United States, Langley, CIA Headquarters Building, inside the Director's office.
The night was as thick as ink, enveloping this building that symbolizes the global intelligence hub.
Simon didn't turn on the main lights; only the Tiffany antique desk lamp on his desk exuded a warm, dim glow, casting his features in half light and half shadow.
He had just ended a video call with Brenan, who inford him that the President had agreed to his proposed plan, allowing him to contact Russia, Persia, and Song through secret channels.
But the premise was absolute confidentiality.
This plan would remain top-secret from now on.
Not a single word could be revealed to the outside world.
No matter what any dia outside might say, deny everything, and not acknowledge any cooperation with Russia, Persia, and Song.
Regarding the removal of Song Heping from the KB mber list, the CIA had placed him on it back then, so now the CIA could also find reasons to remove him. As for the UN, as long as a report is submitted, I believe Song Heping's na can be quickly erased from the list.
After ending the video call with Brenan, Simon took out the encrypted satellite phone, his fingers pausing on the cold tal buttons for a mont as if weighing the final pros and cons, then decisively pressed a long string of complex numbers.
The receiver emitted a few short "beeps," followed by a long waiting tone. The signal was bouncing through several encrypted satellites to avoid any possible eavesdropping.
Finally, the call was connected.
The voice from the other end was slightly hoarse, with the sound of wind in the background, as if in a desolate and cold area.
"It's , Simon."
"I recognized you."
Song Heping's voice was unusually calm, not showing the slightest surprise, as if expecting this call all along, "Calling at this hour, is there a result?"
"Yes."
Simon's pace of speech wasn't fast, ensuring every word was conveyed clearly and without ambiguity, "The White House just finished their eting. After much debate... they agreed to the 'limited contact' proposal."
He deliberately emphasized the word "limited."
Then continued, "You need to act imdiately as a diator, contacting your people, as well as those from Moscow. The representatives don't need to be of high rank, but they must be able to make decisions on the spot."
"Where's the location?"
Song Heping was concise, as efficient as always.
"You can propose, but it must be neutral, safe, and secret."
Simon uttered three key words, "It's best to be in a third country but in an area with certain U.S. influence. The eting topics are limited to coordinating military actions against the 1515 Ard in Northwest Illigo, demarcating a temporary non-military zone or operational boundary to avoid accidental fire and direct conflict. It does not involve any political recognition or long-term agreents; this is the bottom line."
Song Heping was silent for a few seconds on the other end, with only the piercing wind heard through the receiver, seemingly in thought or observing the surroundings.
"Understood. I'll select a location and get back to you as soon as possible."
"Keep the line open. Stay safe."
Simon said one last sentence, hung up the phone, then stood up and walked to the large floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the sleeping city outside.
In the distance, the Potomac River looked like a black ribbon, occasionally pierced by car lights, like fleeting teors.
Moscow, a safe house hotel room.
It was already early morning.
Song Heping had just ended the call with Simon, without any hesitation, he imdiately switched to another phone and dialed Peterovich's number.
"Mr. Peterovich, it's ."
Song Heping used fluent Russian to simply introduce himself.
"Song?"
Peterovich's voice was thick with sleepiness, slightly slurred, perhaps from too much drink.
"Calling so late, is there sothing important?"
"There's news from the White House."
Ignoring his jest, Song Heping went straight to the point.
"Washington has given the nod, agreeing to a four-party contact. We need to quickly determine the eting location, and you need to send attendees, preferably those who can make decisions on site."
"Oh? Seems Uncle Sam's abacus finally counted right."
Peterovich whistled, his tone relaxed but his words precise, "Any suggestions for the location? It can't be Disneyland, right?"
"I'm thinking."
Song Heping's eyes fell on the electronic map displayed on the nearby tablet.
"We need a place where everyone can slightly relax and not be easily spied on by pesky flies."
"Tbilisi, Georgia? Baku, Azerbaijan? Or... to make things easier... directly set it in your camp in Persia."
Peterovich suggested several common options.
"Within Illigo, the target is too big, and it's easy for news to leak out. Georgia and Azerbaijan..."
Song Heping pondered for a mont, "The geographical locations are fine, but the Aricans may not fully trust them, feeling it's your or our 'ho turf.'"
His finger slid across the smooth screen of the tablet, passing over city nas, finally pausing at one point.
This point was located in the Northern Illigo, yet it had its distinct characteristics.
"How about Elbil," he said slowly.
"The capital of the Kold Autonomous Region?"
Peterovich's tone turned serious, evidently in rapid consideration.
"There... is interesting. The Aricans have quite an influence there, but the Kurd people, if they still value their own lives, wouldn't dare play gas during the negotiations. For us... the entry routes are relatively straightforward, crossing the Persian Plateau straight in. Okay, I need to report this upward as per procedure, then assess the risks. Rest assured, I'll get back to you promptly."
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