Later that day, undercurrents surged within the global intelligence community.
The fierce battle at Deir Ezzor, Ashala Town, and Gelbi Mountain was like a giant stone crashing into a tranquil lake, stirring up waves.
London, MI6 Headquarters.
The delicate bone china cup in Lady M's hand hovered in midair, its contents of tea long cold. On the screen, the encrypted brief reporting the defenders' successful counterattack at Deir Ezzor and the takeover of Ashala Town by unidentified mercenaries (pointed out as Vakner) were displayed side by side.
Next to them was a small window showing satellite images of the eastern slopes of Gelbi Mountain—an area entirely scorched and blackened by a thermo-baric bomb, like a gigantic scar.
"One person...a mercenary squad...a solitary city..."
M murmured to herself, her fingertips unconsciously tapping the desktop.
"Song Heping...have you actually died, or did you once again crawl out of hell to orchestrate all this?"
