The blood of Zahedi seed to still cling deep inside his nostrils, not yet dissipated.
Seven days had passed since that night filled with despairing gunshots.
Seven days, enough for the tense atmosphere on the streets of Tehran to slightly relax, enough for so to begin forgetting, but for Song Heping, ti was rely a asure of the healing wound and the pendulum counting down to the start of his revenge plan.
This morning, he stood in a secret underground shooting range at an army base, practicing his shooting.
A gun is like a wife, if you don't use it, you'll surely beco unfamiliar.
So Song Heping would practice shooting whenever he had the opportunity.
The air in the underground range was cold, filled with the familiar sll of gunpowder and engine oil.
In Song Heping's hands was a well-maintained M4 carbine, fitted with a silencer and a simple red dot sight.
He used a standard standing shooting stance, and his target was a 100-ter torso silhouette.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Five rapid burst shots.
The bullets tore through the air, pinning accurately into the target center, leaving five tightly grouped bullet holes.
The casings jingled as they rolled onto the cold concrete floor.
Song Heping released the trigger, letting the muzzle drop naturally.
He removed his ear protection, and the range instantly held only the sound of his heavy breathing and the faint friction noise of the target changer dragging the paper targets in the distance.
He flexed his stiff left shoulder, the wound seed not fully healed, with a faint trace of pain.
"You're recovering nicely, Song."
A deep voice sounded behind him.
Song Heping did not turn around, only placing the M4 on safety and setting it on the nearby rack.
He picked up a piece of cloth, slowly wiping the sweat and gunpowder residue from the rifle.
"General," he said calmly, with no emotion, "I thought you'd take a few more days to co find ."
The visitor was none other than Avanti.
He was dressed in plain clothes.
After a few days of absence, there was a persistent weight and exhaustion between his brows.
His eyes, deeper set than seven days ago, were veined with blood, as if he had endured countless sleepless nights.
The gaze he directed at Song Heping carried scrutiny and a complexity that Song Heping had long foreseen.
"What is ant to co will always co."
Avanti walked to Song Heping's side, his gaze swept over the densely clustered bullet holes on the distant target and then on Song Heping's bandaged left shoulder.
"Your marksmanship hasn't regressed, but your injury..."
"It won't kill . I've got a tough life, a fortune teller said so."
Song Heping interrupted him, putting down the gun cloth and taking a gulp of ice-cold water from a nearby bottle.
"Besides, this pain is nothing compared to the explosion in Zahedi's brain."
Avanti's eyes darkened abruptly, as if deeply stung by this remark.
The air in the range seed to grow even heavier.
"Did you anticipate what I want to discuss?"
Avanti's voice turned even deeper.
Song Heping finally turned around, facing Avanti.
He directly t the bloodshot yet still sharp gaze of his counterpart.
"Zahedi is dead, is the trail lost? Or... are there too many leads, too hot to handle?"
He smiled slightly, "General, your eyes tell this investigation is deep enough to drown all of Tehran."
Avanti was silent for a mont.
The cold fluorescent lights overhead cast deep shadows on his face.
He did not deny Song Heping's observation, only took a deep breath, a breath laden with heaviness, as if inhaling the corruption of an entire nation.
"You've guessed half right, Song."
Avanti's voice was restrained but filled with storm, "The leads haven't broken. On the contrary, Zahedi... left us a 'gift' big enough to blow everything up."
Song Heping's eyebrows slightly raised, waiting for the rest.
"At his safe house, we found an encrypted hard drive, so fragnts of communication records that were specially processed."
Avanti's voice was low and cold, "And... a letter left for ."
"A letter?"
Song Heping was sowhat surprised.
How could soone so decisively facing death like Zahedi still leave a letter?
Seems he might have long expected his own end.
"Yes. A... confession? Or, you could say, an indictnt."
Avanti's eyes grew more complex.
"In his final monts, he wrote down everything he knew. This information is like a poisonous dagger, stabbing hard into the power core of this country."
He paused, seemingly organizing his words, or perhaps suppressing the fury about to explode.
"The list is long, Song. Long enough to suffocate. Not only does it include the 'moles' infiltrating us—those traitors pocketing CIA or Mossad gold—their identities, locations, contacts... what's more frightening..."
Avanti's voice was almost squeezed out from between his teeth, "He listed those behind the scenes manipulators, even those directly involved in treason. They aren't small players, Song."
Song Heping's gaze instantly turned extrely solemn: "The four great families? One? Or all?"
"Part of them..."
Avanti nodded heavily, an action seemingly bearing the weight of a mountain.
"The indications are very clear. Especially... at the Holy Descendants Family."
Song Heping was no stranger to this na.
Amidst the intricate power dynamics of Persia, the four great families—the powerful faction possessing the vast comrcial empire and paramilitary force of the Revolutionary Guard, the wealth faction controlling the economic lifeline and religious foundations of the nation, the Eagle Claw Faction ensconced in the judicial and intelligence systems, and the Holy Descendant Faction of esteed standing claiming religious sanctified bloodlines with influence perating various domains—form the power cornerstone of this Divine Right Republic.
They balance each other, yet also infiltrate, collectively maintaining this vast and peculiar system.
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