The night in the northern suburbs of Tehran carried a stillness akin to death.
Zahedi's residence was nestled within this so-called "slightly upscale" neighborhood—a stand-alone villa with an independent courtyard, featuring Arabic architecture.
Moonlight grudgingly spilled over the sand-colored walls and ticulously trimd low shrubs, outlining a silent and harsh silhouette.
The convoy slid ghost-like to a nearby street, silently pulling over to the side.
Once the engines shut off, the profound silence wrapped around them instantly, accompanying the scent of tal and dust.
A figure in civilian clothes but with a military cadence approached quickly from the shadows, standing at attention in front of Avanti, his voice pressed extrely low: "General, the target area is under the highest level of security. The front and back doors, and all side passages are controlled, infrared surveillance shows the target is still in the main activity area indoors. Communication barriers are in place, with both landline and mobile signals monitored and blocked. Since the encirclent, no one has entered or exited. Everything is silent, waiting for your command."
His gaze was sharp, sweeping past Kafvan and Song Heping behind Avanti, finally resting on the General's face.
"Hmm, well done."
Avanti's voice was low and steady, giving no hint of emotion.
He pushed open the car door and stepped onto the cold pavent.
Kafvan and two bodyguards followed closely behind.
Song Heping was the last to get out, his movents deliberately relaxed, habitually scanning the surroundings—the dark windows of houses were like countless hollow eyes.
He understood the Revolutionary Guard's counter-intelligence departnt's clean and swift thods: silent evacuation, complete clearing.
For soone of Zahedi's level as an Intelligence Chief, this silence before a raid often presaged a scenario where bullets might start flying any second.
The group moved in silence, the sound of boots scuffing the ground particularly piercing in the dead stillness.
Soon, they reached the street corner.
Zahedi's yard and that streamlined villa lay before them, with curtains tightly shut, but a dim, yellow light seeped from a room on the second floor, like a lone eye of a lurking beast.
The Lieutenant Colonel in charge of commanding the capture on-site quickly stepped forward, stopping beside Avanti, speaking in a low voice: "General, the assault team and the sniper team are in position. There are no signs of abnormal movent in the target. Please give the order."
Avanti did not respond.
He rely stood in the shadow of the corner, his gaze fixed on the house.
Ti slipped by in silence.
The Lieutenant Colonel maintained his posture at attention, sweat silently soaking the fringe of his hairline, yet he dared not urge.
Kafvan's hand reached for and let go of the holster at his waist several tis unconsciously.
Everyone knew what the person inside ant to the General—more than just a biological nephew, he was the "son" nurtured with painstaking effort.
Song Heping leaned against the wall, his gaze drifting over Avanti's rigid back, landing on the closed door.
He understood the weight of this silence, and also understood Avanti's inner turmoil at this mont.
Creating with one's own hands, then destroying with those sa hands, such is the taste...
Only after a full minute did Avanti's voice pierce the silence, low and resolute, with no room for maneuver: "You all wait here. I'll go in by myself."
"General!"
Kafvan almost shouted, stepping in front of Avanti, his arm instinctively raised, as if to stop him.
"Absolutely not! Zahedi… he's already confird as a traitor! He is 'Poison Needle'! Going in alone, if he is desperate…"
Perhaps feeling that the words were too harsh, he dared not continue.
"General, the risk is too high!"
The Lieutenant Colonel couldn't help but step forward, speaking urgently, "Please allow to send the assault team with you, or let go in first…"
Avanti finally drew his gaze back from the direction of the villa, slowly sweeping over his subordinates.
"This is my order."
His voice was firm and decisive.
"Without my signal, nobody is to approach the courtyard gate. Violators will be dealt with by military law."
His gaze finally rested on Kafvan, with an indescribable complexity, "Kafvan, hold the line here. That's an order."
Song Heping remained silent, looking at Avanti, his eyes calm as water.
When Avanti's gaze briefly t his, Song Heping gave the faintest nod—not one of agreent, but of understanding.
He comprehended Avanti's resolve to face the bitter drink he had brewed alone, understood the General's determination to find an answer, an explanation, even if that answer might co with a fatal bullet.
Avanti looked at no one else, stepping forward resolutely, walking toward the closed courtyard gate.
Zahedi had long taken in everything outside through the gap in the second-floor curtain.
The car lights that had gone dark, the figures gathering at the street corner, that all too familiar and deeply etched figure finally approaching alone…
He knew the mont to end things had arrived.
The carefully arranged tranquility outside the window was the final illusion before the storm.
He curled his lip into a cold smile, then calmly let the curtain fall and turned downstairs.
When Avanti pushed open the ajar courtyard gate and crossed the impeccably grood but now lifeless little yard, stepping onto the villa's steps, the heavy oaken door was silently pulled open from within.
Zahedi stood in the doorway's shadow, his face exceptionally pale under the vestibule's dim light, yet his expression was unnaturally calm.
"Uncle."
His voice was light, with a barely noticeable hoarseness.
Avanti did not respond, only looked at him deeply, his gaze so heavy it seed able to penetrate the soul.
He turned sideways into the room, Zahedi softly closing the door behind him.
Sealing off all the strained gazes and the cold night breeze from outside.
The living room was carpeted with thick, ornate Isfahan handwoven rugs.
Zahedi did not head for the sofa, but instead went straight to the center of the rug, sitting cross-legged. He pointed to a spot opposite.
Avanti silently removed his military cap, placing it on a low table beside him, then sat down in the sa manner.
The two sat facing each other, separated by a low hardwood tea table inlaid with shell patterns.
Zahedi picked up a delicate silver teapot, his movents steady, without the slightest tremor, pouring amber-colored black tea into two small porcelain cups.
The rising steam blurred their brief eye contact.
The fragrance of tea wafted up but couldn't dispel the scent of death in the air.
Ti flowed in silence, each second like dancing on taut strings of a bow.
Outside, Avanti's subordinates watched the small house intensely, their fingers poised on triggers, ready to storm in at any mont.
As for Song Heping, he remained calm.
He sat on a stone at the street corner, looking coldly at the dim light spilling from the distant room.
"Rest assured, your General will be alright."
He said.
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