Late at night, the oil refinery on the outskirts of Aden Port.

The moonlight was fragmented by the twisted pipes, and Song Heping squatted behind a cracked distillation tower, his fingertips brushing over fresh scratches on the AKM receiver.

An hour ago, that encrypted message from Simon made him aware there was no turning back.

The CIA is indeed one of the top intelligence agencies in the world.

Being targeted by them…

Damn, this doesn't feel good!

Now, this oil refinery, built with Soviet aid in the seventies, has become his final battlefield.

If I can't escape, then I might as well fight!

Let's see who claims victory.

Song Heping made this decision not out of recklessness.

Don't be fooled by the CIA's arrogance, but Yemen is not a place where they can run rampant.

He speculated that the CIA's incursion into Yemen was only a small assassination squad, not a large force.

From the firefight at Pier 3, it was evident that the "Watchers" this time were at most a dozen people.

Five of them were killed by him there.

Here, at most, there might be 7-10 left.

These 7-10 operatives, he and his three allies could handle them as long as they set up traps in advance.

"The east entrance is set up."

Antonov's voice came over the radio, with the Slavs' characteristic roughness, "I used the 'Chopstick Mine' you taught me, the Americans are in for a taste of eastern wisdom."

Song Heping's lips curled slightly.

It was a type of trap mine fixed with two crossed wires, seemingly simple yet extremely difficult to dismantle.

This type of trap mine device is very simple, but very practical. Just find a block of TNT, insert a detonator, or directly connect a hand grenade to make it.

Antonov asked again, "How long until Naxin arrives?"

"About two hours."

Song Heping's eyes glowed green behind the night vision goggles.

"But the CIA will arrive before them."

Nura suddenly pressed the headset, "It seems there's a sound of drones, listen."

"Everyone hide, maintain silence."

Song Heping's pupils contracted sharply.

If the drone flying here was just a CIA reconnaissance drone, it wouldn't be a big deal; if it were something like an MQ-9…

Then I'd be in big trouble.

Fortunately, the refinery area is large enough, if only one MQ-9 is dispersed, it won't be able to pinpoint our exact position and will be powerless.

Although the MQ-9 Grim Reaper drone usually carries four Hellfire Missiles, their power isn't enough to flatten such a large refinery.

After a while, that low hum from the sky seemed to disappear.

Only then did Song Heping notice Khalid staring at the tablet.

This was a wireless camera installed on the essential path outside the plant when he entered moments ago.

On the screen, nine figures were approaching the refinery in a fan formation.

"Should be CIA people," Khalid said softly.

Song Heping took the tablet and zoomed in on the image.

After the nine passed by, about three hundred meters away, there was a sudden flash, as if a silhouette flickered by.

"Huh?"

Just for a moment, then it disappeared.

"Could it be my eyes playing tricks?"

He rubbed his eyes and increased the zoom on the camera.

But found nothing.

The sound of pebbles rolling came from beside the distant plant gate.

Song Heping raised the thermal imaging device—three blurry figures were moving along the broken oil pipeline, a standard CIA tactical formation.

"Game on," Song Heping ordered everyone, "Stay sharp and get ready to hunt."

South side of the refinery, Jasper's team

Jasper's boot grinded over a rusted valve, the tactical flashlight's beam piercing the darkness. This abandoned refinery was too quiet, unnervingly quiet.

According to satellite thermal imaging, Song Heping should be hiding in the abandoned equipment control room ahead.

"Alpha team in position," came the sniper's report in his ear, "no target discovered."

Jasper's intuition told him—something was off here!

After more than a year of pursuit, he knew this Chinese ghost—Song Heping never sat idle.

He was about to order a retreat when a metallic click sounded beneath his feet.

"Trap mine!!"

Jasper dove to the side.

The explosive shockwave flung him three meters away, his right ear instantly deafened. In the thick smoke, he saw two team members turned into burning torches, their screams tearing through the night sky.

Not an ordinary mine—it was actually a white phosphorus trap mine!

Jasper's stomach clenched.

Such a weapon, violating the Geneva Convention, only mercenaries would use, and of course, Song Heping happened to be the damn mercenary company boss.

"Bravo team encountered IED! Repeat, Bravo team encountered—"

Communications suddenly cut out, replaced by continuous gunfire and screams.

Jasper struggled to get up and found the red dots representing team members on the tactical tablet rapidly disappearing.

Seven, five, three...

"Call for reinforcements! Call for reinforcements! We are ambushed!"

He pressed the talk key, attempting to contact the forward command at the safe house to request drone support.

But, he found the communication channel had suddenly become eerily silent.

"Simon! 'Watcher' calling Simon!"

Jasper called several times.

However, there was no response, the channel seemed to be interfered with, crackling, his words echoing like talking to himself.

Communications disrupted.

He quickly opened the tactical tablet.

It was all static, no images.

A terrifying fear rose from his heart like a spring.

Clearly, all his communications had been cut off!

"Kobe! Where are you!"

He yelled, completely disregarding that his voice might reveal his position.

Too terrifying!

Someone had directly cut off all their communications.

The gunfire around gradually stopped.

No one responded to Jasper.

An eerie silence blanketed the refinery, like a grave.

At the CIA's frontline command center, over ten kilometers away in the safe house, chaos reigned.

Every computer screen popped up numerous windows, continuously popping up more.

The excessive windows overloaded the computers' memory, causing all computers at the command center to crash.

The technician screamed, "It's a virus! Worm!"

Simon entered from outside, loudly questioning, "What on earth happened? Why are communications down?!"

"Our systems were invaded by a virus, completely paralyzed, and we can't contact the frontline action team at the moment!"

The technician stood up, his face pale as if he had seen the end of the world, terror filling his eyes.

"This—I can't explain!"

He obviously couldn't explain.

With the CIA's system security being invaded,

it was simply unimaginable.

"What the hell is going on at the refinery? What's the current situation?"

"I don't know, we've completely lost contact with them."

"Damn it!"

Simon said loudly, "You guys immediately do repairs, restore the system, Mark, Andy, you two come with me over there to see what the hell is going on, bring more weapons!"

"YES SIR!"

The two agents, initially responsible for guarding the safe house, immediately turned and sprinted toward the armory.

Simon threw a fit where he was, ordered the technicians to restore communications swiftly, then turned and left the safe house.

Entering the garage, he got into the car, lit a cigarette, and slowly waited for Andy and Mark.

However, there was a faint, hardly noticeable smile on his lips.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com