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?"

The clouds of suspicion in her heart not only refused to disperse but grew even denser.

The final white flash over Gelbi Mountain was like a ghost haunting her thoughts, impossible to dismiss no matter how hard she tried.

After contemplating for a while, she finally picked up the encrypted phone: "Activate our 'mole' within the CIA, I need to know all communications and pilot witness reports regarding the 'Grim Reaper Judgment' operation at CAOC, especially...the final destination of that white flash."

After setting down the phone, Lady M looked out the window, deep in thought.

Alive, I must see him in person, dead, I must see his corpse.

Otherwise, the ghost of Song Heping would never disappear.

Moscow, Kremlin.

President Vladimir sat at one end of the oval office, perusing a freshly delivered intelligence report, his face void of expression.

Nearby, Zhaoyi Valley sat, sweat already seeping from his forehead.

"Sergei...didn't you say the chef had already perished in Ashala Town?"

His hand paused over the documents, his gaze as sharp as daggers directed at Zhaoyi Valley.

Shoygu's forehead immediately glistened with even more sweat, but he forced calm as he replied, "The intelligence personnel from Siria indeed reported it that way earlier. They assessed..."

"Assessed?!" The president's gaze became even sharper: "When did our intelligence agencies become so careless?"

He tossed the report across, sliding it over to Zhaoyi Valley.

"Then tell me, why has the chef come back to life?"

Zhaoyi Valley swallowed hard, saying, "A miracle, it's undeniably a miracle to survive after being besieged for so many days and after facing terror attacks from US fighter jets...it can only be called a miracle..."

The president stared hard at Zhaoyi Valley, remaining silent for a long time.

Both were calculating various possibilities and gains in their minds.

Finally, the president sighed softly: "Alright, since we know he's alive, we'll have to bring him back safely, the chef is now a hero, do you understand what I'm saying?"

Zhaoyi Valley nodded: "I understand."

He knew very well that when the president warns him not to try any underhanded moves anymore, it means the president is aware of all their petty affairs!

"Also," the president said as he rose, "evaluate the current military situation in Siria, I think it's about time we intervene, hundreds of Vakner and one Song Heping can handle thousands of 1515 armed forces, what are our Special Forces over there doing? Watching the Americans and Europeans encroach on our strategic interests?"

Zhaoyi Valley could only nod again: "Yes, I will get on it immediately."

Finally, the president, seemingly still concerned, added: "Get the chef to Moscow, bring him here—"

He jabbed at the table.

"I want to meet him personally."

"Yes."

Zhaoyi Valley had forgotten how many times he had nodded.

In the presence of the president, he was as compliant as a school child.

Paris, DGSE (French External Security Agency).

Analysts worked intensely, comparing satellite images and signal intelligence.

"The scale of the bombing at Gelbi Mountain far exceeds expectations, thermo-baric bomb...Have the Americans gone mad? All for killing one person?"

"No, look at the outcomes! Deir Ezzor was relieved! Ashala Town changed hands! The main forces of 1515 in the east were nearly wiped out! This game...is played on a large scale! Is the bait worth such a cost?"

The office was filled with astonished and perplexed discussions.

Washington D.C., White House, President's Office.

The atmosphere was suffocating.

The president's face was rigid, as he slammed a critical brief from the Ministry of Defense and CIA onto the mahogany table, causing a loud "bang."

Outside the panoramic windows, the city lights began to glow, yet they could not illuminate the gloom inside the room.

"Vincent!"

The president's voice was low and oppressive.

"You'd better give me a perfect explanation! Why was our strategic balance in eastern Siria completely disrupted overnight?! Why has the pathway for the Kurd Armed to move south been blocked?! Why did Russia-backed Assam suddenly achieve a counter-attack?! And what happened with the scorched earth at Gelbi Mountain?! Cluster bombs indiscriminately bombing?! Even against terrorists, that's something that can easily be held against us! I need answers! Now!"

Vincent stood in front of the desk, his back ramrod straight, yet the fine beads of sweat at his temples revealed his intense inner pressure.

He took a deep breath to maintain his composure, replying with the most formal and forceful tone: "Mr. President, all of this was to carry out the 'decapitation' operation that you personally approved—to eliminate an extremely dangerous target, code-named 'Ghost,' Song Heping."

He pointed towards satellite images of Gelbi Mountain on the brief, his fingertip steady: "We obtained conclusive intelligence that Song Heping was besieged by thousands of main forces of 1515 at this forlorn spot. He held core secrets that threatened our national security, the consequences of capture or information leakage would be unthinkable."

"Simultaneously, it was an excellent opportunity to completely cripple the core armed forces of 1515. Following CAOC's assessment, I authorized the use of our highest authority to execute 'Grim Reaper Judgment.' The cost..."

He paused slightly, his tone heavy yet undeniable.

"The cost was necessary and worth it. Song Heping has been confirmed to have perished in the bombing. As for the change in military situational dynamics at Deir Ezzor and Ashala Town, they were entirely a poisonous maneuver by Song Heping on the verge of death, exploiting the chaos caused by our operation. But the core objective—eliminating 'Ghost'—has been achieved! The temporary blockade of the Kurd Armed is merely a minor tactical setback, compared to eliminating a grave threat, I believe this cost is acceptable."

He shifted all responsibility and the "necessary sacrifices" onto the "deceased" Song Heping, framing himself as the hero resolutely removing threats.

The president's sharp gaze was like a scalpel, scrutinizing Vincent.

The office was silent, except for the faint ticking from the antique clock on the wall.

After a long time, the president slowly spoke, his voice unreadable: "'Ghost' is really dead? Vincent, you better be sure. Also, clean up properly! I don't want to see a headline about 'US Army utilizing prohibited weapons for massacres' on the New York Times front page tomorrow! Understand?"

"Understood, Mr. President! The subsequent control of public opinion and intelligence cover-up work is already underway, you can trust me on this."

Vincent answered firmly, yet inwardly he let out a sigh of relief.

This hurdle was temporarily passed.

But that vanished white spot of Song Heping also became a thorn in his heart that he couldn't remove.

Was that guy really dead?

A fleeting thought passed his mind.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com