BANG——
The crisp report of the Glock 17 shattered the stillness of the alleyway.
The female agent in the long robe never expected anyone could draw and fire so quickly.
A small hole appeared in her forehead, blood spraying out from the back of her head. When she fell, her body knocked over a table, scattering the pogranate flowers all over the ground.
The vendor with the goatee had already reached his right hand toward the goods beneath his stand, where a pistol was hidden.
Song Heping fired without even turning fully, his movents a seamless flow of drawing, sidestepping, and shooting.
By the ti the goateed vendor pulled out his pistol, he found Song Heping's gun already pressed against the top of his head.
"You…"
BANG——
Song Heping didn't give him any chance.
He fired directly at the top of the man's head.
The bullet shot downward through the skull and out through his jaw.
The vendor crumpled like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Song Heping dashed toward the building behind the vendor's stand at lightning speed.
Inside the café, several waitstaff sprang into action, pulling MP7 and MP5 submachine guns from behind the counter and spraying bullets in Song Heping's direction through the glass windows.
All their weapons were equipped with silencers, their shots muffled and subdued.
After all, Beirut wasn't their ho turf. Even the CIA agents lying in ambush to eliminate Song Heping had to operate discreetly.
Too much noise would attract the police and lead to unnecessary trouble.
But fast as they were, Song Heping was faster.
Before any bullets hit their mark, Song Heping had darted into the stairwell, racing up the stairs with frantic speed.
Bullets smashed into the building's walls, sending debris flying as dust filled the stairwell entrance.
"Damn it! He's escaped!"
"Call the other teams! Block him off!"
The agents from the café regrouped and dashed out, quickly reaching the opposite building and surrounding its exits.
So checked on the goateed vendor and the woman in the black robe. They felt for a pulse—none.
"Annie and Kotis are down! FUCK!"
The lead agent spat angrily, his saliva flying several feet.
They knew from their intel beforehand that Song Heping would be tough to deal with, a forr mber of the PLA Special Forces.
The PLA Special Forces had always maintained an aura of mystery, only occasionally showing their capabilities in international competitions.
The US Army had studied the publicly accessible data on these special soldiers and concluded that, while formidable, they weren't invincible.
But today's encounter with Song Heping shattered all their assumptions.
"This guy is a goddamn monster!"
The reflexes!
The sensitivity!
The intuition and situational awareness!
Every action he took was lightning-quick, his sequence of kills and escape unmatched in its precision.
In less than three seconds, he'd taken out two operatives, then disappeared into the adjacent building in under two more seconds.
"We've lost contact with command!"
One of the agents responsible for communications rushed out of the café to report to the team leader.
"The signal's been jamd!"
"Jamd?!"
The team leader was visibly shocked.
They had prepared ticulously for this ambush, setting up radios and ensuring logistical and tactical support.
Since Song Heping arrived in Beirut, the CIA Secret Action Departnt had been monitoring his every move. He seed to be here alone for an intelligence exchange.
The operation was personally overseen by Director Kelly, who was currently also in Beirut.
But with their comms jamd, it was clear Song Heping wasn't alone—he had backup.
Things were spiraling out of control.
"What about phones?!"
"Phones are jamd too!"
"FUCK!"
The team leader was furious but helpless.
He wanted the tech team to locate the source of the interference.
Two support vehicles equipped with advanced tech had been stationed in the Beirut district to identify and counter jamming signals.
In terms of technology, no one matched the CIA.
But the situation had escalated too abruptly.
The field team was now entirely cut off, unable to even contact the tech team.
All signals were blocked, rendering them completely isolated.
"Conte, Rod, flank east! Don't go upstairs—stick to the street!"
"Dick, Barry, take the west flank!"
"Langsen, you're with !"
The leader gave his orders, motioning for Langsen to follow. The two of them secured the stairwell entrance, while the other teams sprinted along the streets, aiming to cut off Song Heping's escape route at the back of the building.
The stairwell entrance was eerily quiet.
Langsen exchanged a glance with the team leader across from him.
