Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 762 - 702: Escaping Beirut

Seven days later.

Sunset in Beirut always cos particularly quickly.

Song Heping stood behind a rusty container at the port, watching the sunset dye the diterranean blood-red.

The salty sea breeze, mixed with the sll of diesel, hit his face, and his wound started to ache again.

The gunshot wound on his right chest had almost healed. After all, it wasn't a serious injury; although the armor-piercing bullet broke through the bulletproof vest, it didn't penetrate his lung—a re flesh wound.

Jiang Feng leaned against the container beside him, their positions allowing them to see behind each other, forming a cross-vision—typical guard stance.

"Ten more minutes," Song Heping glanced at his watch, "the 'Ghost' should be arriving soon."

Jiang Feng nodded, vigilantly observing their surroundings.

The port was noisy. Cranes roared, cargo ships blared their horns, and workers shouted loudly in Arabic.

These noises, on the contrary, made them feel at ease—in chaos, it was easier to hide.

Last night, Song Heping and Jiang Feng left southern Liben under the cover of darkness.

Before leaving, they only said they had so important business to handle in Beirut and would be back by tonight.

It was just an excuse.

Because they had no intention of returning.

Song Heping tightened the jacket he had picked from so clothesline, which reeked of fish and was slightly pungent.

Jiang Feng wore a dirty coverall, looking like an ordinary dockworker.

Both had undergone disguise.

Otherwise, with Mossad's reconnaissance capabilities, they would have been identified and reported before even reaching Beirut.

Last night, Chen contacted Song Heping again, instructing him and Jiang Feng to go to Beirut to find a guy codenad "Ghost."

Chen told Song Heping that given the current situation, leaving Liben and breaking through Mossad and the CIA's surveillance was sothing even Avanti couldn't achieve.

Song Heping jokingly asked, "Can you do it?"

Chen said, "I can, not a hundred percent, but at least ninety percent."

Song Heping had his doubts.

It wasn't that he doubted his old unit's capabilities.

But Mossad had been renowned for years; their operations and manhunts rarely failed.

Given the current circumstances, they had to trust Chen.

According to the arrangent, at four in the afternoon, "Ghost" would be waiting for them by a fishing boat nad "Seagull," docked at pier number three. The boat was painted blue and white, with a Liben flag hanging from its mast.

Song Heping scanned the port, quickly locating the target.

He took a deep breath and started moving towards pier number three. Jiang Feng followed seven or eight ters behind.

Each step was cautious, evading patrolling port police and potential lurking Mossad agents.

The encounter a week ago had made them realize that the Daishe Bird was determined to take their lives this ti.

Fifty ters from the fishing boat, Song Heping stopped.

Sothing was wrong.

Two n were on the deck, checking the fishing nets. One wore a straw hat, and the other wore blue work clothes.

Though their actions appeared casual, Song Heping noticed that the man in the straw hat occasionally glanced around, and the one in work clothes kept his right hand near his waist.

These were not ordinary fishern.

Cold sweat broke out on Song Heping's back.

He slowly retreated, preparing to leave.

At that mont, footsteps sounded behind him. He turned sharply, seeing a tall, skinny man walking towards him.

The man wore a gray trench coat and held a newspaper.

His steps were steady, eyes straight ahead, as if he were just a passerby. But Song Heping noticed the man's left hand in his pocket and the unnatural way he held the newspaper with his right hand—concealing a gun.

Song Heping's heartbeat quickened. He slowly reached for his waist, where a Glock 17 pistol was holstered.

The man drew closer.

Twenty ters.

Fifteen ters.

Ten ters.

Song Heping's finger was on the trigger.

Suddenly, the man stopped, lifted the newspaper to cover his face, and said softly, "Today's sunset is beautiful, isn't it?"

This was the code.

Song Heping exhaled but remained vigilant. "Absolutely, especially viewed from the diterranean."

The man lowered the newspaper, revealing a sharply defined face.

He looked about forty, with deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, but his gaze was as sharp as an eagle's.

"I am Ghost," he said, "follow ."

Song Heping didn't move. "Are those two on the deck your people?"

"No," Ghost's expression grew grave, "those are Mossad agents. They arrived faster than we anticipated."

Before he finished speaking, a gunshot echoed from a distance.

Ghost lunged at Song Heping, and the three of them rolled behind a container.

Bullets struck the tal container, creating a piercing sound.

"Damn it!" Ghost cursed, "We are exposed!"

