It's no wonder Song Heping took a few extra glances at Nura.
Due to the hot weather in the Middle East and the significant temperature differences as an inland area, local beauties often have high nose bridges and deep-set eyes.
Won here typically have large eyes with unique pupil colors, coupled with high nose bridges, being petite and adorable with high beauty.
"Boss Song, staring at a woman like that is considered very offensive here."
Nura pulled her veil back up, covering her face.
Song Heping suddenly rembered so legends he had heard before.
The faces of won here are considered private property and should only be exposed to their fathers, brothers, and close relatives, not outsiders.
"Ah... I just know that people are attracted to beautiful things. I'm a normal man, so it's completely natural."
Song Heping didn't avoid admitting he took a few extra glances, nor did he hide his appreciation for beauty.
"You really know how to talk, Boss Song." Nura didn't seem angry. "It seems like you know how to sweet-talk won."
Song Heping imdiately shook his head. "No, I'm much more familiar with guns than won. If I were good at sweet-talking won, I wouldn't still be single now."
"Hehehe—"
Nura couldn't help but laugh.
The few subordinates standing by were a bit stunned.
Their female leader was known for being ruthless and cold-blooded, rarely smiling.
What's going on today?
Smiling at a stranger she just t.
"Let's go, Boss Song. Follow us, and I can take you out of the desert to North Africa. But don't forget our deal, or else..."
She raised her wheat-colored finger and elegantly made a throat-slitting gesture on her neck, like wielding a knife against a chicken's neck.
On the outskirts of Tel Aviv, Mossad Headquarters underground command center.
Dazzling red alarm lights flashed in the corridor, and urgent footsteps were heard coming closer. Technical Director David Cohen pushed open the heavy blast-proof door, his shirt drenched in cold sweat.
"Director, Major Yager's positioning chip is showing abnormalities." His voice trembled slightly. "The signal disappeared in the Alish Desert, with the last coordinates here."
A holographic projection map unfolded in the center of the command room, a red light flashing. Mossad Director Amir Levin stood before the map, his silhouette like a statue.
This iron-willed intelligence chief stared intently at the flashing red dot.
"Soone destroyed their communication equipnt." He suddenly spoke. "An expert, who knows how to make the chip totally ineffective."
Cohen swiftly typed on the keyboard, pulling up data. "Based on our last information record, Major Yager's last transmitted ssage indicated they were in a high-intensity firefight, with intense gunfire lasting about 15 minutes, then..."
His voice abruptly stopped.
"Continue." Levin's voice was as cold as ice.
"Then all information transmission ceased." Cohen swallowed hard. "Based on the biological chips on the team mbers, the temperature soared dramatically for 15 minutes, reaching 300 degrees, after which the chips stopped working... such temperature changes only occur when bodies are burned."
The command room fell silent.
All the technical agents froze.
Hands suspended over keyboards, no one dared make a sound.
Levin slowly turned, his eyes bloodshot. "Pull up Major Yager's last three hours of vital signs data."
The holographic projection switched to a series of fluctuating numbers.
Heart rate, blood pressure, body temperature... all data showed abnormal fluctuations starting three hours ago, finally converging to a straight line.
"Dispatch a search team." Levin's voice carried suppressed fury. "I want a field report within 24 hours."
Twelve hours later.
Alish Desert, dark clouds covered the sky, clouds thickening toward the diterranean, thunder faintly audible.
Four "Black Hawk" helicopters hovered over the wreckage of two previously crashed helicopters, ropes dropped, and commandos descended, quickly forming a defensive formation.
An hour later.
In the open space before an ancient building, Mossad search team leader Ilan Katz squatted down, picking up a silver ring from the ground.
To reach here, they had just lost a team mber.
This place was riddled with mines.
Passing through this mixed minefield cost them an entire hour.
They had actually saved so effort.
Footprints left by others had already triggered many mines.
Saving them lots of ti.
"It's Major Yager's ring." He murmured, his gaze sorrowful.
Then, speaking into his communicator, "Found extensive burn marks, and..."
His voice suddenly stopped.
In the sandy ground lay multiple charred bodies.
Despite being burnt beyond recognition, the remaining equipnt and physical features confird it was Yager's squad.
"All mbers are dead." Katz's voice trembled. "Found Bedouin footprints, likely a smuggling ring, and..."
He squatted, using tweezers to pick up a deford shell casing, "This is a Lee-Enfield rifle bullet casing..."
His gaze fell on Major Yager's body, extending his hand, working around his bones, eventually forced to pull a knife and extract a deford warhead from his cervical spine, examining it.
"Also an Eng77 warhead... why this rifle..."
The Eng77 is the common na for Lee-Enfield rifles.
The rifle's caliber is 7.7mm, hence the nickna Eng77.
Katz couldn't imagine how the well-equipped Mossad team leader ended up dying at the hands of an antique rifle.
Far away in Tel Aviv, Director Levin slamd a fist on the control panel.
The holographic projection displayed the transmitted images: charred bodies, deford casings, Bedouin footprints, and... a set of clear fingerprints.
"Song Heping." Levin growled the na. "And that Bedouin bitch Nura."
He turned to face everyone in the command room. "Activate the highest pursuit level. Tap into all our resources in North Africa. I want these two people's heads."
anwhile, sowhere in North Africa.
In a dim basent, a man with a scarred face was cleaning his AK-47. Suddenly, the satellite phone on the table vibrated. He glanced at the caller ID, a sinister smile forming.
"Sika Ard, Abdul."
He answered.
"Two million US Dollars."
A voice processed by a voice changer spoke.
"For two lives. Bedouin female leader Nura and a Chinese man nad Song Heping."
Abdul's eyes lit up. "Down paynt?"
"Already transferred to your Cayman Islands account." The caller said. "Rember, confirm the kills. We need photos and fingerprints."
Hanging up, Abdul whistled.
Soon, a dozen fully ard rcenaries gathered in the basent.
"Guys," he shook the satellite phone in his hand, "big business."
anwhile, on the edge of the Alish Desert, Song Heping was riding a white cal, following Nura's caravan through the "Diamond Corridor."
Unaware, a deadly net was slowly tightening around him.
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