The air in the conference room was so tense it was almost palpable.
Jasper could feel twelve pairs of eyes focusing on him simultaneously, including Director Vincent's hawk-like gray-blue eyes.
He instinctively loosened his tie, tasting the salty bitterness of sweat as his throat bobbed, then took a deep breath and projected the data from his tablet onto the main screen of the conference room.
Photo after photo flashed by—Ferrari's mother in Milan, White Bear's sister in Kyiv, Hunter's fiancée in London...
"The core of my plan is them—the close friends and relatives of the core mbers of Musician Defense Company."
Jasper's voice gradually regained confidence, "Song Heping's biggest weakness is the people around him, and the biggest weakness of the people around him is also their close relatives. Among the core mbers of the Defense Company, apart from Song Hejiang, who is from China and whose relatives we cannot control from within the country, the relatives and close friends of everyone else are within our sphere of influence."
He brought up the last photo, a group photo of Song Heping and the team mbers in Khartoum, where their smiles under the sun were almost blindingly unsettling.
"We don't need to chase him all over Africa; we just need to topple the first domino lightly."
Jasper's fingertip traced across the screen.
"For example, let Ferrari's mother suddenly encounter a threat to her life from local thugs, or have White Bear's sister suddenly kidnapped..."
Counter-Terrorism Center Director Wright suddenly sneered, "Do you plan to use kindergarten-level harassnt to draw out that oriental dragon?"
"Of course not."
Jasper was prepared, pulling up a proposal marked "Top Secret".
"Once the core mbers of their company receive calls for help from their relatives, what do you think they'll do?"
He chuckled.
Yet his eyes were filled with treachery and cunning.
"At that ti, those core mbers of the company will certainly not sit idly by; they will deal with these problems. And when they appear at each critical node, we've prepared a 'welco ceremony' for each of them, giving them the sa taste of peril, then relaying the news back to Song Heping through special channels."
He circled the core mbers next to Song Heping with a stylus.
"If Song's brothers are in trouble, he will definitely try to rescue them. All we have to do is wait for him to arrive and prepare a feast for him on our ho turf."
Vincent leaned forward slightly.
This slight movent made Jasper's heart race.
The director removed his glasses to wipe the lenses, a habitual action when weighing significant decisions.
Just when everyone was waiting for the director's final decision, an unexpected voice rang out.
"I think Jasper's plan is feasible."
Simon's voice wasn't loud, yet it was like a shock bomb exploding in the conference room.
Jasper turned sharply, seeing this old adversary gently pushing up the gold-rimd glasses on his nose, his gaze behind the lenses eerily calm.
"In fact, I strongly agree and highly recomnd that Jasper be appointed as the head of the special task force."
Simon continued, even with a slight smile on his lips.
"He has indeed studied Song Heping thoroughly, and... "
He paused aningfully.
"As he said, he has always been the one in charge of the operations to hunt down Song Heping; no one knows Song Heping better, or wants to eliminate this madman more."
Jasper's pupils contracted suddenly.
His heart was in chaos again.
What ga is this bastard playing?
Back when they were vying for the position of Middle East Division Chief, things beca quite unpleasant, and ultimately, the top had to reassign them both, one staying in Illiguo, the other transferred back to headquarters.
At that ti, Simon had openly questioned his psychological assessnt report during the debriefing eting, and he had also undermined Simon several tis behind the scenes, questioning Simon's shortcomings in managing intelligence work in Illiguo in front of Pence.
Especially back when Simon's dealings with Song Heping and the military beca incendiary, Jasper even drafted an analysis report suggesting Simon be removed from frontline positions and sent back to Langley for a desk job.
Such matters, both of them, as trained operatives, were acutely aware.
What's going on?
The sun rising in the west today?
His old enemy actually recomnded him?
Actually agreed with him?
Actually gave up the seemingly hopeful position of head of the special task force—especially when it was clear that Director Vincent favored Simon for the role, summoning him back from Illiguo to attend such a vital eting at headquarters.
Isn't it obvious?
He actually gave it up?
Vincent's gaze flickered between the two subordinates, abruptly asking, "Simon, would you be willing to take on the deputy leader position?"
"It would be an honor."
Simon replied crisply and even raised his coffee cup in a gesture of salute towards Jasper.
"After all, no one knows Jasper's 'pressure tactics' tactics better."
Jasper was at a loss for words, even forgetting how to respond to Simon's complint, his fingertips unconsciously digging into his palm.
Sothing isn't right, sothing is definitely off.
Simon has never been the type to accept being second, having once altered drone strike coordinates in Baghdad to claim credit...
How could such a man suddenly change?
A conspiracy.
There must be a conspiracy.
"Then it's settled."
Before Jasper could react, Vincent had already finalized the decision.
"Jasper is appointed leader, Simon as deputy leader; each recruiting two elite mbers from the Counter-Terrorism Center and Africa Division, and submitting a detailed plan within 48 hours."
As he stood up, he suddenly rembered sothing.
"By the way, the budget will go through 'black accounts'. I want that yellow-skinned bastard to know the cost of killing a CIA officer."
As the eting adjourned, Jasper deliberately slowed his pace.
He wanted to seize the opportunity to converse more with Simon when he ca over.
However, Simon rely patted his shoulder and hurried off, giving him no chance, leaving only a smiling glance in return.
Simon felt as if a snake's venomous tongue had licked him, sending a chill down his spine inexplicably.
In the blind spot of the corridor surveillance, Jasper extracted an encrypted phone and sent a text: "Check all of Simon's itineraries for the past six months, especially non-official trips."
Fifteen minutes later, Simon's black Cadillac was crossing the Potomac River.
Suddenly, the car's encrypted radio lit up with a green light, and a chanical female voice prompted, "Secure line established."
Simon's finger hovered above the dial key, Song Heping's satellite number flickering on the screen.
One second, two seconds, three seconds...
He abruptly cut the communication, instead dialing another number.
"It's ."
He said in Arabic, then glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror, showing his contorted face.
"Prepare the 'Double Mirror' plan; I need two death reports archived together."
By the ti the Cadillac pulled into the garage of a Georgetown mansion, Simon had already devised the entire trap.
Jasper's pressure tactics plan was indeed brilliant, but it needed a slight modification. When Song Heping stepped into the final trap, it would be preferable if the eager-to-perform task force leader were on-site.
Two bullets, one report, and the keys to the deputy director's office will automatically fall into the pocket of the sole survivor.
Magnificent!
In the mansion's basent armory, Simon took out an old Makarov pistol. This was the weapon he had used in 1994 during his first mission in Moscow, with the handle inscribed with the Cyrillic letter "Удача"—Luck.
He slowly pulled the slide, the tallic clatter echoing prominently in the silence.
"This ti, I don't need luck," Simon murmured to the empty gun, "just calculations accurate to the milliter."
Just before the phone call connected earlier, an imnsely risky idea shot up from the depths of his mind—why not let Song and Jasper both perish?
That would be the most perfect ending.
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