Song Heping peered out, seeing the two n on the deck had drawn their weapons and were moving towards them.

Worse still, several n in black t-shirts appeared at the port entrance.

Their posture, their stride, and the way they walked imdiately identified them as military personnel, not civilians.

"This way!" Ghost grabbed Song Heping's arm and ran in the opposite direction.

Jiang Feng also drew his pistol and followed. They ran through the cargo-laden docks, with gunshots behind them.

Bullets hit the containers, causing sparks to fly.

Song Heping felt a slight pain in his right chest; the intense movent was aggravating his wound, but he couldn't afford to care. The priority was to survive and leave the area.

Ghost led them into a narrow alleyway.

The alley was dark, cluttered with garbage and discarded fishing nets.

The air slled of rot.

"Turn left ahead," Ghost panted, "There's a white van."

Song Heping nodded.

He could hear the footsteps of their pursuers getting closer.

Turning the corner, they indeed saw an old van parked by the roadside.

Ghost took out the keys, but before he could unlock it, a voice with a Hebrew accent shouted from behind, "Stop! You can't escape!"

Song Heping turned, seeing three ard n blocking the alley's entrance.

"Damn Mossad!"

He wanted to turn and shoot them dead.

Mossad was like super glue on the hand, impossible to shake off.

Dealing with such opponents was extrely annoying and painful.

Song Heping could almost foresee that his struggles with Mossad would be an ongoing nightmare for so ti.

Encounters relied on speed.

Without hesitation, Song Heping fired twice.

One enemy fell, hit by the bullet, while another dodged in ti, only getting shot in the right shoulder.

The third enemy, startled, ignored his companion and fired wildly at Song Heping.

"Get in the car!"

Ghost had already jumped in and started the engine.

Song Heping opened the door, pushed Jiang Feng in first, then jumped in himself.

Bullets struck the door, creating a hole, but thankfully missing everyone inside.

Ghost slamd the accelerator, and the van shot forward like an arrow.

In the rearview mirror, the pursuers were still shooting at them.

A bullet hole appeared in the windshield, but Ghost remained unfazed, skillfully maneuvering through the narrow streets.

Song Heping looked at him, wondering endlessly about his identity.

Agent?

Overseas operative?

He felt a surge of excitent.

He suddenly thought that if he had stayed in the 203 unit back then, he might have known more and done more for the country.

Everything was destiny.

"Buckle up," Ghost said, "We're heading to the Old Town."

The van sped through Beirut's streets.

The setting sun cast a golden hue over the war-torn city.

The streets were lined with typical Liben buildings, their walls pockmarked with bullet holes, telling tales of the city's turbulent history.

Song Heping leaned back in his seat, feeling the searing pain of his wound.

He lifted his collar, finding blood seeping through the bandage.

"Hang in there," Ghost glanced at him, "Our n are up ahead."

Song Heping asked, "You knew it was a trap all along?"

Ghost shook his head. "Correct, we had to make them think we were escaping by sea."

He continued, constantly scanning Song Heping.

"From the 203 unit?"

Song Heping blushed, "Selected, but I withdrew for so personal reasons."

Ghost said, "No wonder you have such skills. You must have been in the top three during selection, right? Ordinary trainees can't do what you did. If you had joined the 203, you'd be a team leader by now."

The comnt made Song Heping even more embarrassed.

The inherent passion made him feel like he was betraying his country by becoming a PMC boss who had done all sorts of shady things.

Ghost seed to notice his discomfort and said heartily, "There's no need to feel embarrassed. Everyone has their fate. Look at you, doing pretty well overseas. Maybe you'll get a chance to work for us and revive that passion of yours."

Song Heping smiled wryly. "I'm a drug lord, a PMC company owner, and now a leader of a terrorist group. What can I do?"

Ghost said, "To fight darkness, one has to beco darker."

He looked at Song Heping seriously. "Clean people can't do what we do."

The van turned into a small alley and stopped in front of an old apartnt building.

Ghost turned off the engine, signaling Song Heping and Jiang Feng to follow.

They quickly entered the building, climbing the stairs.

Song Heping noticed that Ghost's footsteps were almost silent.

This was a seasoned agent.

Reaching the fourth floor, Ghost knocked on a green door.

Three long knocks followed by two short ones.

The door opened, and a middle-aged woman with glasses peeked out.

"Co in quickly," she said, "I've got everything ready."