Chapter 1426 - 1189: Moscow in Winter

Song Heping's teasing remark about "face" precisely pierced through the last bit of Avanti's cover.

The Revolutionary Guard commander was first startled, then a helpless smile appeared on his face. He shook his head and pointed at Song Heping, saying, "Song... you always speak so bluntly..."

Indeed, for the Persian high command, proactively extending an olive branch to the "Great Satan" is a serious political incorrectness.

But if it's the Americans who first make the request, they are "forced" to "carefully consider" for regional stability, then the narrative is completely different—it concerns dignity and voice.

"Don't worry, old friend."

Song Heping regained his composure and said seriously, "The White House will soon face a situation where they have no choice but to bow. What you need to do now is ensure that your country's leadership can understand and support this strategic concept. Remember, internal unity is more important than external negotiations."

"Are you confident the Americans will come forward to discuss cooperation?"

Avanti was full of doubt about Song Heping's confidence.

After all, those are the Americans.

No one on Earth is more arrogant than them.

Having them come and discuss cooperation with their arch-enemy?

In Avanti's view, this possibility is almost zero.

"Believe me, the Americans are more flexible than you think."

Song Heping thought of Simon and couldn't help but smile again. But he couldn't tell Avanti that the interim CIA director of America was his insider.

This matter is too fantastical; Avanti probably wouldn't believe it, and for safety reasons, he couldn't say it.

After receiving Song Heping's assurance, Avanti solemnly nodded, "Understood. Then I'll take care of things on this side. By the way, when are you planning to head to Moscow?"

"Of course, the sooner, the better." Song Heping looked at his watch, "I will return to Syria with the SSO squad and then take a military plane back to Moscow from there."

Two days later. Syria, Hemimeim Air Base.

The base runway stretched out in the afternoon sun, with the roar of Russian fighter jets and transport aircraft engines relentlessly echoing in the distance, the scent of aviation fuel and dust permeating the air.

Just off the plane, a familiar figure approached.

"Song!"

The Chef opened his arms, giving Song Heping a firm hug.

The boss of the Wagner Mercenary Company appeared very excited.

After all, the mission Song Heping executed was exceptionally dangerous, and coming back alive was a testament to his prowess.

"Was the journey smooth?"

"Fairly smooth," Song Heping nodded in response.

"You made quite a stir in Latamira, even alarming the big shots in Moscow."

The Chef gave a thumbs up, "Even if you hadn't asked to meet them, they would have wanted to meet you. I've already received calls from the Kremlin these past few days, asking me to bring you to meet them. It's obvious; those big shots are very interested in you."

"I'm not a pretty girl; there's no need for them to be interested in me."

Song Heping smiled at the Chef, raised his hand, and made a money-counting gesture, "I'm just a defense company boss; negotiating benefits is enough."

After speaking, he patted the Chef's back, his gaze sweeping over the busy base.

"How's the situation here lately?"

The Chef also looked around and then gestured for Song Heping to follow him to a relatively quiet spot in the hangar shadows.

"Not good, but not terrible either; it's also our opportunity."

He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and said, "The Hafez government's forces are having a tough time in Idlib; the counterattacks by the extremist forces are fierce. Our recent airstrikes have been intense, but the ground forces' advance is slow. The Americans? Hmph, they're shouting counter-terrorism on one side, while secretly providing certain 'Moderate Opposition' with equipment, and the Kurd Armed Forces under their command are quietly expanding their territory to the north. They adopt a supportive attitude towards other Opposition Armed Forces, hoping those guys will bleed the Hafez government and Moscow. Suka! This place is a complete mess!"

Then he exhaled a series of smoke rings, squinting at Song Heping, "So, your proposal for 'cooperation' came at the right time. The timing is spot on. The big shots in Moscow are now a bit bothered by the quagmire in Syria, and on the other hand, your tactics in Nineveh Province have piqued their interest. So they want to meet you, to personally gauge your weight and see if you can help relieve some pressure."

"Is the itinerary arranged?" Song Heping asked directly.

"Yes." The Chef nodded, "An An-124 transport plane will take off in two hours, flying straight to the Chekalovsky Base on the outskirts of Moscow. Besides the necessary crew, there will be a squad of GRU Special Forces 'accompanying' us. On the surface, it's protection, but it's also surveillance. Someone will meet us upon arrival in Moscow."

"GRU?" The "Hunter" next to him, who was checking gear, heard and smirked, "Are they afraid we'll be bored on the way, so they're sending someone to entertain us?"

The Chef chuckled, "It's just protocol, try to understand. After all, Song is now a 'sensitive figure'."

Song Heping didn't care; he turned to the "Hunter" and said, "Grab something to eat and get ready to board."

Two hours later, the massive An-124 transport plane roared into the sky, leaving Syria's relatively warm and humid coastline behind.

Inside the cabin, the lights were dim, filled with engine roars and faint metallic friction sounds.

Song Heping and the SSO squad led by Petrovsky sat in fixed canvas seats, swaying slightly with the turbulence.

The temperature inside the cabin gradually began to drop.

As the plane climbed northward, the chill progressively seeped in.

