Bucharest International Airport, departure lounge.
Agent Johnson from Group A stood in the corner of the lounge, eyes fixed on the check-in gate.
The digital clock in the hall showed the time as 10:21 AM.
According to the intelligence leaked from MI6, Song Heping's flight would land in 30 minutes.
However, Johnson appeared somewhat nonchalant.
His superior, Wright, believed that Song Heping would never take this flight to Bucharest.
Because no one would be foolish enough to disclose specific flight details over an unreliable phone line.
The analysts thought it was a smoke bomb.
The purpose was to gather CIA operatives at the airport and cover up their landing at Krolassi Airport.
Everyone believed Wright's judgement was correct.
No one cared about Simon's suggestion.
"How can a defeated general talk about courage?"
"What's the situation on your side?"
Johnson pressed the hidden radio communication button in his cuff, routinely checking in.
"I found nothing unusual on my end."
"Neither do I."
"I don't think Song will enter here."
"He's listed on the KB cadre list, it's unlikely he would risk entering through a civilian channel, too risky, and the Romanian police wouldn't let him through."
"I bet they'll land at Krolassi Airport, after all, it's a private airport, and entry checks are not as strict there."
"Whatever, in over twenty minutes, if the flight arrives and we don't see Song Heping, we can leave."
A few colleagues scattered in different positions in the lounge began to discuss Song Heping idly.
"Still, better to be cautious."
As the team leader, Johnson was much more vigilant than the others.
"Don't let your guard down, just endure for half an hour more and we can leave."
As he said this, he could not help but yawn.
He hadn't slept well these past few days.
To capture Song Heping, the team members had been on high alert, waiting and working around the clock.
He started missing the sunlight on the California beaches.
Once this operation was over, he could apply for leave, and then he must go surfing on the beach.
Just as Johnson closed his mouth after yawning, a group of passengers walked past him.
A woman, dragging a suitcase and seemingly in a hurry to check in, blew past him like the wind, accidentally brushing against him.
"Be careful, ma'am!"
Johnson couldn't help but remind her.
He looked down at his left arm.
That woman seemed to have bumped into his left arm.
Where his gaze landed, nothing seemed amiss.
He couldn't help but laugh.
He was being too paranoid.
Just a woman, what damage could a light touch cause?
But when she brushed against him, his left arm seemed to feel a slight prick, perhaps the suitcase handle banged into him, giving him a numb feeling.
11:10 AM.
Turkish Airlines flight T2322 had already landed and reached the tarmac, the shuttle bus had set up the walkway, and passengers were disembarking and heading towards the exit.
In the safe house in Bucharest, Wright stood by the table, staring at the real-time footage on the screen from the hidden cameras worn by the field agents, unconsciously tapping his fingers on the table.
"Group A reports, everything at the airport is normal, no suspicious targets found."
The agent's voice came through the headset, and Wright smirked.
Indeed, Song Heping hadn't come at all.
He turned to look at another screen—Group B had already reached the outskirts of Krolassi Private Airport, where drone footage showed several black SUVs parked at the edge of the runway, with several brawny men on alert near the tarmac.
These people were evidently military-trained fighters, with bulges at their waists likely indicating they were carrying pistols or similar weapons.
"Target spotted!" The Group B leader quietly reported, "Suspected trained military personnel waiting for pickup."
Wright's lips curled upwards slightly.