Seven days later.
Sunset in Beirut always comes particularly quickly.
Song Heping stood behind a rusty container at the port, watching the sunset dye the Mediterranean blood-red.
The salty sea breeze, mixed with the smell 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 mere 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 some 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 some 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 codenamed "Ghost."
Chen told Song Heping that given the current situation, leaving Liben and breaking through Mossad and the CIA's surveillance was something 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 arrangement, at four in the afternoon, "Ghost" would be waiting for them by a fishing boat named "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 meters 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 time.
Fifty meters from the fishing boat, Song Heping stopped.
Something was wrong.
Two men 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 fishermen.
Cold sweat broke out on Song Heping's back.
He slowly retreated, preparing to leave.
At that moment, 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 meters.
Fifteen meters.
Ten meters.
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 Mediterranean."