The feedback arrived faster than expected.
Peterovich's side was the first to relay information. After urgent assessnt, the Russian side believed that although the eting in Elbil posed risks, they were within controllable limits and aligned with current strategic interests, thus agreeing to proceed.
Peterovich was formally appointed as the chief representative of the Russian military advisory group for this eting and granted decision-making authority on the spot.
Shortly thereafter, the Persian side also conveyed a positive response through covert channels, agreeing for Avanti to attend Elbil as the plenipotentiary representative.
Upon receiving the final confirmation compiled by Song Heping, Simon responded with a terse encrypted ssage:
"Received. Arrange for specific ti and safe house. I will personally go there."
Two days later, on the outskirts of Tehran, Persia, at a certain military airport under lockdown.
Before dawn, a faint line of light in the east sketched the outline of distant mountains.
The cold early spring wind swept across the open runway, carrying a biting chill.
Two Mi-17 military transport helicopters, with mottled paint and no national markings, had already started up. The massive main rotors began rotating slowly, producing a deafening roar that shattered the dawn silence. The wind from the blades whipped up dust from the ground, making it nearly impossible to open one's eyes.
The Mi-17, the cornerstone of Russian multi-purpose helicopters.
Though older than Song Heping, the sanctioned Persians still cherished it as if it were a treasure.
Song Heping donned a tactical outfit with a lightweight ceramic bulletproof vest on top and boarded one of the helicopters, carrying only a handgun.
Following closely behind Song Heping were Peterovich and the SSO Squad.
He had swapped his usual Kremlin formal attire for a Russian-style Multicam camouflage combat uniform without any markings, with a Glock 19 tucked in the quick-draw holster at his waist.
He patted the seat next to Song Heping, sat down with a thud, fastened his seatbelt, and began checking the equipnt he carried with him one last ti.
The last to board was the Persian representative, Avanti.
Accompanying him were Naxin and so mbers of his renowned "Sand Fox" squad.
There was no excessive small talk—the necessary discussions had already been held. A simple nod sufficed as a greeting.
The door closed with a dull tallic clang.
"All personnel in position, check seatbelts!"
The pilot's calm voice reported over the headset, speaking English with a heavy Persian accent.
Soon, under powerful thrust, the helicopter slowly lifted off, quickly ascending to fifty ters in the air. The nose tilted, changing direction, and it headed south toward Elbil, the capital of the Iligo Kurdish Autonomous Region.
The cabin noise and vibration were intense. Even with noise-cancelling headphones, the pervasive low-frequency hum was palpable.
Song Heping leaned his head against the cold cabin wall, eyes closed, breathing steady and long, as if he were asleep.
But his mind was racing, contemplating the various situations that might arise during the upcoming eting and their corresponding strategies.
Peterovich appeared livelier, peering through the porthole at the increasingly distinct earth below, humming an unknown tune in Russian, his fingers unconsciously tapping a rhythm on his knee.
Occasionally, he would pick up binoculars to observe the terrain below and the movent of vehicles on the roads.
The flight was generally smooth, but not without challenges.
The helicopter deliberately avoided sensitive airspace and steered clear of the known zones where the 1515 Ard, equipped with portable anti-aircraft missiles, operated.
Below lay the undulating Persian Plateau and mountains, with their yellow-brown massifs appearing majestic yet desolate. Occasionally, ribbon-like dirt roads snaked through valleys, or specks of villages dotted the landscape.
Every person in the cabin, whether it was the resting-looking Song Heping, the seemingly relaxed Peterovich, or the silent special soldiers from various nations, was on high alert.
They were aware that beneath this seemingly magnificent landscape lay countless lurking hazards. Any unexpected glimr could be the sun's reflection off a Stinger missile's lock.
Although the eting was secretive,
the world of intelligence could never be fully predicted.
No one could guarantee that an anti-aircraft group wouldn't suddenly appear, launching an attack on helicopters within the shoulder-fired anti-aircraft missile range.
After several hours of turbulent and tense flight, the silhouette of the city of Elbil finally erged on the distant horizon.
The outlines of modern buildings intertwined with ancient castles, and the red, white, and green tricolors of the Kold Autonomous Region's flag, with its radiant sun emblem in the center, could be vaguely seen on so high-rise rooftops.
"Prepare for descent, arriving at the target area in ten minutes."
The pilot's briefing ca through once more.
The helicopter began noticeably lowering in altitude and speed, the strong sense of weightlessness setting in.
They veered away from the city center, heading towards a seemingly abandoned large textile factory complex on the city's outskirts, near the mountains.
The factory plaza appeared pre-cleared, with so ard personnel in Kold "Freedom Fighter" uniforms scattered around. They occupied vantage points and key access points, vigilantly scanning their surroundings. The muzzles of their weapons pointed slightly downwards but were ready to raise in an instant.
The two Mi-17s landed steadily, one after the other, in the plaza's center, littered with gravel and weeds, as rotor-driven dust spread like a yellow mist.
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