Song Heping is alive, the sword is tethered; once Song Heping dies, the rope snaps...
The consequences are unimaginable!
He forced himself to calm down, his facial muscles stiffly forming a seemingly gratified expression: "Well done, Jackson. This... this is indeed a significant breakthrough." His voice sounded sowhat dry.
Jackson was completely imrsed in the joy of victory, unaware of his superior's abnormality: "Sir, I suggest we imdiately order the Damascus team to closely monitor the hospital's movents and confirm the target's final status! anwhile, we should activate the ergency plan and use this opportunity to create greater chaos in Siria..."
"Hmm..."
Simon took a deep breath, trying hard to keep his voice steady, "You're right. Order the front-line team to find out at all costs to which hospital Song Heping and Hafez were sent, to confirm their life and death status. But be absolutely cautious, don't expose ourselves. Additionally, regarding subsequent actions... we need to carefully assess them and wait for more precise information."
"Yes, Sir!"
Jackson saluted and spiritedly turned and left to begin deploying the next actions.
As the office door closed, Simon slumped into his high-backed chair, a fine layer of cold sweat already forming on his forehead.
He hesitated for a mont, then reached for an encrypted cell phone on the desk that was rarely used, attempting to dial the number for direct contact with Song Heping.
"The user you are calling is powered off..."
The icy chanical female voice coming from the receiver completely sank Simon's heart.
Powered off...
Shut down at a ti like this?
Is it part of the plan, or...
He dared not think any further, forcing himself to remain calm, silently praying in his heart: Song Heping, you'd better be acting!
Otherwise, we'll all have to accompany you to the grave!
anwhile, in a heavily guarded military hospital in Damascus.
An independent floor, completely sealed off and guarded by the elite Alawite Presidential Guard, was silent.
The sll of disinfectant lingered in the hallway, the lighting harshly white.
In one of the "intensive care rooms," Song Heping, who had been lying on a hospital bed with various simulated life signs monitors attached, suddenly opened his eyes.
His gaze was clear, showing no signs of illness.
He swiftly sat up, skillfully removing the simulated IV tubes from his arm and the electrode patches from his chest.
He walked to the wall on one side of the room, pressing an inconspicuous corner, causing a section of the wall to silently slide open to reveal a hidden door.
Behind the door was another room designed as a ward but appeared more spacious and comfortable.
President Hafez of Siria was sitting on a sofa, frowning, though wearing a hospital gown, his deanor still carried the dignity and concern of a national leader.
He was not surprised to see Song Heping enter.
"Mr. Song, isn't this act of yours a bit too realistic?"
Hafez's voice carried a hint of fatigue and dissatisfaction, "Outside, things have probably turned upside down by now. My phone is off, the governnt cabinet can't reach , the military command can't find , and it won't be long before the news of the President being critically poisoned spreads like wildfire across the nation, even the entire world."
At this mont, the door was gently knocked.
Song Heping walked over and opened the door, revealing the distinctive bald head of the Chef Yevgeny, who grinned, squeezed into the room, and locked the door behind him.
"How is it? What's the situation outside?" Song Heping asked.
The Chef sprawled out on another sofa, "Relax, this floor is completely secured by President Hafez's personal guard. They're tight-lipped. The other departnts of the hospital only know that an important figure is undergoing ergency treatnt; they're unaware of any details. But, I bet the CIA bastards are probably celebrating, thinking their poison worked."
Song Heping nodded, looking at Hafez: "Mr. President, are the guards outside your door absolutely trustworthy?"
Hafez nodded affirmatively: "They're Alawite soldiers who've followed for years, their loyalty is unquestionable. But, Song, what worries is not internal leaks but the external reaction."
He emphasized, "As I ntioned earlier, the longer we remain out of communication, the more vicious the rumors will beco. The northern front is already teetering. Once it's confird I've 'had an accident,' the morale will collapse instantly! At that ti, not only will the enemies in the north seize the opportunity to attack fiercely, but the supposedly quieted 1515 and Victory Front terrorists will undoubtedly pounce back like sharks slling blood! The entire Siria could plunge into chaos worse than before!"
Song Heping walked to the window, pulling back a corner of the heavy curtain, gazing at the pitch-dark but strictly sealed-off hospital complex. His expression was calm to the point of being cold.
"Mr. President, I understand everything you're saying."
He turned, his gaze sharp, "But please consider this, according to the current northern battlefield situation, how long can our defense line hold even without this night's play? One week? Or ten days?"
Hafez fell silent. He was more aware than anyone of the dire situation and imnse pressure on the front line.
The limited aerial support from the Russian Army and the ground troops from Wagner and the Musician Defense Company were just barely maintaining a fragile line. In the face of opposition ard forces receiving strong external support, defeat was only a matter of ti.
Song Heping continued, "Since collapse is inevitable, we might as well let it co faster and more fiercely. Only by making Moscow truly feel that the Siria regi is at its last stand, without you, without us, the entire Siria will collapse in an instant, becoming a breeding ground for terrorism and a source of regional instability, directly threatening their only strategic foothold in the diterranean—Tartus military port... only then can we completely shatter the Kremlin's fantasies and hesitations, forcing them to make a choice: either intervene militarily on a full scale or completely lose Siria."
He stepped up to Hafez, his voice low but filled with strength: "This is a huge gamble, Mr. President. But we have no choice. I've already had the Chef secretly mobilize the most elite units of Wagner to gather near Homs. If the Kremlin hasn't announced a formal, massive military intervention decision within three days..."
"Then, I will personally go to Homs with the Chef and establish the final line of defense there. Even if we fight to the last soldier, we must buy ti for the Russian Army's arrival, or... at least let the world see who fought to the end."
The room fell into a brief silence.
Hafez looked at the determined man from the East before him, understanding that Song Heping not only staked Siria's fate but his own life and entire career.
It's a risky move, but perhaps it's the only possible solution to a deadlock.
"Very well, Song."
Hafez exhaled deeply, "I trust your judgnt. But, three days, I can only give you three days. After three days, regardless of Moscow's response, I must reappear, otherwise, the situation will spiral completely out of control."
"Deal."
Song Heping extended his hand, shaking Hafez's firmly.
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