7 hours later.
Tehran Army General Hospital, top floor of the surgical building, outside VIP-3 ward.
The corridor lights were stark white, with two guards in dark combat uniforms stationed on either side of the heavy bulletproof ward door.
The two were fully ard, looking as if they were facing a formidable enemy.
At both ends of the corridor were fixed sentry posts, and anyone approaching this area without authorization would be imdiately stopped and questioned, or even directly detained.
Even the main entrance and the downstairs entry of the hospital were guarded by various ard sentries, creating an atmosphere akin to that of a national leader's security level.
Inside the ward, the lighting was deliberately dimd.
Song Heping lay on the hospital bed, with bandages wrapped around his arms and legs, his complexion slightly pale but with a composed expression.
Various monitoring devices were placed nearby, wires connected to his body, emitting a regular and monotonous ticking sound.
Kafvan sat in a chair beside the bed, his back straight, with a handgun tucked into his waistband.
His expression didn't look good either; after so many comrades had just died, no one would be in a good mood.
He occasionally glanced at the door and then at Song Heping, who was resting with his eyes closed.
"Any news from the General?"
Kafvan asked in a low voice.
"Why? Are you anxious?"
Song Heping didn't open his eyes.
Kafvan hurried to explain, "I am anxious, anxious to see who the traitor is."
Song Heping shook his head slightly, "The net has been cast. The bait is right here."
He pointed at himself and then slightly turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the IV bag hanging on the nightstand, the transparent liquid flowing drop by drop into his vein through a fine plastic tube.
"'Poison Needle'... and his master are equally impatient; they won't wait too long."
A cold smirk ford at the corner of his mouth, "The CIA bounty on is enough to make many forget fear and take risks."
Kafvan followed his gaze to the IV bag and instinctively clenched his fists, "You an... they would bribe the dical staff to tamper with the dicine?"
"It's the safest, most covert thod."
Song Heping said calmly, "It's also the Aricans' favorite way. Assassination in silence. So..."
He looked at Kafvan.
"From now on, anyone entering this room, anyone touching my dication, must be under your strict supervision. Including... doctors and nurses."
Kafvan nodded heavily, "Rest assured, Mr. Song, the General instructed that everything follow your plan. I will keep a close watch on everyone who approaches here!"
He stood up, walked to the inside of the ward door, and through the observation window, once again scrutinized the silent and murderous corridor outside.
The invisible hunt, which had started in the desolate Eagle's Beak Gorge, had now shifted to this white fortress filled with the sll of disinfectant.
Whether the fish would take the bait, whether the poison needle would strike, the answer lay in this suffocating wait.
Ti ticked away, and on another floor of the hospital building, Ali Mahadi's office had its windows tightly shut, with the blinds drawn tight, completely blocking out the gray afternoon light of Tehran outside.
Only the solitary desk lamp on the table cast a circle of dim light over the dical records and prescription slips.
Suddenly, the dead silence was shattered by the rough buzz of the phone on the table.
The screen lit up, no number displayed, only a glaring blank.
Dr. Mahadi's hand trembled, the tip of the pen sliding an ugly ink mark across the prescription slip.
He stared at the blank screen, gritting his teeth, his throat feeling like it was blocked with a rag, a slight suffocating sensation.
His extended finger hovered in mid-air, wanting to press down but retracting several tis.
Each phone buzz felt like a small hamr, striking heavily against his rib cage.
Finally, just as the fifth vibration was about to end, he pressed the answer button and pressed the cold phone tightly against his ear.
"Dr. Mahadi."
The voice coming from the receiver was distorted through a voice changer.
"Ti is slipping away. Every second ans the risk exponentially increases. The target is in the ward just above you. Your hesitation is a foolish luxury, act soon, then make your escape. There's an SUV with the serial number 045 across the street from the hospital, prepared for your escape, complete with a fake passport. You can easily drive across the land border..."
The voice paused, that brief silence more pressing than any prompt.
"Complete it. Now. Otherwise... the promised 'new life', along with your daughter's treatnt opportunity in Boston, will disappear as if they never existed. You know the consequences."
The call ended.
Only a string of monotonous busy signals echoed hollowly in the dead silent office.
Mahadi abruptly tossed the phone onto the table as if it were a scorching hot iron.
He forcefully ran his hands through his ticulously grood gray hair, his knuckles whitening from the pressure.
His daughter's pale face floated before him, those always trusting and dependent big eyes now seeming like silent accusations.
Boston Children's Hospital top-notch neurosurgeon...
That was his daughter's only hope, the only light at the end of the dark tunnel.
As a doctor, he was all too aware of Persia's current dical level.
Only by sending his daughter abroad, to the United States, was there a chance for salvation.
And this chance was now in the hands of the person on the other end of the phone, ready to extinguish at any mont.
He suddenly yanked open the lowest drawer on the right-hand side, his action so rough it seed like he was tearing sothing apart.
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