"What happens after controlling Rashid?"
Little Masoud suddenly asked, his voice somewhat trembling.
This guy is clearly a bit nervous.
Anyone would feel the same.
After all, failure means certain death.
"At that time, you will hold the gun to his waist and let him walk into the studio normally."
Song Heping zipped up his work uniform.
"Once on stage, we will control the scene. Then, General Tor Khan needs to interrupt all external broadcast signals for thirty seconds, leaving only internal recordings. When the signal resumes after thirty seconds, it will be you appearing in front of the camera, not Rashid."
Little Masoud took a deep breath and nodded.
"It's time." Adil glanced at his watch and said, "Now, turn right out the door, follow the green signs to the service elevator. Swipe your card to the second floor. Good luck to all of you."
Song Heping checked his equipment one last time and looked at his team.
"Switch your headphones to encrypted channel four. Ivan, Miroslav, you guys will handle the guards on the left and right sides of the corridor. Jiang Feng, you and I will take care of the bodyguards and Rashid. Little Masoud, follow behind us, and once we control the situation, step forward immediately."
All four nodded in unison.
The cold white mist in the freezer slowly rose under the light.
"Action."
6:57 AM, television station second-floor corridor.
Four "repairmen" pushed a tool cart, walking slowly along the corridor.
The tool cart was piled with cables and testing equipment, with weapons hidden underneath.
Adil's voice came through the headphones: "Rashid has entered the dressing room. Corridor guards in position. The General is heading to the control room. You have three minutes and twelve seconds."
Song Heping pushed the cart, his eyes quickly scanning around under the brim of his hat.
The corridor was wide, with deep red carpet, and walls adorned with abstract paintings on both sides.
Thirty meters ahead was the dressing room, with two burly bodyguards standing at the door, hands on their waists.
Further down, a guard stood every five meters on both sides of the corridor, each with their hands on assault rifles, eyes alert.
"The fire cabinet is twelve meters ahead on the left side."
Jiang Feng whispered, already having taken out a wrench from the tool cart, pretending to inspect the vent on the wall.
Song Heping nodded and continued pushing the cart forward.
The wheels of the cart made a slight rustling sound on the carpet.
Twenty meters away from the dressing room.
Fifteen meters.
A guard glanced at them, frowning slightly.
Perhaps finding it odd that repairmen suddenly appeared here at this time, but couldn't pinpoint what was off.
Song Heping stopped the tool cart, picked up a detector from the cart, and gestured at the wall socket, muttering in Arabic: "Reported circuit failure on the third floor, inspecting this segment..."
The guard's suspicion slightly waned, turning back his head.
"Do it."
Song Heping whispered.
Almost simultaneously—
Ivan and Miroslav flashed out on either side of the tool cart like lightning!
Both wielding handguns equipped with silencers, the true lethal move was the dagger in their other hand.
The guard on the left hadn't reacted yet, as Miroslav's dagger precisely pierced between the third and fourth ribs, penetrating the heart.
The man's sturdy arm covered the other's mouth, laying the limp body gently against the wall, the whole process under three seconds.
On the right, Ivan's action was equally swift and efficient.
His dagger stabbed upward into the guard's liver area, his other hand firmly covering the mouth.
His ice-blue eyes bore no emotion, only cold killer intent.
All were former members of Eastern European Countries' Special Forces.
They participated in half a year of intensive training at Venezuela's Hunter School.
Killing?
As easy as eating a piece of vegetable.
Song Heping and Jiang Feng ignored all this, heading straight to the dressing room door.
The two bodyguards extended their hands to block them: "What are you doing?"
"Technical department, checking the ventilation system of the dressing room."
Song Heping raised his work badge, showing it to them briefly.
"Received reports of a strange smell here, our boss sent us to check it out."
"Not now, the Commander is inside—"
Before finishing his sentence, Jiang Feng's right hand had already gripped the left bodyguard's throat like iron pincers, his thumb precisely pressing the carotid sinus, then squeezing hard.
Jiang Feng could snap a child's arm-thick wooden stick with his bare hands.
This squeeze was fiercely powerful.
The bodyguard's eyes turned white, collapsing weakly.
Song Heping nearly simultaneously handled the right bodyguard—
A heavy palm strike to the throat.
The severe pain and suffocation made the guard instinctively clutch his throat.
Before he regained his senses, Song Heping had already encircled his neck, twisting it sharply!
Crack!
After the crisp sound, the spine broke.
Both caught the collapsing guard's body, laying it gently on the ground.
The dressing room door opened then.
Rashid was adjusting the sash on his military uniform, walking out while instructing his assistant: "Review the speech again, highlight the places to pause..."
He raised his head, seeing two unfamiliar men in work uniforms standing at the door.
Then he looked down, noticing the fallen bodyguards.
Rashid's expression instantly froze.
Song Heping stepped forward, the silenced pistol's muzzle already against Rashid's waist, his other hand pressing on his shoulder:
"Keep walking, Commander Rashid. Walk to the studio as if nothing has happened. If you shout or make any unusual moves, I promise your spine will have another hole, don't worry, it won't kill you but will ensure you spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair."
Rashid's facial muscles twitched.