes.
There was no expression on his face, but the taut jawline and deep coldness in his eyes made the air pressure in the command center terrifyingly low.
Jiang Feng stood with his arms crossed against the console, also staring at the sandtable: "The dog's nose is sharp enough. Over two months, enough for them to react. Looks like Ms. M's seat is more secure than we thought."
"This woman is not simple; she has never been the kind to easily fall."
Song Heping's voice was calm, yet like turbulent undercurrents beneath the ice, "MI6 needs a victory to completely wash away the stain of 'Cut Throat,' and my head is the best sacrificial offering."
He paused, his gaze shifting to the screen's direction of Libya: "I just don't know who she found to be that knife this ti."
Just then, the phone in his pocket suddenly vibrated.
Song Heping took out the phone and glanced at the number, then turned and went to his room.
He closed the door and pressed the call button,
Simon's anxious voice couldn't be concealed over the line.
"Song! I found what you asked to check."
His voice was low, as if he were a thief.
"Listen, we don't have much ti. You've stirred up a hornet's nest, a giant one!"
"Get to the point, Simon."
Song Heping interrupted him, his tone indisputable.
Simon took a deep breath: "Ms. M is playing a big ga this ti. She's not only gathered an elite reconnaissance detachnt of the GNA forces to infiltrate your border, but she's bypassed so of our CIA surveillance channels to directly connect with Mossad's Middle East affairs director, Yager. According to our informant in London, she t with Yager in London three days ago!"
"Mossad?"
Song Heping's brows furrowed instantly.
"That's right! Mossad!"
Simon's words ca fast, "Rember their losses in Egypt and Morocco? They hate you to the bone for it! Jacob, that madman, has always listed you as the highest priority target! Ms. M exchanged 'strategic silence' on Middle Eastern affairs concerning the Daishe Bird over the next half year, to persuade Mossad to get their military to provide air support. The Ibis Air Force's F-15s will take off with precision-guided bombs to assist their operation; the target is you and your base!"
Mossad Ibis Air Force!
This combination posed a pressure far beyond the re GNA forces or even British special forces.
Against a second-rate air force, SAM-6 might put up a fight, but in front of the battle-hardened, state-of-the-art electronic warfare pods and precision strike weapons of the Ibis Air Force's F-15s, the survival odds were minimal!
Song Heping's eyes narrowed sharply, like a needle.
He remained silent for a few seconds, the brief quiet bringing an overwhelming pressure to Simon on the other end of the screen.
"Exact ti? Exact location? Aircraft model? Payload configuration?"
Song Heping's voice was icy without a trace of fluctuation, the questions as precise and deadly as a scalpel.
"Fuck! Song!"
Simon nearly jumped up, his face filled with shocked anger, "Do you think I'm God?! The details of Mossad's operations are their highest secret! Infiltrating and stealing their air force's operation plan? The risk is too great! I..."
"Simon!"
Song Heping abruptly cut him off, with an overwhelming pressure in his voice: "Listen! This is not a request! Think about it—does it benefit you more to collaborate with , or to watch die? Especially for you."
His words finished, Song Heping let out two cold chuckles.
At the other end of the line, Simon felt a chill run up his spine.
A mont later, Song Heping repeated word for word: "I need the ti! I need the place! I want to know when they take off! From which base! What loadout! Understand? Consider carefully what I've said, I'll be waiting for your callback, Deputy Director."
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