"No one's inside. Looks like he went up."
"Cover each other. Move in!"
Gritting his teeth, Langsen charged in with his MP7 submachine gun at the ready.
The stairwell was dark, the lighting dim and poor.
Langsen regretted not putting on his night vision goggles before entering.
Thankfully, it wasn't pitch-black darkness; visibility was just slightly impaired, not completely blind.
He moved cautiously forward, maintaining his weapon at the firing angle. The safety was off, and a round was chambered, ready to fire at any mont.
If Song Heping showed even a sliver of himself, Langsen was confident he'd put a bullet in his forehead.
The stairwell was about five ters long, ending at the base of the stairs leading to the second floor.
The team leader followed, keeping a three-ter distance from Langsen, positioned slightly to the side, ensuring they could provide overlapping fields of fire in case of an ambush.
As Langsen neared the end of the hallway, he was convinced it was clear of any threats.
He began to raise his gun barrel increntally upward.
If Song Heping was still here, he'd likely be on the second floor, watching the staircase.
As Langsen strategized about how to cover each other with the team leader and storm the second floor, sothing lightly brushed against his pant leg.
Clink——
A faint tallic sound reached his ears.
Langsen's face imdiately drained of color.
"GRENADE!"
His reflexes were sharp—standard for a seasoned operative.
Without conscious thought, he dove forward in a prone position.
Dropping to the floor was the best way to avoid shrapnel.
It was pure instinct.
BOOM——
The grenade had a slight delay.
By the ti it detonated, Langsen had already dived over three ters forward, lying flat on the floor.
He felt a numbness in his leg.
"I'm hit!"
Langsen shouted, reporting his status to the team leader.
"How bad?!"
"Not too bad! Just so shrapnel in the leg…"
The hallway was now filled with dust, visibility reduced further.
But before Langsen could finish his report, a flash of muzzle fire erged from the haze.
Phfft——
The characteristic sound of a suppressed handgun firing.
Langsen groaned and went completely silent.
Not far away, the team leader, who had just scrambled to his feet, felt every hair on his head stand on end.
That shot had not co from Langsen—he knew that for sure.
It was Song Heping!
The team leader didn't bother to check on Langsen's condition.
Langsen was done for; of that, the leader was certain.
Sohow, Song Heping had descended to the first-floor hallway imdiately after the explosion to finish Langsen off.
Panic-stricken, the team leader fired wildly into the dusty haze ahead.
Ratatatatat——
Ratatatatat——
Ratatatatat——
The MP7 spat bullets like torrential rain, spraying into the corridor.
Just as the leader prepared to retreat from the building while still shooting, he heard a tallic object rolling beneath his feet.
"GRENADE!"
His scalp prickled again.
This ti, there was no hesitation—running was the only option.
In such a narrow corridor, even if the shrapnel didn't kill him, the shockwave alone could leave him half-dead.
BOOM——
Just as the team leader burst through the building's entrance, a violent explosion erupted behind him.
Dust, debris, and shattered fragnts surged out from the stairwell's entrance, extending over a ter in distance.
The team leader crawled to his feet, relieved he'd reacted quickly enough to escape unhard. But before he could formulate his next move, a sharp whistle pierced the air from above.
The kind of whistle a hooligan might use to catcall a girl.
The team leader's blood froze on the spot.
Slowly, he raised his head, his palms slick with sweat.
Now would be the ti to lift his gun.
But raising his weapon ant certain death!
Not raising it also ant death...
When he finally looked up, he saw the face of the Asian man.
Song Heping was standing on the second floor, peering coldly down from behind the iron railing of the stairwell.
The old building's design featured open railings with gaps large enough to reveal the street below.
"Damn it!"
The leader cursed under his breath.
Perhaps at himself.
With a sudden burst of resolve, he raised his gun, gambling everything on a desperate move.
But his chances of success were nil.
Phfft——
The muzzle of Song Heping's Glock 17 flashed briefly.
The leader collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
Blood pooled from his head and quickly spread into a small stream...
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