The cold edges of the satellite phone pressed against Song Heping's palm. He casually shook this expensive communication tool, a faint, almost cruel smile surfaced at his lips.
"The equipment issue is resolved."
His voice was not loud, yet it was like a stone thrown into a deep pond, stirring invisible ripples.
"The most advanced gear, integrated listening and interference. By then…"
He turned his gaze to Jiang Feng, who was standing with arms crossed beside him, "You take people to the designated location to retrieve it."
"No problem!"
Jiang Feng grinned, subconsciously rubbing his fingers—a habit formed over years of military life, where every time he felt excited, his fingers had the urge to pull the trigger at any moment.
"Cutting off the British mouthpiece, Collins and I will handle it, ensuring they become blind."
Song Heping no longer looked at him, his gaze like a precise probe, turning to Henry in the corner.
