Persia, inside the Revolutionary Guard Camp.
Song Heping stared at the ssage sent by the cook on his phone screen.
Everything seed to be carrying out according to his plan.
This ti, in order to rescue Ferrari, he employed every conceivable network of relationships.
His gaze returned to Henry, who was seated beside him, eyes fixed on the computer screen: "What's the situation at the airport?"
Henry's fingers danced across the keyboard in a rapid rhythm, and the surveillance footage on the screen constantly changed.
Hidden in each shot were at least two CIA agents. They were disguised as travelers, cleaners, even airport security personnel, but their overly deliberate body language and frequent contact with earpieces betrayed them.
"You know, my old employer's intelligence network is decent; they have their people in Romania's aviation managent system."
He pointed at the screen.
"Without these intelligence resources, it would be tough to compete with the CIA this ti."
Song Heping said, "Check the Turkish Airlines counter."
Henry didn't respond imdiately, instead enlarging the footage to the Turkish Airlines check-in counter.
A man in a dark trench coat was seated in the waiting lounge pretending to read the newspaper, but his eyes scanned the entrance every thirty seconds.
"It's getting lively," he finally said, his voice deep, "the CIA stationed at least twenty people in ambush at all entrances, joined by Romanian Special Service personnel."
He scoffed disdainfully.
"They really think you're taking that Turkish Airlines flight to Bucharest."
Song Heping remained silent, still staring intently at the screen, not speaking for a long ti.
Suddenly, he turned around, took out the satellite phone, and called Lady M.
"M, I need one more favor from you."
"I've helped you a lot already," Lady M said. "Rember, I have my limits."
Song Heping sneered, "We're on the sa boat now."
Lady M paused briefly, "Speak."
Song Heping said, "I need you to release another recording over the CIA-monitored internal communication line, like before, disguising it as your internal Sudan line monitoring records of my call with the Oasis Camp."
"What content?" Lady M's voice was filled with caution.
Song Heping said, "I will state my exact flight number and arrival ti in the recording."
"Are you crazy?" Lady M was shocked, "Are you planning to make yourself bait?"
Song Heping said, "No, it can't be called bait, and don't ask why. Anyway, since there's a mole inside your line by the CIA, use it to release intelligence. Besides, this isn't false information; it's true."
This response left Lady M completely silent.
Even soone as experienced in intelligence work as she couldn't imdiately fathom Song Heping's intentions.
He's aware of the CIA and Romanian Special Service swarming Bucharest Airport yet dares to openly let her release his precise itinerary?
Intending to engage in a gunfight at the airport?
Create chaos?
Or does he want to draw the tiger away from the mountain and take the opportunity to rescue Ferrari?
But no matter what, this is a suicidal move.
Equivalent to courting death.
"Can you tell why?" Lady M was very curious, "Or are you now giving false information?"
Song Heping said, "I assure you with utmost sincerity, I really will take that flight."
Lady M was rendered speechless.
"Alright."
She said, "Good luck."
Song Heping imdiately turned to Henry and said, "Soon we'll make a call, the CIA still thinks you're in Sudan, follow my script, make the recording, and send it to Weber to be sent to MI6 headquarters through that monitored line."
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
Song Heping's decision deviated from the previous plan.
Even Henry felt puzzled.
"Positive, just do it quickly."
"Alright," Henry shrugged, "since you're the boss."
After finishing all this, Song Heping picked up the satellite phone again.
About ten seconds later, Simon's phone, far away in the United States, vibrated...
Bucharest Safehouse, 6 a.m.
Wright watched the surveillance footage on his computer screen, the liquid in his coffee cup long gone cold.
There was swelling beneath his right eye - an injury from last night when Ferrari, during an interrogation, headbutted him by getting too close.
The target was probably his nose; fortunately, Ferrari was so exhausted that, otherwise, his nose would likely be broken.
The airport surveillance footage on the screen was eerily calm with no anomalies, which was precisely what made him uneasy.
"Recheck all entry records!" he suddenly yelled into the communicator, his voice particularly sharp in the confined safehouse. "Especially private planes! Maybe Song's information about taking the Turkish flight is false! He's releasing fake news!"
"Yes!"
Subordinates imdiately connected to the airport team's channel and sent out Wright's order.
After putting down the communicator, Wright walked to the window, rubbing his throbbing temples.
The east was already showing the first light of dawn as the city began to awaken, but his mind grew more chaotic.
He had been sure Song Heping would co directly to rescue Ferrari—all intelligence pointed to this.
The cunning leader of China's rcenaries was known for his loyalty to comrades.
But now, he began to doubt his judgnt.
Perhaps...
This cunning guy is playing tricks again...
"Sir!"
A young agent rushed in, holding a docunt.
"Latest intelligence from the London Station, MI6 confirms that Song Heping indeed boarded the Turkish Airlines flight, but..."
The agent hesitated, then continued: "But we also intercepted that MI6's intelligence analyst suspects this might be a diversion tactic; it's unlikely he would reveal his flight number and arrival ti so clearly, which doesn't follow typical covert operation principles."
Wright quickly turned and grabbed the briefing, the docunt making a crisp sound in his hand, "What does that an?"
"MI6 analysis suggests that Song Heping might intentionally reveal his itinerary while actually taking a different route."
The agent handed over another photo.
"They found on Istanbul Airport's surveillance footage soone resembling Song Heping boarding a flight heading to Krolassi City's private airport."
Wright snatched the photo, his eyes quickly scanning every detail.
The person in the picture wore a baseball cap and sunglasses, but judging from the width of the shoulders and the walking posture, it indeed looked a lot like Song Heping.
"That crafty bastard is indeed misleading us!"
He felt a sudden sharp pain in his stomach—an important lesson learned in his career: when things seem too easy, it often ans you're walking into soone else's trap.
The agent asked, "Then what should we do next?"
Wright imdiately went to the electronic map, his gaze quickly falling on the location of Krolassi City.
It was a small city, east of Bucharest, near Bulgaria.
While pondering why Song Heping suddenly diverted to Krolassi, a computer agent turned and shouted, "Sir! There's movent from the Russians in Moldova! Their GRU Team is moving towards the Black Sea port!"
Wright quickly asked, "The Black Sea?!"
A bright spark flashed in his mind.
All the clues seed to connect.
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