Chapter 2011 - 1452: Expert, Huh? (3)

The entire process took less than three seconds.

Everyone in the restaurant was stunned, unsure of what had just happened.

Angel stood up, her face showing no panic, merely observing quietly.

The man stared at Song Heping, a faint smile suddenly appearing at the corner of his mouth.

"Mr. Song truly lives up to his reputation." He said, his English carrying a slight Eastern European accent: "Sorry to disturb you tonight."

He placed the dinner knife down, adjusted his suit, then took out some bills from his pocket, pressed them onto the table, and turned to leave.

Song Heping did not pursue.

He stood there, watching the man's back disappear at the restaurant's entrance.

Every step the man took was steady and composed, his shoulders relaxed, his center of gravity constantly kept between his legs.

This is the gait of a true expert.

He turned back to the table, sat down.

Angel looked at him, said nothing.

Song Heping picked up his wine glass, took a big sip.

"It's over." He said.

Angel nodded, did not inquire further.

But in her eyes, there was a trace of worry only Song Heping could understand.

In the deep night, Angel was asleep.

Song Heping lay in bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

The curtains weren't completely drawn, a sliver of moonlight peeked through the gap, casting a fine ray on the wall.

The phone began to vibrate.

He gently extracted the arm trapped under Angel, picked up the phone, glanced at the screen.

It was Henry.

Song Heping sat up, donned a robe, walked to the living room, shut the door.

"Found it?"

"Found it." Henry's voice was graver than usual: "Boss, this time it's big trouble."

"Speak."

"The man is named Victor Krasic, Serbian, forty-five years old. Former member of the Yugoslav Special Forces, participated in the Kosovo War. Later joined the French Foreign Legion, operated in Africa for eight years, involved in actions in Rwanda, Congo, Cote Ivoire."

Henry's tone grew increasingly solemn.

"But his real history began after leaving the Foreign Legion."

Song Heping said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"After leaving the legion, he became a freelancer." Henry said: "Specifically taking on high-difficulty jobs. His client list includes Russian oligarchs, Middle Eastern princes, South American drug lords, and European mafia. Among those he has killed are ministers of two African countries, a Russian Duma member, and a British intelligence officer."

"Is there evidence?"

"None." Henry said: "That's his strength. He never leaves evidence; every action is disguised as an accident or natural death. Those three deaths were all determined by the coroner as accidents, including heart attacks, car accidents, drowning. No one can prove it was him."

Song Heping remained silent for a few seconds.

"Anything else?"

"Yes." Henry said: "I traced his movements over the last month. Two days ago, he flew from Europe to New York using a false identity. Then he went to Washington, rented a car, that deep blue Dodge Challenger. At the rental, he used another fake identity."

"Seems they're taking me seriously this time, sending a top-tier expert." Song Heping laughed.

"Boss." Henry's voice lowered: "Be careful. This man is a true top-level assassin. He never fails, never leaves a witness. No one targeted by him has survived."

Song Heping said nothing.

He looked at the moonlight outside, silent for a long time.

"Henry," he suddenly spoke: "I need you to trace who Victor Krasic has been in contact with recently. Remember, no matter how much it costs in intelligence, find his connection to AAFES Company or any military defense company like Eddie's and Illigo Station of the CIA; it's them who want to take me down."

"Understood." Henry said, "Give me twenty-four hours."

Ending the call, Song Heping stood by the window, looking at the quiet street outside.

That deep blue Dodge Challenger was still parked at the alley entrance, its occupants still silhouetted inside.

Victor Krasic.

A top-level assassin.

Robbin went to great lengths to kill me.

Song Heping's lips curled slightly.

But what Robbin doesn't know is—

I'm never the kind of prey that waits helplessly.

He turned around, walked back to the bedroom.

Angel was still sleeping soundly, moonlight illuminating her face, making her look exceptionally peaceful in slumber.

Song Heping lay down gently, drawing her into his embrace.

Angel shifted slightly in her sleep, snuggling closer to him, murmuring something softly.

Song Heping closed his eyes.

Tomorrow would be a long day.

Early the next morning, Song Heping drove Angel to the airport.

He didn't let Angel go alone, but personally drove her.

That black Mercedes emerged from the hotel back door, traversing Georgetown's streets, heading toward Dulles Airport.

In the rearview mirror, that deep blue Dodge Challenger followed, maintaining a careful distance.

Angel noticed too.

She glanced at the rearview mirror, then at Song Heping, saying nothing.

Song Heping reached out, held her hand, gently squeezing it.

"It's alright." He said.

Angel nodded.

She understood Song Heping's character.

When it comes to men's affairs, women need only listen.

Forty minutes later, the car stopped at the airport departure entrance.

Song Heping got out, took Angel's suitcase from the trunk, handed it to her.

Angel didn't immediately take it.

She stood there, looking at Song Heping.

"Dear," she said: "I know you have things you haven't told me. I don't ask because I know asking won't help."

Song Heping said nothing.

"But I'll tell you one thing."

Angel's voice was calm, but deeply emotional.

"If something happens to you, I'll make them pay, no matter who he is, or who stands behind him."

Song Heping looked at her, suddenly smiled.

"Are you comforting me?"

"Not comforting." Angel said: "It's a promise."

She reached out, adjusted Song Heping's collar.

"I'm from the Morales family." She said: "My aunt is the Speaker of the House, my father can mobilize more people in the United States than you imagine. My company is now one of the most influential new media in the US. If I want to do something, few can stop me."

Song Heping felt moved, held her hand saying, "Angel."

He lightly tapped his chest.

"I know, it's all in my heart."

Angel looked at him, her eyes suddenly reddening.

"So..." she said: "My man, you must come back alive to see me."

Song Heping nodded.

"I will."

Angel took a deep breath, then kissed his lips softly.

"I'm leaving."

She turned, dragging her suitcase into the terminal, not looking back.

Song Heping stood in place, watching her figure disappear into the crowd.

Then he turned, got into the car.

In the rearview mirror, that deep blue Dodge Challenger remained parked in the lot.

He started the car, drove away from the airport.