Northern Persia mountains, three in the morning.
Song Heping stood in a military tent, facing a holographic projection displaying a three-dimensional map of the North Suburb of Bucharest.
Naxin, along with several intelligence officers from the Revolutionary Guard and recent arrivals such as Henry, White Bear, Hunter, gathered around. The air was filled with the mixed scent of Persian red tea and gun oil.
"Henry, confirm MI6 has sent the message over?"
Song Heping asked without lifting his head.
Henry adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose: "Ten minutes ago, Lady M's contact accidentally leaked the intel to a CIA informant in London."
A cold smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
"As per your request, the intel emphasized that you'll be taking the Turkish Airlines TK1042 flight, arriving in Bucharest tomorrow noon."
Song Heping nodded, tracing a red line on the map with his finger: "Has Russia arranged everything?"