The SSO squad members and GRU team members maintained their military postures, but the atmosphere between them seemed colder than the physical low temperature.

"Hey, brother..."

The "Iron Hammer" of the SSO Squad was the first to break the silence, with a tone carrying the characteristic superior sarcasm of the SSO, "I heard your GRU has been very active in Eastern Ukraine lately. Hope you old folks haven't had your bones freezed."

The words were meaningful.

Not referring to the age.

GRU is Russia's veteran special forces, under the jurisdiction of the Intelligence Bureau.

SSO is a newly formed special forces unit, but it reached its peak upon debut, built entirely to world-class special forces standards from its inception; absolutely a T1 level unit of the Russian Army.

Whenever new and old special forces meet, there's always "sparks."

The veterans look down on the newly formed unit, believing it lacks historical achievements.

Meanwhile, the newly formed unit thinks the veteran unit is outdated in structure and rigid in organization, already a thing of the past.

Neither side would yield to the other.

Sure enough, sitting opposite "Iron Hammer" was a GRU squad leader named "Brown Bear." He didn't even lift his head, speaking leisurely, "Our bones are tough, not frozen; unlike some guys who've stayed too long in warm places that their bones have softened."

His tone was calm, but the counterattack was clear.

"Whether the bones are soft isn't determined by seniority,"

Petrovsky coldly interjected, casting a sharp gaze over the GRU members, "it's determined by real combat."

"Brown Bear" finally lifted his head, meeting Petrovsky's gaze, his mouth forming an unemotional curve: "Yes, SSO is formidable, a new force, well-equipped, well-funded. Us old guys just rely on a bit of experience and... loyalty to earn a living."

"Loyalty and experience are certainly important."

SSO's sniper and squad vice-captain "Cold Blade" leaned against the bulkhead, eyes closed as if relaxing, his voice not loud yet clear to everyone's ears, "But outdated tactics and thinking in modern warfare are just burdens that lead to being targeted."

"You!"

A young GRU member next to "Brown Bear" suddenly stood up, face full of anger.

"Sit down, Ivanovich!"

"Brown Bear" shouted lowly, then looked at "Cold Blade", "Youngsters are hot-headed, haven't seen real storms, understandable. After all, not everyone has the chance to roll through the mire of Chechnya and the ruins of Grozny like us."

The cabin was instantly filled with tension, eye contact between squad members clashing in the air, seemingly capable of sparking.

This wasn't mere banter but a deeply rooted competition and mutual resistance between two elite forces.

Song Heping didn't partake in this invisible clash, he gazed out through the narrow porthole.

In his view, these guys were just idling.

Da Maozi's trait is to find things for themselves to do when bored.

The originally clear Mediterranean coastal landscape below had long been replaced by thick clouds, above which the sun remained bright, yet fine ice crystals had started forming on the wing, reflecting a chilling light.

He knew, beyond this cloud layer awaited Moscow's harsh winter and a situation even more intricate than the climate.

"Boss."

Next to him, "Hunter" quietly inquired, "How will we proceed once we arrive in Moscow? Directly meet those big names?"

Song Heping shook his head, eyes still fixated outside: "No rush. Settle down first, other matters will be arranged by Chef. Moscow isn't Damascus; waters run deeper there, every step must be cautious."

He paused, adding: "Remember, matters there aren't yours to handle, leave them to me, these few days just act like a tourist, explore around."

"Got it."

"Hunter" also understood that meeting big names and persuading them required eloquence and strategic thinking, areas where he absolutely couldn't assist, better not create trouble for Song Heping.

The cabin temperature continued to drop, yet squad members of both sides seemed to regard the cold as a backdrop for their standoff, silently confronting throughout the journey until the plane began its descent.

The plane pierced through thick clouds, amid violent turbulence, the porthole outside turned grayish, dense snowflakes pitter-pattered against the glass.

When the plane finally touched down smoothly on Chekalovsky Base's runway, glimpsed through blurred windows was an already wintry world, the wind howling.

The plane landed at Rostov Air Force Base, gliding for a distance before braking at the tarmac.

The cabin door opened, a biting wind mixed with snowflakes instantly poured in, dispersing the frozen air within the cabin.

Regardless if they were SSO or GRU members, they instinctively straightened their backs, faces stern, beginning to sort equipment, their actions swift and professional.

Russia, arrived.

Song Heping took a deep breath of this bone-chilling air, adjusted his collar, the first to step out of the cabin, onto this snow-covered land.

Hours later, an inconspicuous Gulfstream private plane landed at a secret airport outside Moscow, under the jurisdiction of the Russian Federation Security Bureau (FSB).

The cold wind carried fine snow, swirling on the runway.

Song Heping wrapped himself tighter in a black cashmere coat, under the guidance of a poker-faced FSB senior official, seated inside an unmarked black Mercedes sedan.

The dark windowpanes shielded the scenery outside of Moscow's winter night, only the instrument panel's bluish glow illuminating their stern profiles.

The car traversed several snow-covered quiet roads, ultimately arriving at an estate hidden deep within a birch forest.

Towering iron gates slowly opened, in the shadows were guards holding weapons.

This isn't the Kremlin, yet it's one of the venues where Russia's actual power core holds secret meetings.